Chapter 9: The Valyrian Zenith and the Cracks in Eternity
Lord Aerion Vaerion – the vessel for Valerius's ancient soul – guided House Vaerion into an era of remarkable prominence. In the decades following his inheritance of Rhaelor's consciousness and power, the House solidified its position not merely as a regional force, but as a sophisticated player in the grander theatre of the Valyrian Freehold. Aerion's body, infused with the vital energies of three absorbed souls and honed by relentless magical practice, exuded an aura of command and arcane mastery that few could ignore. Valerius, cloaked in this formidable guise, played the game of power with the patient expertise of a timeless predator.
The Ignis Chalybs academy, under his direct patronage, flourished, producing mages of exceptional skill and loyalty, their abilities augmented by unique Vaerion techniques that intertwined blood magic with elemental dominion over the geothermal forces of their lands. The House's enchanted metals, tools, and defensive wards were prized for their resilience and potency, commanding high prices in the markets of Valyria and beyond, further swelling their coffers and extending their influence through intricate trade networks.
His relationship with Elaena remained a complex tapestry of unspoken truths and pragmatic alliance. Her divinatory gifts, refined over a long life, often provided prescient glimpses into the shifting political landscapes or the subtle magical undercurrents of Valyrian society. Valerius was certain she harbored deep suspicions about his true nature, about the unnatural continuity of spirit that now wore her son's face after having been her husband. Yet, she never voiced these thoughts directly. Perhaps the sustained prosperity and security of their House, the flourishing of their children and grandchildren, was enough to temper her unease. Or perhaps she, a seer accustomed to the mysteries beyond the veil, had simply resigned herself to the unfathomable destiny intertwined with the Vaerion lineage.
Their grandson, Rhaemon (Aerion's eldest son, and Rhaelor's grandson), was the focal point of Valerius's generational strategy. Now a young man of keen intellect and formidable magical potential, Rhaemon was being meticulously groomed. Valerius poured into him not just arcane knowledge and martial training, but the core philosophies of power, ambition, and the paramount importance of the bloodline that Valerius himself embodied. Elaena observed this intense tutelage with her characteristic quietude, her love for her grandson tinged with a discernible anxiety, a subtle effort to instill in him a measure of compassion and independent critical thought – a gentle counter-current to Valerius's relentless molding.
With House Vaerion's regional dominance firmly established, Valerius, in Aerion's guise, turned his gaze more concertedly towards the heart of the Freehold: Valyria itself. The city was a dazzling, overwhelming testament to Dragonlord might – towers of impossible architecture clawed at skies patrolled by hundreds of dragons, their roars the ambient music of power. The very air thrummed with magic so potent it was a living entity. But beneath this veneer of invincibility, Valerius's ancient, cynical soul perceived the subtle fractures inherent in any empire at its zenith.
He established a permanent, opulent Vaerion manse in a prestigious quarter of the capital, not merely as a residence, but as a nerve center for his expanding operations. He cultivated connections within the powerful merchant guilds, using Corlys (now a wealthy and influential, albeit discreet, figure in his own right) to navigate the labyrinthine economic undercurrents and gather intelligence. He avoided direct confrontation with the oft-arrogant and capricious Archons of the Forty Families, preferring instead to build alliances with older, more scholarly houses, reclusive Dragonlords known for their mastery of obscure lore rather than overt political might. These connections provided access to ancient texts and forgotten magical disciplines that even the Belaerys library had lacked.
It was through one such connection – an ancient house whose ancestors had supposedly been among the first to tame dragons through blood pacts – that Valerius gained access to fragments of texts detailing primordial forms of Valyrian magic, practices that predated even the rise of the Freehold. These spoke of deeper, more dangerous connections to the molten heart of the world, of drawing power not just from surface geothermal activity, but from the true, slumbering consciousness of the planet itself.
This resonated profoundly with Valerius's ambitions for the Ignis Chalybs discipline and his own spiritual evolution. In his most secret sanctum beneath the Vaerion estate, a chamber now shielded by layers of enchantments so complex that even Elaena could not scry past them, he began a series of perilous experiments. He sought to extend his senses, his very will, into these deeper telluric currents, to understand the source of Valyria's power and, perhaps, to bind a fraction of it to his own undying essence.
During one such profound meditative trance, where his consciousness plunged into the fiery abyss beneath the Fourteen Flames, he brushed against something truly ancient – a vast, dormant awareness, impersonal and terrifyingly powerful. And from that contact, a vision seared itself into his soul: a cataclysm of unimaginable scale, fire raining from the skies, the earth splitting asunder, towers melting like wax, and a great shadow devouring the heart of Valyria. It was not a clear prophecy, not a sequence of events he could plot on a timeline, but an overwhelming sensory imprint of inevitable ruin, a doom seeded in the very nature of Valyrian power and its reliance on forces barely understood and recklessly exploited. The timeframe was impossibly distant, perhaps thousands of years hence, but the certainty of it was absolute.
