Chapter 5: Blood Forged Bonds and Shadowed Lore
The years of Rhaelor Vaerion's adolescence were a crucible, forging his developing physical form, his burgeoning magical abilities, and his deepening influence over House Vaerion. Valerius, the ancient soul within, guided this development with a meticulous, patient hand, like a master artisan shaping a priceless, living weapon. His body, once a frustrating prison of infant helplessness, now pulsed with youthful vitality and the potent thrum of Valyrian blood magic.
By his fifteenth year, Rhaelor was tall and striking, his silver-gold hair a shade brighter than his mother Lyra's, his violet eyes holding an unnerving depth that belied his age. He moved with a quiet grace that hinted at both disciplined power and predatory stillness. His formal education under Malarys had reached its natural conclusion; the tutor, while still respected, could offer little more to a student who absorbed knowledge like a parched desert drinks water and whose intuitive grasp of magic often surpassed his own.
Lord Aerion, now visibly aging, his once fiery spirit banked but still glowing with pride in his grandson, increasingly deferred to Rhaelor in matters of estate management and even local politics. Maegor, Rhaelor's putative father, remained a peripheral figure, his resentment a dull, impotent ember easily smothered by Rhaelor's sheer competence and Lord Aerion's undisguised favoritism. Lyra, his mother, saw in her son the hero of her own internal epic, her devotion unwavering, her belief in his unique destiny absolute. Valerius cultivated these relationships with the precision of a master puppeteer, ensuring loyalty, minimizing friction, and consolidating his own power base.
His true passion, however, lay in the pursuit of magic, specifically the more potent and often shadowed aspects of Valyrian sorcery. While Malarys had provided a solid foundation in elementalism and glyphic magic, Valerius yearned for deeper knowledge, particularly in blood magic and soul-related sorceries – disciplines that resonated with his very essence.
The Vaerion library, while respectable for a minor house, held only surface-level texts on these subjects. Valerius knew that the truly profound lore was jealously guarded by the great families, hidden in private vaults or whispered only to chosen initiates. He began to subtly direct House Vaerion's resources towards acquiring rarer scrolls and artifacts. Through carefully orchestrated trades – offering uniquely potent volcanic wines or newly discovered mineral earths from their lands (often "discovered" thanks to Rhaelor's uncanny geological senses) – he managed to acquire a handful of older, more obscure texts.
One such acquisition was a fragmented treatise on "Sanguine Harmonics," a Valyrian theory that posited blood not merely as a life fluid or magical focus, but as a resonant medium capable of storing memory, power, and even ancestral will across generations. This, Valerius realized with a thrill of recognition, was a theoretical framework for what he was. The text hinted at rituals for awakening latent ancestral power, for forging blood-pacts of unbreakable loyalty, and, most tantalizingly, for influencing the qualities passed down through a bloodline.
"The blood sings, young Rhaelor," Malarys had once said, gesturing to an anatomical chart of a Valyrian sorcerer, veins glowing faintly with inner light. "To the skilled ear, it tells tales of a thousand ancestors, of dragons and the fire-forged will that mastered them. Listen closely, and you might hear your own destiny."
Valerius listened, and what he heard was confirmation. His reincarnation, his soul-devouring, these were not random quirks of fate but extreme manifestations of underlying Valyrian magical principles, warped and amplified by his unique origins as Sal Moretti. He began to experiment, cautiously, with the rituals described in the Sanguine Harmonics treatise. He used his own blood, drawn with a silver ritual knife in the privacy of his heavily warded chambers, to trace complex glyph-sequences on obsidian tablets, meditating upon the desired traits he wished to strengthen within his own lineage – magical aptitude, resilience, intellect, and above all, a strong receptivity to his soul should he need to reincarnate into a future descendant.
These practices were not without risk. Blood magic, even the "cleaner" forms, walked a razor's edge. It drew upon life force, and missteps could lead to physical decay, madness, or attract unwanted attention from entities that lurked in the shadowed corners of the magical spectrum. But Valerius was Sal Moretti reborn – caution was his watchword, ruthlessness his engine. He proceeded slowly, meticulously, always testing, always observing, his powerful will a bulwark against unseen dangers.
