The skies above the Lands of the Long Summer seemed to hold their breath. The clouds, dark and heavy, swirled with an unnatural stillness as Azantyos hovered in their midst, a leviathan of flame and scale. His wings spanned wide, casting a shadow over the Targaryens below, a shadow that seemed to stretch into their very souls. The heat radiating from him was oppressive, like standing before the mouth of a volcano, yet it was the figure upon his back that drew every gaze, every breath.
Balthagar Draceryos stood, balanced atop Azantyos as though gravity itself had bent to his will. Stormbringer rested at his side, its crimson-etched edges glowing faintly against the gathering dusk. The Blood Ring pulsed upon his finger, and the dark Valyrian steel of his armor seemed to drink in the fading light, runes glowing like embers along its surface. He was no longer merely a man, he was something else, something more. A force of nature, a being reborn in flame and shadow.
King Jaehaerys Targaryen, astride Vermithor, felt it in his bones, the ancient, primal fear that no armor, no dragon, no bloodline could shield him from. He stared up at Balthagar, his grip on the reins white-knuckled, his breath caught in his throat. Aemon and Baelon flanked him, their dragons, Caraxes and Vhagar, pinned beneath Azantyos' might, their roars stifled, their bodies trembling in submission.
Balthagar's voice cut through the charged air, deep and resonant, each word precise as a blade. "You trespass upon the lands of Valyria, the lands of my blood. You ride upon dragons, yet you do so as exiles, kin of Aenar the Exile, not as rightful lords. You have broken the ancient laws of Valyria. You have shown arrogance... and ignorance."
His gaze swept over them, cold and merciless. "The Valyrian Freehold may have perished in flame, but I, its heir live. And the blood of Valyria, my people, my kin, thrives. Every day we grow stronger. Every day, the world will remember what was lost... and what shall rise again."
The weight of his words hung in the air like a drawn sword. Azantyos' growl rumbled beneath Balthagar's feet, a deep, earth-shaking vibration that set the Targaryen dragons trembling anew. Vhagar whimpered, her body pressed into the earth, tail coiled tightly in submission. Caraxes thrashed weakly, but the might of Azantyos' clawed grip kept him pinned, as easily as a child holds a sparrow.
Baelon's face twisted in rage, but the fear in his eyes betrayed him. Aemon clenched his teeth, looking from Balthagar to his pinned dragon, uncertainty warring with pride. Jaehaerys... the king sat rigid, his face pale, lips pressed tight, yet his eyes burned with defiance. A lifetime of rule, of being the dragonlord king, warred with the undeniable truth before him.
Balthagar's voice lowered, dark and final. "Fly back to your lands, Targaryens. Take your dragons, your pride, and your whispers of conquest, and remember this day. Remember who rules the Lands of the Long Summer. Remember the true blood of Valyria... and tremble."
For a long, breathless moment, there was only silence, broken by the labored breaths of the dragons.
Then, slowly, Jaehaerys nodded, his voice strained. "This is not over."
Balthagar's gaze was sharp, unwavering. "No... it has only begun."
Azantyos released Caraxes and Vhagar, their bodies slumping to the earth, exhausted and broken. With a beat of his massive wings, Azantyos rose higher, his roar splitting the sky as Balthagar stood unmoving upon his back, an unshakable silhouette against the darkening heavens.
The Targaryens turned, their dragons limping through the air, tails tucked, pride shattered. They did not look back. They dared not.
As they disappeared into the distant sky, Balthagar exhaled slowly, the tension coiling in his chest releasing into the wind. His gaze followed their retreat until they were nothing but specks on the horizon. Only then did he turn Azantyos toward the east, toward the first Demon Fort.
Toward home.
The Demon Fort of Belaerys loomed ahead, carved from the very bones of the earth, its black dragonstone walls rising like jagged fangs against the horizon. It was the first of the five great Demon Forts to be built, a bastion of Valyrian strength. Here, the banners of House Belaerys snapped in the wind, blood-red dragons coiled around a laurel and a sunburst of flame, their wings spread wide in defiance.
Azantyos descended, his massive form stirring the air into a gale. The Dragonguard stood at attention, their armor gleaming, their faces sharp with Valyrian features, silver-blonde hair, pale blue or sapphire eyes, the beauty of the old blood evident in every line. The common folk, nearly all of Valyrian descent, gathered in awe, their voices rising in cheers: "Heir of Valyria!" "Prince of Flame!" "The Great Dragon!"