This vision, more potent and visceral than any he had experienced before, galvanized Valerius. His quest for godhood was no longer merely about personal power; it was about transcending the fate of a world, however glorious its present. Valyria, for all its might, was built upon a knife's edge.
His long-term strategies intensified. The dispersal of his bloodline became a paramount concern. He used House Vaerion's expanding trade networks to quietly establish cadet branches, distant settlements, and hidden enclaves in far-flung corners of the known world – from the Basilisk Isles to the shores of Sothoryos, and even small, unassuming footholds in the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea. These were not colonies of conquest, but carefully seeded repositories of Vaerion blood, each carrying the latent potential for his reincarnation, each a safeguard against a singular, localized annihilation. He ensured these offshoots were provided with foundational texts of the Ignis Chalybs and basic Vaerion lore, enough to maintain their magical heritage and their connection – however subconscious – to the prime lineage.
Within Valyria itself, he observed the behavior of the great Dragonlords with renewed acuity. Their arrogance was breathtaking. They bickered over status, engaged in decadent displays of wealth, and treated their vast slave populations with casual brutality. Their reliance on magic and dragonfire was absolute, their understanding of the deeper forces they commanded often superficial. He saw in their hubris, their internal divisions, and their exploitation of both man and nature the very seeds of the distant Doom his vision had foretold. He meticulously documented these observations, his mind a vast archive of societal weaknesses and potential future fault lines.
His magical research also took on a new dimension. He focused not just on power accumulation, but on preservation and adaptation. Could he create magical anchors for his soul, independent of his bloodline, if the unthinkable happened and his lineage was entirely severed? Could he devise methods to shield a small population from catastrophic magical events? He began researching ancient warding techniques, forgotten earth magics, and even theoretical applications of soul transference that might allow him to inhabit non-humanoid forms, if necessary.
Elaena, though unaware of his specific vision, sensed the shift in his priorities, the new urgency in his long-term planning. Her own divinations often gave her fragmented, troubling glimpses of a shadowed future for Valyria, though she could never pinpoint its nature or timing.
"The tapestry of fate frays at the edges, my lord," she told him one evening, her voice heavy with unspoken fears as they stood on a balcony of their Valyrian manse, overlooking the magically illuminated city. "The colors are too bright, the threads stretched too taut. Even the dragons seem restless of late."
Valerius (as Aerion) looked out at the glittering spectacle. "All constructs, no matter how grand, carry within them the seeds of their own unmaking, my lady. The wise man prepares for all seasons, even a winter that may be millennia away."
Her sea-green eyes searched his. "And what does your wisdom prepare for, Aerion? Beyond the continued glory of our House?"
"Survival," he replied, his voice a low thrum of certainty. "And an existence that transcends the fate of fleeting empires and crumbling stone."
He knew his current vessel, Aerion, was aging. He was now in his early sixties. His physical vitality, though still considerable for his age thanks to his potent life force and magical regimen, was undeniably on the wane. Rhaemon, his grandson, was now a man grown, powerful, intelligent, and utterly devoted, his mind thoroughly prepared for the role Valerius intended for him. The cycle would need to turn within the next decade or so.
Valerius intensified Rhaemon's integration into the deepest aspects of House Vaerion's power – its economic empire, its political network, its most guarded magical secrets. He took Rhaemon with him into the hidden sanctum, initiating him into the dangerous art of communion with the deeper telluric currents, carefully guiding him to avoid the pitfalls that could shatter an unprepared mind. He saw Rhaemon's spirit resonate with these profound energies, saw the boy's ambition catch fire, saw the unwavering loyalty in his eyes. The vessel was nearly perfected.
The Valyrian Freehold continued its glorious, oblivious dance towards a destiny Valerius alone perceived with such chilling clarity. He moved among its lords as one of them, yet utterly apart, an ancient intelligence playing a game whose stakes were beyond their comprehension. His current life as Aerion Vaerion had been one of significant advancement – he had elevated his House to new heights, delved into unprecedented magical depths, and laid crucial groundwork for his lineage's long-term survival. The coming transition into Rhaemon would be another vital step, carrying him closer to a power that might withstand even the fall of Valyria and the eventual ruin of its world. The dragon's game was indeed deeper now, played on a stage far vaster than any of his contemporaries could imagine.