Rhaenys's body curled inward once more, her form tightly wrapped by an ocean of spiritual power.
In an instant, she became a brilliant full moon again, radiating blinding light.
Visenya showed no fear. Gripping the Plagueblade, she charged straight toward the moon formed of concentrated psychic energy and thrust her sword fiercely into it.
The moment the blade touched the moon, the vast spiritual power erupted like a detonated psychic bomb.
The overwhelming shockwave hurled Visenya into the air like a storm tide. She arced through the sky before crashing heavily to the ground.
Rhaenys, however, dissolved into an ethereal phantom, weaving lightly through the raging blast of psychic force, untouched.
Her assault did not falter for even an instant.
The Sept of the Seven poured in the strength of thousands, endlessly supplying her with power. With that boundless flow of spiritual energy, she seemed to wield an infinite wellspring.
She curled her body again, transforming into a sphere of psychic light that blazed with searing white radiance.
The sphere kept swelling at a terrifying pace, like an energy singularity on the verge of eruption, radiating an aura that chilled the soul.
Just as she prepared to hurl the orb, brimming with dreadful spiritual force, Rhaenys's limbs suddenly froze stiff. She could not move, bound as if by invisible chains.
"Aegon's poison! Sister—you're truly treacherous!!" Rhaenys's face twisted in horror, her eyes wide as she glared at Visenya, shouting the accusation.
Yet the full-moon sphere she had become kept expanding without pause.
Unaware of the sudden turn within the Red Keep, the bishops of the Sept of the Seven continued to obey Pope Rhaenys's command, relentlessly channeling the faith of countless believers into her.
The massive moon slowly rose, looming high over Dragon Square.
Its dazzling white glow flooded the plaza, bright as day.
Paralyzed by the bone-poison of the Plagueblade, Rhaenys could not act on her own. She was forced to keep absorbing the torrent of spiritual power.
That power, in turn, was consumed by her technique, feeding the orb and magnifying its destructive might.
The luminous full moon swelled ever larger, its light and oppressive force so overwhelming that the combatants in the square stopped fighting, frozen in awe.
All stared upward in shock at the moon's relentless expansion, its sheer mass squeezing the very air around it.
They could feel it—inside that sphere surged terrifying psychic power, like a volcano of the spirit about to erupt, ready to swallow everything whole.
If that moon exploded...
Everyone in Dragon Square would be reduced to mindless husks by the blast.
Even the smallfolk of the Red Keep might collapse unconscious, plunging the castle into disaster unlike anything before.
"Maegor, Aegon—run!" Visenya shouted, her voice urgent. She spread her wings, ready to flee the looming psychic moon.
But at that moment, from within the blazing white sphere, came Rhaenys's wild, piercing laughter:
"Sister, don't run! Stay, and come to hell with me!!"
From the orb nearly ten meters wide, a chain of white light suddenly lashed out, tough as iron, streaking toward Visenya.
She lifted the Plagueblade at once, ready to sever it.
But to her shock, the chains weren't aimed at her body at all. Instead, they shot into the ground on either side, burrowing deep in an instant.
The blade couldn't even touch them.
Then the chains snapped taut, pulling with tremendous force.
Dragged by that power, the blazing moon hurtled toward Visenya like a runaway cannonball, carrying the weight of apocalypse.
Everyone in Dragon Square stood frozen, stunned speechless, as if time itself had stopped.
The instant the moon of white fire smashed into Visenya, it was as if a psychic nuclear bomb had detonated.
A tsunami of mental force blasted outward in every direction with unimaginable speed.
Aegon's skull rang with a deafening roar. His eyes rolled back, his mind blanked, and thought itself vanished. His body stiffened, collapsing helplessly to the ground.
The scene before the steps of Visenya Palace was even more gruesome.
The Targaryen courtiers gathered there were ordinary men, with no defenses against such force. Swept up in the psychic storm, many bulged their eyes so wide they seemed about to burst from their sockets. The veins in their brains could bear no more—bursting one after another, spraying blood in all directions.
In an instant, they all slipped into a state of stupor, eyes vacant and faces blank, collapsing to the ground—alive or dead, none could tell.
The terrifying psychic shockwave surged like a colorless tide, mercilessly sweeping over everyone in the square.
Maegor clutched his ears with both hands, collapsing to his knees in agony, releasing heart-wrenching screams.
Young Aegon, seeing the danger earlier, had already turned and sprinted for the edge of the square. Yet even so, under the force of the psychic blast, he stumbled and crashed heavily to the ground. His body skidded across the stone for more than ten meters before coming to a stop, battered and disheveled.
Jaehaerys and several other warriors fared no better. Their eyes rolled back as they convulsed violently on the ground, bodies trembling uncontrollably under the psychic impact.
