Chapter 14: The Whispers of Doom
Time: 10 Years Before the Doom
POV: Kaelen Silvanor
The roar of the Valyrian Freehold was a distant hum in my mind, yet it was growing louder with each passing year. Only ten years remained until the whispers of the Doom would become a deafening cataclysm. My empire in Sothoryos was strong, its shield forged, its sails ready. Now, there was one final obligation I had to fulfill, a personal promise made to a young girl whose life I had saved nearly a century and a half ago: Vaella Balearys. I had given her house a secret advantage, and in return, they had given me the keys to knowledge and a hidden ally within the very heart of the Dragonlords. It was time to pay that ancient debt.
Leaving the burgeoning might of my domain in the capable hands of my Dukes, I prepared for my journey. This time, I travelled with a small, swift vessel from my new fleet, cutting through the eastern waters towards the Smoking Sea. My passage was swift and discreet, utilizing the newfound navigation skills of the River-Whisperers and the stealth of the Sky-Dancers in my crew.
Valyria. The sight of the fourteen flames, eternally burning atop the colossal volcanoes, was as awe-inspiring and terrifying as it had been all those years ago. It was a monument to hubris, a testament to power, and soon, it would be a tomb. Navigating the sprawling capital, its obsidian towers reaching into the sky, I moved as a ghost from the past, my youthful appearance unchanging, my purpose singular.
I sought out the current head of House Balearys, Lord Aerion Balearys, a man whose features held a striking, if diluted, resemblance to Vaella. He received me in a private chamber, confusion and curiosity warring in his eyes as he beheld my unchanged face. We spoke of ancient debts, of favors owed, of a loyalty passed down through generations. Once the recognition finally settled in his mind, replaced by shock and a glimmer of understanding, I delivered my message.
"Lord Aerion," I began, my voice steady, betraying none of the urgency that gnawed at my ancient soul. "I have come to fulfill a promise made to your ancestress, Vaella. I bring you a warning that will decide the fate of your house. The Doom is coming. Not a distant threat, not a fanciful tale. It is inevitable. The fires beneath Valyria are stirring, and soon, they will consume all."
His face paled, then hardened. "Madness! The volcanoes are our strength, Pale One! Our power is unassailable!"
"Your power is built upon a foundation that will crack," I countered, my gaze unwavering. "The Earth remembers its ancient pains. It will cast off its burden. You must leave. Take your house, your kin, your treasures, and flee this place. Believe me or not, that choice is yours. But the truth will be written in fire across the sky."
He scoffed, though I saw a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes. He leaned forward, conspiratorially. "Even if such a folly were possible... it is not unseen. The Targaryens, a minor house by our standards, sailed west two years ago. Took their dragons, their few paltry goods. Scoffed at by all, branded as craven fools fleeing imaginary shadows. They spoke of visions, of dreams. No one believed them."
A faint, grim smile touched my lips. "Then know this, Lord Aerion. The Targaryens were not fools. They were merely too early for their warning to be heeded, and too insignificant to be missed. Their departure is the last sign you will receive. And it is the last thing I will do as a friend to your ancestors."
I leaned in, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "I offer you refuge. An island within my domain in Sothoryos, far from the reach of the Doom's fury, rich in resources, safe from the wider world. But you must move alone. Slowly. Discretely. You cannot alert the other houses, for they will not believe you. You will be mocked, just as the Targaryens were, and your efforts to save your family will be thwarted by their hubris."
"How... how would we explain such a move?" he asked, his mind already spinning, caught between disbelief and a dawning, terrible possibility.
"You will establish trade outposts in Sothoryos," I instructed. "Slowly, over these ten years, you will send your ships, ostensibly to secure new resources, new markets. But on those ships, you will discreetly move your family, your most vital treasures, your most loyal retainers. One by one, family by family, until your core is safe. Others will see it as a wise investment, a clever expansion of trade. They will not see the exodus."
Lord Aerion studied me, his eyes searching my ageless face for any hint of deceit. What he found was only conviction, and perhaps, the chilling echo of a truth too terrible to contemplate. After a long moment, he nodded, a heavy weight settling on his shoulders. "We will consider your words, Pale Wanderer. And your offer."
I knew he would. The seed of doubt, watered by the Targaryens' earlier departure and my unwavering truth, had been planted. My promise to Vaella had been paid. I had given them the means to survive. Now, it was up to House Balearys to choose life over pride, to abandon the doomed glory of Valyria and embark on their own quiet exodus to a new world. I had done all I could.