His soul-sight grew sharper. He could now perceive the intricate tapestry of blood-bonds within his own family, the faint echoes of past Vaerions, and, most importantly, the unique resonance of his own spiritual signature woven through his physical form. He began to believe he might, with time and practice, learn to consciously direct his soul upon death, perhaps even to choose his next vessel if multiple descendants were available. The thought of such control was intoxicating.
Around his seventeenth year, a crisis emerged that provided both a test and an opportunity. A neighboring minor house, the Tarareons – known for their belligerence and a strain of particularly unstable fire mages – laid claim to a section of Vaerion land that contained a newly discovered vein of valuable fire-opals. The Tarareons were slightly stronger militarily, with a few more household guards and a reputation for aggressive expansion. Direct conflict would be costly for House Vaerion.
Lord Aerion was for immediate, forceful retaliation, his old Dragonlord pride flaring. Maegor, predictably, blustered about honor but offered no viable strategy. It was Rhaelor who counseled a different approach.
"Grandfather," he said calmly, during a tense family council, "the Tarareons are like ill-tempered hounds – they bark loudly but will back down if faced with a more cunning predator, or if their prize is shown to be poisoned."
He proposed a multi-pronged strategy. First, to publicly and legally contest the claim through the Prefecture's adjudicators, buying time. Second, to subtly spread rumors – backed by carefully "leaked" false geological surveys he himself created – that the opal vein was dangerously unstable and prone to emitting noxious, magic-dampening gases. Third, and most audaciously, he suggested a direct, but non-violent, magical confrontation.
"Their head of house, Lord Garon Tarareon, fancies himself a master fire sorcerer," Rhaelor explained. "I propose a formal challenge: a duel of magical skill, not to the death, but for the disputed land. If I win, they renounce their claim. If I lose… well, I do not intend to lose."
Lord Aerion was aghast. "You would risk yourself, Rhaelor? Garon is twice your age, with decades of experience!"
Lyra wept, pleading with him not to go.
But Rhaelor was resolute. He had assessed Garon Tarareon during previous regional conclaves. The man was powerful, yes, but also arrogant, overconfident, and his magic, while flashy, lacked finesse and true depth. Valerius knew he could exploit those weaknesses.
More importantly, this was a calculated risk to significantly enhance House Vaerion's (and his own) prestige.
After much debate, Aerion reluctantly agreed, his hope in Rhaelor warring with his fear. The challenge was issued and, as Rhaelor predicted, Garon Tarareon, eager to humiliate the "upstart Vaerion boy," accepted with alacrity.
The duel was held on neutral ground, a barren volcanic plateau, witnessed by representatives from several other minor houses. Garon Tarareon, a burly man with a fiery temper to match his magic, was all bluster and spectacle, summoning massive gouts of flame that scorched the earth.
Rhaelor, by contrast, was a picture of calm control. He met Garon's onslaught not with overwhelming force, but with precision and cunning. He used smaller, intensely focused bursts of fire to deflect and redirect Garon's attacks. He employed glyphic shields he had personally designed, imbued with his own blood, that shimmered with an unnatural resilience, absorbing and dissipating the Tarareon's raw power.
The turning point came when Garon, frustrated by Rhaelor's elusiveness and skillful defense, overextended himself in a massive attack. As the Tarareon lord paused, panting, to gather his strength, Rhaelor struck. He didn't launch a fireball. Instead, he focused his will, drawing upon the geothermal energies beneath the plateau and a technique hinted at in one of his rarer texts – a form of sympathetic resonance. He slammed his staff, capped with a large, intricately carved bloodstone, onto the ground.
A deep tremor ran through the earth. The air around Garon shimmered. Then, with a sharp crack, the very ground at Garon's feet began to glow, superheating from below. Garon yelped, leaping back as small pockets of magma bubbled to the surface, his boots smoking. He hadn't been directly attacked by Rhaelor's fire, but by the very land he stood upon, turned against him by Rhaelor's will.
