Even Jaelena, her consciousness already slipping, forced herself to raise her head. She stared at Lo Quen in disbelief, a faint glimmer flickering in her fading gray eyes.
Lo Quen's tone was solemn. "The blood within me can forge a magical pact with humans, reshaping their bodies. The curse of blood magic within you will be purged, granting you strength beyond what you once had..."
Jaelena's violet eyes contracted sharply. "You mean Janice can also be freed from Valyria's curse?"
"Yes."
Lo Quen nodded.
Janice's small hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening as if she scarcely dared believe it.
To cast off the curse that had branded her since childhood—could such a thing truly be possible?
For the first time, a genuine smile broke across Jaelena's icy, beautiful face, fragile as the thaw of first snow.
But it faded almost at once, replaced by heavy gravity.
She remembered Lo Quen's words: "a harsh condition."
Magic never came without cost.
"What is the price of the pact?" Jaelena asked calmly.
The flame of hope in Janice's eyes flickered, unsteady as she waited for the answer.
Lo Quen's gaze swept over both sisters. His words were slow and clear. "You will become my Flame Knights, bound in eternal loyalty to me. Your lives will be tied to mine. If I die in the future, you will die as well."
He was speaking of his third active skill:
Dragonblood Pact (Binds humans as absolutely loyal Flame Knights, bestowing dragon blood and remaking their bodies. Combat power/number increases with bloodline purity. Life becomes bound to the host. Flame Knights can raise the dead as Dragon Soul Guards. Current number: 2. Cost: 1000 Magic per use)
At present, the Dragonblood Pact allowed for two contracts.
He remembered it had begun with only one slot. When his bloodline purity reached 10%, another had unlocked.
By that pattern, one more slot would be gained with every 10% increase.
He had never used the skill before, since it required the other's willing consent. Few would casually bind their very lives to another and swear eternal loyalty.
In Jaelena's heart, the proud blood of the Valyrian Dragonlords roared in protest.
Once this pact of blood and fire was signed, with Lo Quen's unfathomable mastery of magic, there would be no turning back. Their souls would carry the brand forever.
But when her gaze fell on Janice, her sister's face wet with tears, her heart split with pain.
Could she stand by and watch Janice suffer the same fate, consumed by the curse, turned into a mindless beast, dying in agony?
No. She wanted her sister to live—whole, unbroken, free of the curse.
The blood pact was as much a test of character as of power.
She looked at Lo Quen, her eyes conflicted.
As Janice had said, he was a good man.
Unaware he had just been marked with such a label, Lo Quen watched as Jaelena drew a deep breath and said, "I will pledge my loyalty to you. But you must guarantee my sister's safety."
Lo Quen nodded.
He saw it clearly—Jaelena was her sister's shield above all else. Dreams of restoring Valyria would wait; if Janice could live, Jaelena would cast everything else aside.
His gaze shifted to Janice.
She nodded, trusting he would not harm them.
"Good. Then come here and swear your allegiance to me."
A faint smile curved Lo Quen's lips. To gain two knights of Valyrian blood was no small prize.
Jaelena and Janice, however, looked bewildered by his words.
Lo Quen quickly realized—Valyria had no knightly tradition. They didn't even know how to swear an oath.
In truth, he had no need of ceremony. The Dragonblood Pact itself guaranteed absolute loyalty.
But Lo Quen believed ritual gave weight, carving the vow deeper into memory.
Drawing from what he had once read in the original story, he altered it slightly and taught them how to swear their oath.
The modified words stripped away the gods, leaving only an oath sworn before all mankind.
Jaelena was the first to act.
Forcing down her weakness and the turmoil in her chest, she stepped before Lo Quen and sank to one knee, the cold stone biting into her leg.
Unfastening the sword that had accompanied her through countless battles, she laid it flat at Lo Quen's feet.
Lifting her head, she fixed her icy-violet eyes on his. The cold scrutiny that once lived there was gone, replaced by solemnity and resolve.
Lo Quen picked up a long sword left behind by a fallen guard. Raising it, he rested the flat of the blade lightly upon Jaelena's right shoulder. The steel's chill made her shiver.