Balthagar dismounted with fluid grace, the weight of his armor seeming to vanish upon his shoulders. His presence was like a storm in human form, his aura crackling with restrained power. The steward of the Demon Fort, flanked by mages from the Orders of Fire and Blood, approached swiftly, bowing low, their respect evident in every line of their posture.
"My Prince, it has been a long time." the steward intoned, voice steady yet reverent. "What brings you to the home of House Belaerys?"
Balthagar nods, his gaze flickered over the assembled faces. "The exiled heretics have been dealt with... for now."
The steward's expression twisted in satisfaction, the mages nodding, murmuring agreements. "Good," the steward said, voice firm. "They needed a reminder."
Balthagar's eyes narrowed. "Send word to the Demon Fort of Draceryos. Summon the lords, and the Grand Master and Mistresses of the Orders to Fort Belaerys. We have matters to discuss."
The steward bowed deeply, turning to issue the orders as mages used the Glass Candles to send messages to the mages in the Demon Fort of Draceryos. He gestured toward the manse of House Belaerys, its towers rising high above the walls. "Please, my Prince, come within, rest, and refresh yourself. It has been nearly a decade since you last graced your mother's home."
Balthagar inclined his head, following the steward into the great manse. The halls of House Belaerys were carved with ancient runes, their walls lined with Valyrian steel sconces, their floors polished smooth. Memories stirred as Balthagar walked, echoes of childhood, of his mother's presence, of the legacy she had passed on.
Three days later, the lords arrived, their banners snapping in the wind, their retinues trailing behind them like streams of silver and gold. Vaelys Belaerys, Ghaelion Gelionar, Maerys Kostagar, Rhaemon Tyvaros, Gaelyx Azantone, Tyraevar Zobridar, Malaemar Ilvar, Lady Kaella Magyros the Grand Mistress of the Fire Dragon, and Vaelarion Maelarys the Grand Master of the Blood Dragon, and The Dark Mistress, all seated themselves around the grand circular table in the hall of House Belaerys, a detailed map of the known world spread before them. The map extended from the Summer Isles to the Shadow Lands, the Bone Mountains to the farthest reaches of the Bleeding Sea, each detail painstakingly drawn, each territory a reminder of the vastness of the world... and the ambitions of House Draceryos.
Balthagar stood at the head of the table, the newly reforged armor gleaming behind him, Stormbringer sheathed at his side, the Blood Ring glinting darkly on his finger. His presence dominated the chamber.
He spoke, recounting the events of the confrontation with the Targaryens, his voice steady, sharp, and unwavering. The lords listened, some leaning forward in anticipation, others nodding in grim satisfaction. Vaelys Belaerys' voice broke through, pride swelling in his tone. "The blood of Draceryos... of your fierce mother... it flows strong. This is our legacy."
Rhaemon Tyvaros gave a scoffing laugh, his tone laced with disdain. "And now the Maegyr's and Rogare's will come, those lesser bloods ever scraping for power they cannot hold, always clamoring for recognition since Maelarr's time."
Vaelys smirked, nodding in agreement. Balthagar's expression remained unchanged. "They are a means to an end. They will swear the blood oath, and if they falter... they will burn. I do not suffer weakness in my ranks."
Lady Kaella's gaze sharpened, her voice calm and calculating. "Then let us see if they prove worthy of the banner they seek to serve."
Before Balthagar could respond, Maerys Kostagar leaned forward, a parchment in his hand. "A letter written from one of mages in the mage's tower, a missive from Commander Vimond Gondaerys, my prince." He unfurled the letter, his voice clear. "The tribes of Naath have been unified. Chief Kalemba Azhuka has pledged his loyalty, and the rebuilding of the Valyrian fort is complete. The port has been expanded, trade flowing once more. A town has begun to flourish around the fort's walls."
Lord Gelionar nodded, his voice firm. "Commander Vimond is well-known among the Dragonguards, a man of discipline and iron will. His success speaks for itself."
Balthagar's gaze rested on the map, then lifted, a faint, dangerous smile playing upon his lips. "Indeed. A man of such accomplishments deserves a reward... but I will see it with my own eyes, judge his work for myself. Then, we will speak of rewards."
The lords murmured in agreement, the chamber humming with quiet approval.
The meeting continued into the night, the torches casting long shadows across the faces of those who would shape the world. The lords of Valyria gathered, the heirs of flame and blood, their ambitions set alight.
And Balthagar, the Great Dragon, the heir of Valyria, sat at the heart of it all, an inferno waiting to be unleashed.