Damon, commander of the Sacred Crusader Legion, had the weakest spiritual strength of all who took part in the Trial of Seven. Now, the burden proved unbearable.
Foam spilled from his lips. Within mere breaths, the blood vessels in his brain ruptured one after another. Blood gushed from his seven orifices, and in an instant, life fled his body. He toppled stiffly to the ground, becoming the first casualty of this disaster—the first to fall in the Trial of Seven.
When the shockwave of the full moon's explosion had passed, the residual psychic energy swirled in the air, forming a small tornado.
Maegor clenched his teeth, forcing himself to endure the torment that wracked both body and soul. Trembling, he pushed himself to his feet.
Bloodshot eyes blazing, he roared with a hoarse, broken voice:
"Mother!!"
Staggering forward, Maegor forced his way step by step toward the heart of the psychic storm.
The molten gold in his heart suddenly surged, flowing like raging magma. It coursed to his skin, hardening in an instant into a suit of blazing golden armor that shone with blinding light.
Terrifying demonic energy erupted from him, colliding head-on with the storm of psychic power around him.
At last, Maegor reached the storm's center.
But the sight that awaited him made his vision blur with rage, his fury burning hot enough to consume the world.
There lay Queen Regent Visenya, sprawled lifeless on the ground. Her skull had shattered, blood and brain matter pooling around her head. Her body was limp, drained of all vitality.
Beside her, Pope Rhaenys also lay fallen. Her body was a ruin of torn flesh, skin flayed and broken with not an inch left whole. She too lay motionless, her fate uncertain.
...
After the storm of psychic power had swept through, Aegon lay sprawled on the ground. From time to time his body twitched faintly, his mind trapped in chaos.
Suddenly, within his mental sea, a green light appeared without warning. It wrapped tightly around two souls, then pulled them swiftly away through a passage.
'The passage of the Emerald Dream! Could those two souls be Visenya and Rhaenys?' The thought flickered instinctively through Aegon's mind.
Earlier, he had set the Emerald Dream to automatically draw in the souls of Visenya and Rhaenys from his bloodline.
After a long while, Aegon finally opened his eyes.
His vision was blurred, the world doubled and unreal, as if he were gazing through a haze.
In his daze, he saw Maegor not far away, clutching Visenya's body, wailing in unbearable grief.
Aegon forced his head to turn toward the viewing platform.
Chaos reigned there. Bodies lay scattered everywhere—some foaming at the mouth, others with vacant eyes—victims of the psychic blast, their lives hanging by a thread.
'Thank the gods Mother and my sister weren't here,' Aegon thought, his heart pounding with lingering fear.
He had no time to spare for the carnage of the Trial of Seven. With desperate urgency, he ran for the chambers of Aerea and Rhaella.
The psychic blast unleashed by the moon's explosion had swept across the entire Red Keep. Aerea and Rhaella were still so young, their bodies frail—they might not withstand such a force.
When he reached the Visenya Wing, the sight before him made his heart sink.
Rhaena sat weeping bitterly, clutching her daughters tightly in her arms.
Terror seized Aegon. He rushed forward, his eyes fixed on the girls in her embrace. It was indeed Aerea and Rhaella.
Their eyes were shut tight, unconscious. But faintly, their chests still rose and fell with breath.
Relief flooded him. As long as they lived, there was hope.
He soothed Rhaena in hushed tones, urging her to lay the twins gently on the bed and tend to them with care.
Once they were settled, Aegon immediately turned back toward Dragon Square, racing with all his strength.
When he returned, gasping for breath, he looked across the square. But Maegor, Aegon the Younger, Jaehaerys, and Alysanne were nowhere to be seen.
Tyanna and several dragonriders were preparing the bodies of Pope Rhaenys and Queen Regent Visenya.
Aegon hurried forward.
He demanded to know what had happened after his departure.
Tyanna's face was grave as she told him: after the devastating psychic storm, Maegor had briefly mourned Queen Visenya, then thrown himself once more into the Trial of Seven.
Aegon the Younger, Jaehaerys, and Alysanne, knowing they stood no chance against him, mounted their dragons and fled to save themselves.
King Maegor, unwilling to let slip such a perfect chance to wipe out his foes, mounted Cannibal at once and pursued the three White Party remnants.
Thus, only the surviving dragonrider nobles remained in the square.
Aegon's gaze swept over the plaza. There lay the corpses of three White Party commanders: Damon, the Sacred Crusader commander; Garibald "Sevenstar," leader of the Warrior's Sons; and Skullhead Harry, captain of the Starry Warriors.
Clearly, Maegor's side had won the battle—but the cost of victory was devastating.
