{A/N: I have added two new Auxiliary chapters; "Valyrian Army Structure and Legion Organization" and "The Three Orders of Valyria".
I also edited the chapter for "Dragons, Great Dragons, and their Differences", just mainly the first part. I took heavy inspiration from David Lightbringer's video on his theorized Dragon types in ASOIAF.}
[Evening, Valyrian Fort of Naath, 187 AD / 85 AC]
The hearth burned low in the chamber of dark stone, its orange glow washing over etched obsidian tiles and casting shadows across the polished floor. Embers crackled, reflecting off blackened iron sconces. The room smelled of old parchment, dried myrrh, and dragonbone incense.
Balthagar Draceryos stood alone beside the fire, his armored shoulders broad beneath a black robe laced with glyphs. A silence heavier than iron hung in the air. His golden-red eyes, once serene, now held storms.
When the door opened, it did not creak. Lady Oresa, the Dark Mistress of the Order of Shadows, stepped through with the elegance of a whisper. Her veil was silken midnight, but she lifted it slowly as she approached, revealing the calm lines of her face, ageless, sharp, beautiful in a way that was almost unnatural. Her eyes, shadowed by wisdom and sorrow, fixed on him.
"You called me, my prince," she said softly.
He did not look up. "I did."
She came closer, stepping into the light of the hearth. "You have not spoken of Qarth. You returned changed. Even your silence carries weight."
"I did not return," he replied, voice low. "I survived."
Lady Oresa inclined her head. "I will not ask what happened in the House of the Undying. But I hope, one day, you will remember my words. The ones I gave you as a boy. The ones I give you now. And those I may yet give, if you will allow me."
He finally looked at her. "Your words... kept me alive. That will have to be enough."
Her voice softened. "You were always strong. A prodigy even among the gifted. The kind born once in a thousand years. Magic followed you even then. Now... it surrounds you. I feel it. Like the world bends toward you, not the other way around."
Balthagar's eyes returned to the flame. "You're not wrong."
Oresa stepped closer, her hands folding gently before her. "So, what happened?"
A long pause. Then:
"I saw them."
Her voice tightened. "Your family?"
He nodded, slowly. "My father. Weakened... bones sharp beneath skin. My brother, a breath from death. And my mother..." His voice cracked, the emotions of Balthagar.... or the Balthagar before him still lingering heavily "...barely alive. Whispering my name."
The fire flared. A gust of heat surged through the chamber as the flames danced unnaturally high. Shadows recoiled, twisting. The rune-laced ring on his hand hummed faintly. His armor responded to his fury, metal groaning faintly beneath his robe.
Lady Oresa stepped forward, reached out gently, and placed her hands on his.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should have seen something. I should have acted."
"You could not have known," he said, his voice now a hollow murmur. "Even if you, the Grand Master of the Blood Dragon, and the Fire Mistress had joined me... I am not sure it would have changed anything."
He pulled his hands away, flexing them as if to recall the memory. "When I walked into the House of the Undying, they were gathered, thirty of them. Frail men with lips stained blue, drunk on their own madness and Shade of the Evening. Goblets still full on the table. Their ritual had failed, or nearly so. I think... they tried to steal something from my family."
"Power?" Oresa asked.
"Souls," he said flatly. "Or what remains after the flesh fades."
He stepped toward the hearth, and the flames bowed to him as if called. "They were dying already. The ritual left them weak. The power they summoned devoured their vitality. I walked into the chamber unnoticed, blade drawn, and rage filled me. I remember... red. Only red."
Lady Oresa was quiet. There was no comfort in her eyes, only shared pain. "You carry it well... too well."
"I will carry worse," he replied. "My plans demand it."
The fire began to settle, returning to its quiet crackle. The shadows eased.
Oresa's voice came soft, but resolute. "Then walk the path with eyes wide, Balthagar. For even darkness must choose which flame it obeys."
