He spun around quickly, his eyes falling on the small figure standing at the far end of the hall.
A black cloak hung from the man's shoulders, its hood shadowing his face. Though his frame was short, an aura of ancient power clung to him.
"May I ask who you are?" Lo Quen asked cautiously.
"Osarion. Bloodmage of Valyria, master of this tower, and the true ruler of this city..."
The Bloodmage's voice rasped like sand on stone. "Outsider, you have seen these histories that survived the ages. Do you not carry many questions in your heart?"
He walked slowly along the wall, edging closer.
Lo Quen, without betraying his unease, moved in the opposite direction, so that the two of them circled one another in the great chamber.
"Lord Osarion," Lo Quen said as he moved, "are these murals truly the history of Valyria? I always heard Valyria began as a shepherd people on the Dothraki Sea."
Osarion's laugh grated like metal on metal. "Heh... Valyrians descended from shepherds? That is only half the truth. Do you know why only the Dragonlord houses could tame dragons, while others could not?"
Lo Quen froze. He had no answer.
"It is because the Dragonlord houses are the result of generations of close-blooded unions." Osarion's low voice boomed through the circular hall like a tolling bell. "Long ago, the ancestors of Valyria interbred with a tribe of Lamb Men. It was necessity—Valyrian women were too few. Only a handful of men could wed within their own kind. The rest were forced to take mates from other races. Thus the blood of Valyria was diluted. Some lines lost the gift of dragonriding forever, while those who remained pure became the Dragonlords..."
"The true origin of Valyria lies further east, in the Great Empire of the Dawn. Valyrians are the descendants of the Amethyst Empress, slain by her own brother and husband. After the Long Night, they fled west beyond the Bone Mountains and rebuilt their civilization with blood magic."
"This is the true history of Valyria."
Each word struck Lo Quen like a tremor through the earth.
Valyrians... from Yi Ti? Descendants of the Great Empire of the Dawn?
It made no sense.
"Forgive me, my lord," Lo Quen pressed, "but Valyrians look nothing like the people of Yi Ti. Their hair, their eyes—how could they possibly share the same origin?"
Osarion halted, and Lo Quen instinctively did the same.
"Partly through blood magic. Partly through mixing with the peoples of the West. The Great Empire of the Dawn was the first to wield blood sorcery. Its emperors reshaped their own flesh, evolving their bodies and gaining extraordinary powers. With such changes came altered appearances—hair, eyes, all transformed."
"Then why tell me this?" Lo Quen asked. "Is it only because I am from Yi Ti?"
Osarion's smile grew cold, his tone sinking into a whisper edged with menace. "Because I have been waiting for you. You, the outsider from the East. In the Blackstone, I saw your coming to Tyria. I saw you wield Lightbringer to end the Long Night anew. You are to become the prophesied Azor Ahai. And that is my only chance at rebirth."
He pulled back his hood.
The face revealed was not human. It was a skull-like visage, stretched with pale, withered skin, more lizard than man.
Sunken sockets glowed with crimson bestial eyes. Where a nose should have been, only two tiny slits remained. His jaw jutted forward grotesquely, lips stiff and lifeless, as though they had never known expression.
Most horrifying of all, when his hands slipped from the folds of his cloak, they were covered in thick, dark-gold scales. The edges gleamed with a metallic hardness, yet they carried the stiffness of something long decayed.
This was no man. He was a scaled-claw monster.
Lo Quen's heart dropped as the great doors behind Osarion creaked open. From the shadows poured countless more creatures identical to him, their blood-red eyes burning with venom as they fixed on him.
"These are the Scaleclaws I command with blood magic, stitched together from my own flesh. This fight won't last long... If you surrender quietly, I'll see to it you suffer less."
"Once I strip away your soul, mine will slip in and claim your body. My vessel is already at its limit—yours will become my new host. Don't worry, if you die, I'll simply raise you as a puppet with sorcery and continue the work. Even if you're left maimed, I'll stitch you a flawless body... and at last, I'll be free of this place."
Osarion smiled mockingly, as though speaking of something trivial.
Lo Quen's brow tightened, his heart filled with curses. This bastard meant to seize his body.
There was no time to think further. The Scaleclaws, as if hearing their master's command, launched forward with powerful leaps. Their claws spread wide, gleaming silver with a deadly chill.
Lo Quen stayed calm. These creatures no longer posed any real threat—they were little more than fodder for harvesting Dragon Spirits.
He unleashed [Blazing Inferno], spewing [Dragonflame Breath] from his throat. Rivers of fire, hot as molten lava, poured across the flesh-wrought beasts. The scorching heat blackened and curled their once-proud scales.
The Scaleclaws shrieked sharply as they fell from the air, flames clinging to them like maggots burrowing into bone. The fire crackled and hissed without end, filling the circular hall with the acrid stench of charred flesh.
Osarion wasn't surprised in the least. Instead, he pressed his hand against a section of the wall. At once, the floor of the chamber shuddered violently, as though rocked by an earthquake.
The black stone tiles split apart, and a vast, lightless pit yawned open before Lo Quen.
Its depth could not be seen, but the icy draft rising from within reeked of blood and decay. Three pairs of crimson, predatory eyes flickered in the abyss.
Under the glow of the gemstones, Lo Quen saw it clearly.
A colossal beast, thirty feet tall.
It had the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and a tail formed from a giant serpent.
From its torso jutted yet another goat's head, grotesque and unnatural.
The three pairs of crimson eyes each belonged to one of its misshapen heads.
Another flesh-stitched chimera.
Lo Quen's face darkened. He hadn't expected Osarion to craft not only Scaleclaws, but such an abomination as well.
Though smaller than the purple-feathered bird, he hadn't slain that one by his strength alone.
And birds, with their feathers, had weak points to exploit.
This chimera's body was sparsely furred, its corded muscles laid bare.
Osarion gazed at it in mad reverence. "A chimera—behold the terror of flesh-stitching! Do you see it? This is the power of a Bloodmage! Ah... if only I'd had more time. I could have resurrected even the dragons long thought extinct!"
His voice tore raw from his throat, strange and manic.
The chimera's three heads glared at Lo Quen, jaws opening wide as crimson firelight built in their throats.
...
Outside the tower, Jaelena and Terys still stood off.
Jaelena was resolute—she would wait for Lo Quen.
It wasn't that she feared Terys would actually drag him off to clear the walls. What worried her was what might happen to him inside.
After all, she'd promised her sister he would return unharmed.
Just then, deep horn blasts rolled from the direction of Tyria's Blackstone walls.
Jaelena and Terys' faces changed at once. They exchanged a glance, wasted no words, and quickly marshaled their men toward the walls.
Atop the Blackstone ramparts, the guard who had blown the horn still stared in disbelief.
Terror twisted his face as he peered into the fog.
A vast, endless black sea was advancing, each shadowy figure moving in grim unison.
It was the Scaleclaw Legion, marching in perfect order toward Tyria.