"Jaelena, do you swear before all men to serve your chosen lord—Lo Quen—as his Flame Knight, bound in absolute loyalty? Do you swear to obey his commands, to defend the weak, protect women and children, and to fight with courage unbroken no matter how hard, how lowly, or how perilous the road ahead?"
His deep voice rolled across the silent battlements.
"I, Jaelena Belaerys, in the name of the Dragonlords of Valyria, Warden of Tyria, and of House Belaerys, swear before all men to pledge my loyalty to Lo Quen. I will safeguard your life, follow your command, and if need be, give my own to fight for you."
Her oath rang with iron certainty, each word sharp as steel clashing on stone, carrying far into the night wind.
Only then did Lo Quen realize—Jaelena belonged to none other than House Belaerys.
Among the Dragonlord families of Valyria, House Belaerys had stood near the very top, far above House Targaryen.
Yet it was the Targaryens who, following prophecy, fled to Dragonstone and after the Doom enjoyed nearly four centuries of prosperity. Even fallen now, their legacy still held sway.
By contrast, House Belaerys was all but extinguished—its name scarcely remembered beyond the ruins of Valyria.
Lo Quen lowered the blade and raised his left hand.
With a flicker of intent, the skin of his fingertip split, and a bead of molten gold welled forth—a drop of Dragonblood, searing with raw Magic.
"Open your mouth."
Jaelena obeyed without hesitation, tilting back her head and parting pale lips.
The golden drop fell as if alive, sliding into her mouth, down her throat, and into her belly.
BOOM.
A heat beyond words erupted inside her.
It was not pain, but as though a tiny sun had ignited within her body.
That pure, raging power surged like a golden fire-dragon, roaring as it coursed through her veins.
Where it passed, the gray-brown scales spread by the curse melted like snow beneath a blazing sun, revealing smooth, unblemished skin.
Strength surged through her, banishing weakness. Exhaustion vanished, replaced by a vibrant new vitality.
And deeper still, shards of strange knowledge took root in her mind like seeds, sprouting and binding themselves to her soul.
The energy coalesced in her consciousness as an ancient scroll wrought from blood and fire. At its crest blazed Lo Quen's name, radiating irrefutable authority.
Without pause, Jaelena signed her true name—Jaelena Belaerys—beneath it.
There was no resistance, no rending agony—only a deep, absolute obedience flowing from her blood to him.
For a moment, she thought she saw Lo Quen not as a man, but as a mighty dragon crowned in golden thorns, his presence like a mountain pressing upon her very soul, stirring awe and instinctive submission.
The bond of blood was forged.
Lo Quen felt it too—the clear, unwavering loyalty of her soul.
The pact had sealed with surprising ease.
Jaelena looked at him, and she knew: she had been remade.
Lo Quen slowly moved the sword from her right shoulder to her left. His voice carried the gravity of a vow:
"I, Lo Quen, swear before all men—Jaelena Belaerys, you shall forever have a place at my hearth. You shall drink from my cup, eat from my table, and I swear your service shall never be stained by dishonor.
Rise."
He turned then to Janice.
Though nervousness flickered in her eyes, hope for her sister's healing and trust in Lo Quen outweighed it.
He repeated the rite, guiding her through the same oath.
When the drop of burning Dragonblood slid down Janice's throat, the contract took hold. At once, the gray-brown scales that marred her right cheek dissolved as if erased, revealing the delicate, porcelain skin beneath.
Her twisted right eye, long robbed of its humanity, now shone once more with the brilliance of a violet gem.
Janice had always been beautiful. Freed of her curse, her face was now flawless—like a work of art so perfect it left one breathless.
Osarion had not lied.
The Valyrian forebears had honed their bloodlines with blood magic, granting their descendants beauty that surpassed mortal limits.
Lo Quen watched the girl's restored features and smiled faintly with relief.
From the first day he had met her, she had been like a startled fawn.
Those scales on her cheek had been chains, weighing her down with sorrow and shame. Her eyes had always darted away, her face hidden behind her hair.
Too young to bear such pain, she had lived burdened by fear that was never hers to carry.
Now, the chains were gone. The shadows had lifted.