[Three Days Later, Summer Sea Approaching Jhala, 187 AD / 85 AC]
The sea glittered beneath the midday sun, calm as molten glass, the air rich with the scent of salt, fruit, and sea-spice. Ten ships carved through the blue, banners of House Draceryos rippling atop their masts. Upon the lead ship, Balthagar stood silent on the deck, his gaze fixed upon the vast green silhouette of Jhala, the largest of the Summer Isles.
Azantyos flew above, casting a long shadow over the water. His gleaming metallic scales shimmered in red and iron, wings wide as castles. Behind him, the form of Aegovax followed, wings slicing the air like razors.
Ahead, the island swelled in detail, rolling jungle hills, sheer cliffs, rivers veining toward the sea. They approached the southern coast, near the Sweet Lotus Vale, where the city of Ebonhead rose from the mouth of the river.
The city was carved from native stone, white, grey, and pale gold, walls flowered with vines and purple banners fluttering above the spires. The banner of House Qhara flew high: a purple lotus with crossing spears on a white field.
Balthagar's eyes narrowed. He had not seen this coast since he was a boy.
Vaelys Belaerys stepped beside him. "They've changed much."
"Not enough," Balthagar replied.
As they docked, Summer Islander guards in scaled armor stood at the ready, iron, with gleaming spears tipped with forged iron blades. Their armor bore vibrant cloth sashes and bright tattoos, and their formation parted with discipline.
Princess Nalla Qhara awaited them at the harbor steps, standing tall despite her age. Her skin was rich brown, her white hair braided down her back and bound in gold rings. Her robes were flowing silk, deep violet and pearl-white, and her staff bore her house crest.
She bowed her head, a formal gesture of honor.
Balthagar nodded in return, the bare minimum a dragonlord would offer.
"Prince Balthagar," she said warmly, her voice low and regal. "You've grown into your fire."
She smiled gently. "Come closer, Prince, let me look upon the heir of Valyria."
As Balthagar approaches closer to her, she says "You carry your father's silence... but not his mercy."
"And you still wield grace like a blade," Balthagar replied.
She laughed softly, then gestured. "Come. The city awaits."
[The Next Morning, Palace of House Qhara, Lotus Courtyard]
The Lotus Courtyard was a place of beauty and peace. White walls curved around still ponds filled with blooming lotus flowers. Silken sunshades stretched across wooden beams, casting golden light on the courtyard floor. The scent of fruit, smoke, and spice lingered in the air.
Balthagar sat across from Princess Nalla. Beside her was her heir, a woman in her fifties with high cheekbones and quiet eyes. Vaelys Belaerys stood beside his prince and nephew.
"You've increased your patrols," Balthagar said, eyes scanning the movement beyond the garden walls.
Nalla nodded. "We have had reports, pirates, slavers, corsairs.. The old peace is breaking. Even Omboru and Walano stir. And House Xo of the Red Flower Vale... they have begun their marches again."
Balthagar leaned forward. "Then now is the time to abandon tradition."
The air stilled.
"I come not with deception or false smiles," he said. "The world will burn or rise. I intend for it to rise. Under my rule, Valyria will stretch across oceans. You can be a part of that, your house elevated as rulers of Jhala. Or you can be an obstacle."
Nalla stared. "You speak like a conqueror."
"I am," he said plainly.
She exhaled. "You are not the boy I knew."
"I remember you," Balthagar said. "You traded with my father and grandfather. You were a friend. That earns you my respect. But not my restraint."
Nalla's voice was calm. "Even Valyria, in its pride, never conquered the Summer Isles. They said we were fractured... not worth the effort. Your forebears preferred our goldenheart bows, not our thrones."
"My predecessors were short-sighted," Balthagar said. "They feared chaos. I will master it."
She blinked slowly. "You are young. But you speak like you have seen lifetimes."
He pointed to her. "Unify the isles. Rule Jhala. And do so under the flame of Valyria."
"And if we refuse?"
"Then I return with fire. And no lotus will bloom again."
Silence. Her daughter's eyes dropped to the floor.
Then, Nalla rose. "Then perhaps it is time... for the Summer Isles to bend, not in chains, but in choice."
Balthagar stood with her.
"All must choose a side," he said. "Before the storm chooses for them."