Queen Regent Visenya had fallen. The loyal ministers of the Red faction had all perished in the storm of psychic power, not one spared.
It was plain that Maegor's days ahead would be fraught with hardship.
He had won the Trial of Seven, but lost his most steadfast supporters. With almost no loyal officials left in court, he stood utterly alone.
In contrast, though Pope Rhaenys had fallen, the White Party still retained a large body of faithful followers who steadfastly supported the continuation of her lineage as the Faith's leadership.
The reason was simple: the Rhaenys line had successfully freed the Faith of the Seven from the heavy shackles imposed by Regalus. If Maegor were to claim the papacy, he would almost certainly carry on the policies of Regalus Aegon. He would forcibly dissolve the Faith's two primary militant orders—the Warrior's Sons and the Knights of the Star—and might even drive the Holy Crusade back across the Narrow Sea to Essos. Such measures would guarantee irreconcilable conflict between Maegor's Red Party and the Faith of the Seven.
Even if Maegor prevailed in the Trial of Seven and placed the papal crown upon his head, few among the devout would willingly heed his command.
...
At Dragon Square, Aegon watched as the dragon kin busied themselves with tending to the two Dowager Queens' corpses. Unbidden, the faces of his two sisters rose in his thoughts.
He turned to Tyanna. "I remember you once said you were one of the main developers of the dragon kin, didn't you?"
Tyanna had been standing with her arms folded, lost in her own thoughts, when his question cut across her reverie. She did not seem irritated, though. Calmly, she replied, "Yes. Why do you ask?"
"My two sisters were struck by the psychic shockwave and now lie unconscious. After thinking it through, I believe turning them into dragon kin may be the only way to save their lives and wake them again. Can you help me?" Aegon asked earnestly.
Tyanna's eyes flicked to the corpses of the two queens. A faint smile touched her lips. "Of course. Wait here. I'll fetch some materials."
Aegon watched as she approached the bodies, split open their chests, and extracted two round, fleshy organs. She carefully placed them into a jar at her waist.
"All right. Let's go. You lead the way," Tyanna said as she turned back to him.
Aegon's eyes lingered on the jar. "Life Seeds can't be reused, can they?" he asked, frowning.
As someone well-versed in blood sorcery, he knew that Life Seeds were single-use from the moment they were created, never able to serve again. Dragonborn, dragon kin, and fiends alike were all the products of artificial alteration, their descendants unable to inherit those unnatural gifts.
That meant that each time a dragonborn died in Westeros, their number diminished by one. The same was true of fiends and dragon kin—their numbers could be controlled or cut off entirely by halting the techniques that created them.
This had always been Aegon's goal: to restore the world's original order and see dragon fiends and all their kin wiped from existence. If he could become Regalus, he would seize New Citadel and put an end to its experiments that bred demons from human stock.
Tyanna tapped the jar with her fingers and smiled. "We've never before obtained the Life Seed organs of dragonborn. Until now, we had to use the most magic-rich parts of awakened beings to craft dragon kin. But now we've secured the Life Seeds of the two most powerful dragonborn alive. Perhaps Aerea and Rhaella will bring the world some unexpected surprises. Heh." Her smile carried a glimmer of anticipation.
Aegon gave no reply. His face betrayed nothing; all that filled his mind was saving his sisters.
He hastened with Tyanna to the bedchamber in Visenya's side hall. There he told Rhaena he needed a quiet place to treat the twins. Though worry clouded her face, she silently withdrew.
Tyanna unfastened her belt. When unfolded, the wide leather strip revealed rows of neatly arranged tools—knives, scissors, forceps, and more.
Aegon stood by in silence, watching her work.
In truth, the making of dragon kin and the transplantation of Life Seeds were not so different. What set them apart was that the flesh of the chosen awakened one had to be compatible with the recipient—otherwise, death was almost certain. The site of implantation, however, was flexible: if the chosen part came from an eye, it was transplanted into the eye; like was set against like.
Tyanna began with Aerea. Since it was a maiden, the Life Seed was affixed to her heart. She worked swiftly, using herbal witchcraft to stanch the bleeding.
Aegon recognized traces of blood sorcery in her method, though it had been twisted so far from its roots as to seem an entirely different craft.
When the transplant was complete, Aerea stirred. The girl writhed on the bed as though trapped in a nightmare.
Seeing the wound on her chest knit closed, Aegon knew the match had taken and breathed out in relief.
Next came Rhaella. She received Rhaenys's Life Seed organ, and again, there was no sign of rejection.
Only then did Aegon's heart finally settle.
The twin sisters had grown up alongside him since they were small. Long before he regained the memories of his past life, their bond of kinship had already run deep.
The thought of Aerea and Rhaella left to waste away as husks for the rest of their lives was something Aegon could never accept.