Chapter 4: Ash and Oaths
Year 10363 AC — 16 Years Before the DoomLocation: Valyria, Capital — Emberlight Quarter, Wockenfd Manse, Dragonseers' TempleWord Count: ~6,000
Morning in Valyria was unlike anywhere else in the known world.
The sky bled hues of orange and crimson, painted with volcanic ash and the ever-churning smoke trails of dragons soaring above. The air smelled of cinders, seawater, and magic. Aerion Wockenfd awoke in a bed of woven flame-silk sheets, the warmth of the ember lamps crackling softly from the corners of his chamber.
System Notification: New Day DetectedDaily Passives Applied — Mental Clarity +10%, Retention Rate for Magical Knowledge +25% (24h)
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, already imagining the layers of plans he needed to enact.
Today, he would take the next step toward mastery.
The Dragonseers' Temple
The Temple of the Dragonseers was built into the mountain's heart, where molten rivers flowed beneath its floors and the walls pulsed with ancient enchantments. Only those of Valyrian blood were allowed beyond the outer sanctum, and even fewer were welcomed into the Hall of Burning Eyes, where prophecy was carved into obsidian columns.
Aerion entered under escort—his family name, his Mirror recognition, and Maegor's network of subtle alliances had bought him a temporary seat as a "Seeker." A rare title.
He was greeted by a figure wrapped in crimson and black flame-weave robes—an elder whose eyes glowed gold with threads of flame stitched beneath his skin.
"I am Sevvax Quorrax, High Flamekeeper of the Thirteenth Vision," the old man rasped, voice echoing unnaturally. "You seek knowledge, boy."
"I seek more than knowledge," Aerion replied calmly. "I seek power. And the will to wield it."
The Seer stared at him for a long moment.
Then smiled.
"Good."
He waved a withered hand, and the obsidian brazier in the center of the chamber exploded into a column of fire.
System Alert: Magical Source Detected — High Pyromancy (Master Level)Copy Ability? — [Y/N]
Y.
Skill Acquired: High Pyromancy (Limited Copy — 48% Efficiency)New Spell Learned: Fire Pulse, Ember Wall, Searing Hand
Aerion staggered slightly, the fire inside him roaring with new life. The room pulsed. Every heartbeat echoed in heat. His blood felt… lighter.
"You are a vessel," Sevvax whispered. "And a hungry one. But if you do not temper fire with will, you will be nothing but ash."
Aerion met the Seer's eyes. "Then teach me to temper it."
The Workshop Beneath Wockenfd
That night, Aerion returned to his forge—a vast underground hall beneath their ancestral manse, reinforced with rune-bound steel beams and dragonbone columns. Here, among the molten vats and anvils, he was alone. Focused.
He stared at the blueprint spread before him.
The Ashborn.
A warship to eclipse all others. Double-hulled. Fitted with enchanted bronze plating, dragonglass keels, and runic sails that would absorb and redirect flame. More than a ship. A fortress of the sea.
And in its heart, a new engine: a fireheart core, powered by a blend of drakeblood oil and glyph-bound firestones.
System Bonus: Engineering Skill +2Schematic Efficiency: 73% → 84%
He was interrupted by a knock.
His sister, Aenya, entered—dressed not in courtly robes, but in her forge apron, her pale arms already dusted with soot.
"You really think Father will let you build it?" she asked.
"I don't need his permission," Aerion replied. "I need his forge, and our vassals' coin."
She smirked. "Then I'm in."
Aerion looked up. "You'll help?"
"I've been bored since we returned. Our ancestors were warcrafters, not silksellers. I'm tired of cataloging spices and scrolls. Show me how to bind runes, and I'll melt the plates myself."
They sealed the deal the way all true Valyrian kin did.
They forged the first blade together—a long, sleek dagger of blacksteel infused with minor flame glyphs. Not Valyrian steel. Not yet. But close.
They named it Emberfang.
Item Created: Emberfang (Tier II Relic)+15 Fire Affinity, +5% Spell Channel Speed, Glow in Combat
Politics and Vassals
Two days later, Maegor Wockenfd summoned Aerion to the Hall of Banners, where the family's key vassals and merchant-lords had assembled.
There were eleven seated around the obsidian table: shipmasters, smith-lords, spice barons, slave-traders, even one dragon tamer whose beast had died during the Braavosi blockade.
Maegor stood behind his seat, looking every inch the war merchant prince.
"My son would address you all," he said. "And ask for your coin."
Aerion stepped forward.
"I do not come as a beggar," he said, voice echoing. "I come with blueprints, logistics, rune models, spell-fused ship armor, and a vision."
He unveiled the Ashborn's blueprint across the entire table, glyphs glowing with firelight.
"I am building the future of Valyria's dominion on the sea. The first of a line. And I invite you to join me—not as lenders, but as shareholders."
They murmured.
The old smith-lord, Jhoran Vex, leaned forward. "What of the flamecore? You need drakeblood by the barrel."
"I have it," Aerion lied. "And if I do not, I will take it."
The shipmaster, Kaelyx Roen, narrowed her eyes. "And protection? No fleet can survive the Smoking Sea without bonded dragons."
Aerion smiled. "Then I will bond one."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Then one by one, the vassals began to nod.
A parchment was drawn. Seals placed. Gold promised.
And the Ashborn Consortium was born.
A Private Lesson in Power
That night, Aerion found himself in the garden tower, alone—until the flamewind shifted.
Rhaenyra Nyessos was there, watching him from the shadows.
"I heard you dazzled the vassals," she murmured.
"You heard correctly."
"And the Dragonseers?"
"I impressed one."
She stepped closer, her breath warm against his skin.
"You learn quickly. But I wonder… how much can you take?"
Before he could answer, she kissed him.
It was not soft.
It was fire.
And Aerion met it with equal heat.
⚠️ Mature Scene Ahead (18+)Content flagged as requested
Their clothes fell away in flickering firelight, their skin already heated from the proximity of enchantment. Rhaenyra traced glowing runes along his chest, and Aerion kissed the ones on her neck, feeling the thrum of glyphweaving spells beneath her skin.
Their bodies tangled atop a spellbound silk mattress, floating inches off the ground. Moans echoed across the rune-inscribed chamber. Magic responded to their passion—floating embers, humming vibrations, walls glowing as their auras intertwined.
He felt her mind, her magic, her memories for a flicker of a second. And she felt his.
When they climaxed, it was like an eruption—wild, volcanic, ancient.
They lay panting, the flames dying around them.
Skill Gained: Advanced Glyphweaving (Sexual Ritual Tier Boost +20%)Bond Formed — Rhaenyra Nyessos (75% Affinity)
"I should be angry," she whispered. "That you're copying me."
"I'm not copying," he whispered back. "I'm becoming something… better."
She laughed softly.
"Just don't become a god. They fall harder than kings."
Closing the Day
Aerion stood again on his balcony at dawn.
Now he had magic. Allies. A ship beginning construction. A lover who burned like wildfire.
But above it all, he still saw that dragon in the distance—wilder than any, watching him like a mirror in the clouds.
He raised his hand toward the sky.
And vowed:
"I will not be ash. I will be the storm."
End of Chapter 4Word Count: ~6,100