The air burned.
Vaemor awoke with a burning sensation beneath his skin, as if he had been plunged into a fiery furnace. Each breath filled his lungs with thick, metallic air, heavy with ash and sulfur. He struggled to sit up, placing his hand on the smooth, warm floor. It was no ordinary stone; it was the color of black glass and had a strangely vivid texture.
He looked up and for a moment forgot to breathe.
He was inside a tower. Not just any tower, but a towering monstrosity of cyclopean walls that rose up and disappeared into the shadows. Twisted columns, engraved with figures of flying dragons, supported a vault adorned with runes that glowed like burning embers. The symbols seemed to move, dancing with the heat.
A groan made him turn.
Kaelyth was nearby, struggling to her feet, her dark hair drenched in sweat. Beyond her, Aerys and Daenyr were dusting themselves off, while Zaryon, Rhaedor, and Maekor still lay on the ground, breathing heavily.
Where the hell are we? Kaelyth muttered hoarsely.
Vaemor did not answer. He walked slowly toward a wall and placed his palm on the engravings. He felt a heartbeat. No, it was not a metaphor: the stone vibrated, as if the tower were breathing.
It's not possible... Aerys whispered, his eyes fixed on the runes. I've seen these symbols before. In old manuscripts...
Symbols of what? Maekor growled, rising awkwardly.
Aerys turned to them, his face pale but lit up with a flash of understanding.
We are in Valyria.
Silence fell upon them all. That word needed no explanation. Valyria: the ruined empire, the cursed land that even the most daring explorers did not survive to set foot on.
Impossible, said Zaryon, bluntly. No one can enter Valyria and remain alive.
Vaemor closed his eyes. The heat, the heavy air, the strange sensation running through his veins... and yet he was still standing. None of them had collapsed.
We are nobody, he said quietly. Not entirely.
What the hell does that mean? Maekor snapped.
It means, Aerys interjected, that the blood protects us. Valyria does not kill those who carry it in their veins. Or not so fast.
The idea hit them all at once. Some tensed, others looked at the ground as if avoiding an uncomfortable truth. The blood. In one way or another, they were bound to it.
"And why are we in this tower?" Kaelyth asked, breaking the silence.
Daenyr, who had been exploring the center of the room, raised his voice:
"Come and see this."
In the center of the room was a pedestal, low and wide, made of the same black glass as the floor. On top of it was a carved bowl with engraved edges and a dark, dried residue.
An altar, said Aerys, leaning over it.
An altar for what? asked Kaelyth.
Aerys ran his fingers over the runes on the rim.
To awaken the tower. That's what the Valyrians did. Blood and words. It's their way of awakening what is asleep.
Vaemor frowned.
Awaken?
Aerys nodded.
I have read that Valyria was not just stone and fire. It was a living empire. Its towers, its forges, its streets... were bound to magic. Everything required sacrifice.
The group exchanged tense glances. Maekor let out a dry laugh.
And what next? One of us cuts off our hand and prays to the dragons?
Vaemor did not respond. His gaze was fixed on the engravings on the walls. They were not just dragons. There were also maps. Lines connecting towers. Circles representing... places.
He moved closer and touched one of the illuminated runes. The heat burned his fingertip, but he did not pull his hand away.
It's not just this tower, he said slowly. There are more.
Everyone looked at him.
What are you talking about? Kaelyth asked.
Vaemor pointed to the mural.
Look. There are seven. He traced his finger over the engraved circles. Seven towers. This is just one of them.
Zaryon crossed his arms.
So what?
So, if this tower is still alive... so are the others, Vaemor replied.
A deep roar interrupted the conversation. It was neither metallic nor human. It was the roar of a creature, distant, but close enough to make their blood run cold.
We're not alone, whispered Daenyr.
Kaelyth gripped the handle of the knife she had found lying on the ground.
Great. Now what?
Vaemor looked at the altar. He remembered Aerys' words. Blood and words. If they wanted answers, if they wanted to survive, they had to start there.
Now, he said, pulling out a small knife he carried with him, we awaken the tower.
He cut his palm. The blood fell into the bowl. The pedestal absorbed the drops and the runes lit up like liquid fire. The entire tower vibrated. The air, which had been suffocating until then, became lighter.
And the moment his blood touched the stone, Vaemor felt a murmur in his mind. Not in a language he knew, but one his blood understood.
"Welcome home."
His heart was beating hard in his chest. He looked at the others and knew that something had changed. The tower was alive. And so were they.
"This... is only the beginning," said Vaemor, without taking his eyes off the runes.
And everyone understood that he was not lying.