It was a display of subtle, yet terrifyingly potent, magical control.
Humiliated and unnerved, his bluster extinguished, Garon Tarareon conceded. House Vaerion had won. The legend of Rhaelor Vaerion, the young sorcerer who could command the earth's fire, spread like wildfire through the prefecture. Their prestige soared. Lord Aerion wept with pride. Lyra saw it as further proof of her son's divine destiny.
Valerius, however, took the victory in stride. It was a calculated outcome. The true prize was not the land, but the fear and respect he had instilled. He had also, during the duel, subtly "tasted" Garon Tarareon's magical signature, analyzing its strengths and flaws, adding another layer to his vast mental archive of Valyrian magic.
In the aftermath of this triumph, Lord Aerion formally named Rhaelor as his sole heir, effectively sidelining Maegor permanently. He also entrusted Rhaelor with a Vaerion family secret: a hidden geothermal cave system deep beneath their estate, where the magical energies were exceptionally potent. Within these caves was a small, ancient shrine, and a collection of obsidian tablets inscribed with the Vaerions' deepest ancestral lore – fragments of rituals, prophecies, and bloodline techniques far older and more potent than anything in their public library.
"This is our heart-blood, Rhaelor," Aerion whispered, his voice frail as he showed him the shrine. "Few Vaerions in recent generations have had the strength or aptitude to truly understand it. Perhaps you will."
Valerius felt a surge of anticipation. This was the kind of hidden knowledge he craved. He began to spend hours in the shrine, deciphering the archaic glyphs, meditating in the supercharged atmosphere. The tablets spoke of blood alchemy, of forging bonds with the land itself, of drawing power directly from the volcanic heart of Valyria. They even hinted at methods of preserving consciousness, or a fragment of it, within the bloodline beyond death – a primitive form of what he already possessed, but one that could perhaps augment his own unique abilities.
As he approached his twentieth year, Valerius knew it was time to consider the next crucial step in his long-term plan: his own marriage and offspring. He needed to ensure the continuation of his specific bloodline, preferably with a mate who would bring her own potent magical heritage into the mix, further strengthening future generations – future vessels.
This was not a matter of love or companionship for him. It was a strategic imperative. He began to subtly assess the eligible daughters of other minor, and perhaps even a few aspiring major, Dragonlord houses. He needed intelligence, magical aptitude, a strong lineage, and preferably, a political alliance that would benefit House Vaerion.
His gaze fell upon a name mentioned in dispatches from Valyria's capital: Elaena Belaerys. The Belaerys family, though not one of the Forty, was an ancient and respected line, known for their skilled dream-walkers and diviners, and they had distant ties to a family that still possessed dragons. Elaena was reputed to be both beautiful and possessed of a keen magical intellect, with a particular aptitude for scrying and prophetic arts. Such an alliance would be ambitious for House Vaerion, but Rhaelor's growing reputation might just make it feasible. Her skills in divination could also be an invaluable asset.
He discussed the possibility with Lord Aerion, framing it as a strategic alliance that would elevate House Vaerion and provide powerful heirs. Aerion, emboldened by Rhaelor's successes, agreed to make discreet inquiries.
Valerius felt no personal connection to this unseen Elaena Belaerys. She was a name, a set of desirable traits, a vessel for future Vaerion (and therefore, Valerius) blood. His heart, the cold, calculating core of Sal Moretti, remained untouched. His descendants were tools, stepping stones on his path to godhood. And he would choose his tools with utmost care.
The path ahead was fraught with the intricate politics of Valyria, the dangers of forbidden magic, and the ever-present shadow of the future Doom he alone vaguely anticipated. But Valerius, now fully embodied as Rhaelor Vaerion, master of his house in all but name, felt a cold confidence. He had woven himself into the fabric of this world, his roots digging deep into its volcanic soil. He was learning its deepest secrets, preparing to bend its power to his immortal will. Each soul absorbed, each magical art mastered, each strategic victory won, was another step towards a dawn of his own making. The dragon in the cradle had grown, and it was beginning to test the strength of its wings.