The Dream of Ash and Wings
The night was heavy with the scent of brimstone. Neron sat alone at the peak of Cair Volakar, a leather-bound tome resting on his knees—one of the twelve relics from the Vault. The Skyshard shimmered quietly in a warded casket nearby, pulsing in rhythm with the mountain's breath.
He hadn't slept in days. Not truly. When he closed his eyes, he saw flames that whispered in ancient tongues. He saw himself clad in armor not yet forged, sitting on a throne carved from molten crystal. And beside him—
A woman. Her face obscured by fire and time.
And behind her… dragons. A hundred of them.
He opened his eyes with a gasp. The stars above had shifted subtly—aligned into a serpent that coiled across the sky.
Kaerys approached from behind, a blade on her back and a scroll in hand.
"You had the dream again," she said softly.
Neron didn't answer at first. He ran his thumb across a Valyrian glyph etched into the tome.
"What does it mean?" she asked.
"That I was never meant to be part of this world," he said quietly. "But I was brought here to shape what comes after."
A Warning from the Black Isles
At dawn, a scout arrived—a lean, sun-darkened rider cloaked in sealskin, bearing the mark of the Sea-Fangs, a coastal Valyrian vassal house sworn to Neron.
He knelt in the courtyard, breath ragged.
"My lord… a darkness has come ashore."
Kaerys frowned. "Another assassin?"
"No. Something worse. We found a village in the Black Isles—emptied. No fire. No blood. Only… silence."
"Raiders?" M'Koro asked.
"No. Not men. Not even dragons. There were marks in the stone. Melting that made no heat. Trees turned to glass."
He pulled something from his satchel. A single black feather—large as a sword, and unnaturally heavy.
Neron held it up to the light. It shimmered faintly, then twisted slightly in his hand, as if trying to pull away.
"Is this what I think it is?" Kaerys whispered.
"Yes," Neron said. "The Ash-Binder walks."
The Scorched Path
They rode fast and silent through the hills south of the Black Isles, Neron leading a handpicked band of warriors: Kaerys, M'Koro, three shadowblades, and two fire-priests bound to his cause.
The land bore the scars of a passing storm—not of wind or rain, but of presence. Trees blackened but unburnt. Grass turned to white ash. Stones that bled when broken.
And then they saw it.
A statue.
Not carved—but flash-formed, seemingly in a moment of agony.
A woman, mid-scream, her arms shielding her child—turned to obsidian.
M'Koro muttered a prayer.
Kaerys knelt beside it. "This is no spell of man. This is older."
Neron approached a nearby ridge. His gaze swept the valley beyond.
At the far end stood a figure—cloaked, skeletal, faceless. The Ash-Binder.
It stood still. Watching. Waiting.
Neron stepped forward. "You crossed fire to find me," he called. "But you'll burn before you reach my shadow."
The Ash-Binder tilted its head. And then it moved.
Not ran. Not walked. It glided, and with every inch forward, the earth blackened.
A Duel of Flame and Void
The sky turned copper as the two forces collided.
The Ash-Binder raised its obsidian blade. Fire around it died. Light dimmed. Its mere presence fed on life.
Neron drew his own weapon—the blade of Kharox, reforged in the Twelve Flames—and it answered with fire that bled gold.
Their swords clashed—heat against void, fire against hunger.
The impact blasted rock and dust into the air. Trees cracked. The land trembled.
The Ash-Binder swung with unearthly strength. Neron parried, barely. His armor hissed where its sword kissed the plates. His blood sparked.
Kaerys screamed his name, hurling a dagger wreathed in dragonfire. It passed through the Ash-Binder like smoke.
Useless.
"It's not fully here!" she shouted. "It's tethered from another realm!"
Neron gritted his teeth.
"Then we cut the tether."
He drew upon the Skyshard's power, calling it into his veins. The crystal's energy writhed through him like lightning through fire.
He slammed his palm to the earth and roared in Valyrian.
"Baesys drakharys!"(Burn the tether of shadows.)
From the depths of the mountain, Vhassaryx screamed—a cry of rage and pain—and from the skies, a torrent of pure dragonfire descended.
The Ash-Binder screeched.
The fire didn't just burn—it unwove it. The tether snapped. The creature vanished in a scream that echoed in every dragon's mind.
And the land fell still.
In the Aftermath
Smoke curled through the ruins.
Neron sat on a broken stone, blood dripping from his hands, eyes glazed. Kaerys tended his wounds in silence.
He whispered, "It wasn't just a weapon. It was a message."
She looked up. "From who?"
He stared at the horizon.
"From those who think they still rule the fire."
Back in Mantarys – A Throne of Cold Flame
Tyragas Maegyr received the news in silence.
The Ash-Binder had failed. The tether severed.
He turned to the crimson priest who had summoned it.
"You said it was eternal."
The priest was pale. "Something… severed it from beyond. Something stronger than flame."
Tyragas hissed. "Then we go back to the old ways."
He drew a dagger carved from the fang of a fire wyrm and sliced his palm.
"Summon the Oath-Fangs. Summon the Scaled Judges. We're done sending shadows. From now on—we send dragons."
End of Chapter 12