Hadrian stepped further into the ruined mansion, his boots crunching against the blackened stone and shattered marble that littered the once-grand hallways. The air inside was thick with something ancient, something potent. It was more than just dust and decay—it was power, woven into the very bones of the ruin.
Valyria had not died completely. Some part of it still lingered, whispering in the silence.
Columns, cracked but still standing, lined the great corridor ahead, each carved with serpentine dragons twisting around one another. They were not merely decorative. Hadrian could feel the hum of magic embedded in them, like a pulse beneath his fingers when he brushed the stone.
The deeper he went, the stronger that feeling became.
Ahead, a massive grand staircase loomed, its balustrades long since crumbled away, leaving jagged remains jutting toward the sky. At the base of the stairs, half-buried under centuries of debris, lay a Valyrian steel door, nearly lost beneath the rubble.
Even through the dust, the metal gleamed—dark, polished, untouched by time. Runes curled across its surface in a twisting script, glowing faintly as Hadrian stepped closer. He recognized the language, though even in his studies, Valyrian spellwork was a mystery few had ever truly mastered.
This was no ordinary door.
Hadrian knelt, pressing a hand against it. The metal was warm, pulsing as if something alive slumbered beneath. He closed his eyes, drawing on his magic, letting it flow from his fingertips into the runes. They flared—first softly, then blindingly bright.
A sharp crack echoed through the chamber as the magic seal unraveled. The door, which had been locked for centuries, shuddered open, revealing a dark chamber beyond.
Hadrian stepped inside cautiously. The air was different here—thicker, saturated with ancient spells. The chamber stretched wide, lined with shelves and pedestals, each holding relics of a long-lost age.
The first thing that caught his eye was a massive dragonbone chest, its blackened surface carved with Valyrian script. Its lid was sealed shut with melted metal, bound by dragonfire. It had been locked deliberately, meant to keep something safe—or hidden.
With a whispered spell, Hadrian broke the seal. The chest groaned as it opened, revealing its contents:
A crown, dark as night, set with rubies the color of dragonfire. It had once belonged to a dragonlord, its enchantments still humming softly. A pair of ancient armor pieces, partially made of Valyrian steel and infused with magic to resist fire. The craftsmanship was flawless, designed for someone who had walked with dragons.
But the most valuable discovery lay within a set of scrolls, preserved in a protective case. Hadrian carefully unrolled them, eyes scanning the High Valyrian script.
It was a journal, detailing experiments performed in the final years before the Doom. The Valyrians had sought something greater than fire-breathing beasts. They had traveled beyond Westeros, into the North, where legends spoke of creatures unlike any known to man—dragons that breathed ice, not fire.
Hadrian read carefully. The Valyrians had succeeded in capturing one, though not without cost. It had taken twelve dragonriders to subdue the beast, and even then, it had slain half of them before being bound.
The dragon's scales had been harvested, and some had been sent back to Valyria for study. According to the texts, one such shipment had been lost when a ship sank near this very harbor.
Hadrian's mind raced. If those scales still existed—if they contained even the faintest traces of blood—they could be the key to recreating what the Valyrians had once attempted.
He carefully rolled the scrolls back up, securing them before moving deeper into the chamber.
A faint glimmer caught his eye through a collapsed section of the floor. Peering down into the darkness, he saw something—shelves, tables, the remains of a library buried beneath the ruin.
Hadrian descended carefully, stepping over broken stone and shattered wood. Despite the devastation, rows of books and scrolls remained, some coated in dust, others perfectly preserved by lingering enchantments.
He ran his fingers over their spines, tracing the Valyrian script. Histories of dragonlords. Spells of old. Records of Valyrian wars and conquests.
One book stood out—its cover bound in dragonhide, its pages thick with ink that had not faded. It spoke of lost bloodlines, of Valyrian noble families who had perished in the Doom. But one passage caught his eye:
"Many dragons may not like being caged most would prefer to fly free and like them their riders and their lines cannot be contained only in Valyria because of that nowadays many have selected new places of residence instead of Valyria."
Hadrian frowned. The words hinted at survivors, at Valyrians who might still live, hidden somewhere in the world.
He tucked the book away, knowing that whatever lay within its pages might change everything.
Before leaving the ruins, Hadrian's gaze caught upon a massive mural, stretching across an entire wall of the chamber.
It depicted dragonlords standing side by side with their beasts, their figures draped in flowing robes, crowns upon their heads. Their dragons, great and powerful, curled around them, their scales shimmering in hues of black, red, and gold.
But one stood apart.
At the mural's center, a dragon unlike the others loomed—its body vast, its scales pale as moonlight, its eyes a cold, icy blue.
It was not a Valyrian dragon.
It was something else.
The realization sent a chill through Hadrian. The Valyrians had tried to tame it.
And if one had tried once... someone might try again.
Hadrian carefully secured his findings before stepping back through the ruined corridors of the mansion. He had what he needed—texts, relics, and knowledge that had been buried for centuries.
But the true treasure lay beyond these walls.
If the sunken ship still rested beneath the harbor's waters, its cargo of ice dragon scales intact, then he held the key to reviving a lost experiment—one that could change the balance of power forever.
The ruins of Valyria had given him their secrets.