Chapter 3 — The Star-Made Sword and the Dragon of Dawn
The air grew colder the deeper they marched.
The obsidian hallways of the Great Vault twisted like the veins of some ancient beast, lit only by the steady flame of Julius' torch and the faint white glow pulsing through the stone itself. Every step echoed through the ruins of a world that had died long before theirs was born.
Behind him, the commanders of all three orders marched in silence — Hochmeister Alaric of the Teutonic Order, Grand Crusader Raymond of the Hospitallers, and Marshal D'Aumont of Fontainebleau. Eight thousand elite knights, hardened and disciplined, waited outside the vault for Julius' command.
But here, in the dark, only three followed him.
A tremor ran through the floor. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Raymond whispered, "My king… the vault breathes."
"It is not the vault," Julius murmured. "Something sleeps beneath it."
He pushed forward.
The Chamber of the Starfall
The corridor opened into a vast dome, larger than any cathedral of Europe. The ceiling was carved with constellations — but not Earth's constellations. Strange stars, spirals, and comet paths glowed faintly like a frozen sky pressed into stone.
At the center of the room stood a pedestal of pale starmetal, cracked but still humming with forgotten magic.
On it rested a sword.
Not steel.
Not Valyrian.
Something older. Something brighter.
A blade as pale as the moon, glowing with inner fire — clear, silver, and white like crystal forged from the heart of a star. The room warmed as Julius approached, and his golden eyes reflected the blade's light.
"What… what metal is this?" Alaric whispered.
Julius' heart raced.
He knew this story.
He had read it.
This was Lightbringer.
Not the legend of Azor Ahai — but the true sword the books never revealed.
A weapon forged before Valyria. A sword that was not yet awakened.
He reached for it.
The moment his fingertips brushed the hilt, the entire vault shook. Constellations on the ceiling blazed to life, flooding the chamber in white light. The pedestal crumbled, the sword rising into the air as if held by unseen hands.
A roar thundered through the vault.
Not human.
Not earthly.
The floor split open with a burst of wind and flame, knocking the knights to their knees. Julius alone stood firm, gripping the levitating sword as a massive shadow rose from the abyss.
White scales.
Silver wings.
A crest of golden horns.
Eyes like molten gold staring straight into Julius' soul.
A dragon.
Pure Valyrian… but otherworldly.
Not fire-red but moon-white, shimmering like morning frost.
A dragon untouched by the Doom, sealed in the vault for centuries.
"By God…" Raymond choked. "A holy beast…"
The dragon lowered its massive head, its golden eyes narrowing as it sniffed Julius — or the sword — or both.
Then, to the shock of every man present…
It bowed.
A deep, rumbling growl of recognition echoed through the chamber as the glowing sword drifted into Julius' hand.
The dragon's voice thundered inside his mind — ancient Valyrian, yet perfectly clear:
"At last… my rider."
Julius tightened his grip on the star-forged blade.
"Rise," he said softly. "From this day forth, you are mine… and I am yours."
The dragon spread its wings, blasting the chamber with silver fire. Knights shielded their faces. Stone melted.
Julius stood unharmed.
The blade in his hand burned bright — not with heat, but destiny.
He had found Lightbringer.
He had awakened a dragon of purest blood.
And with these, the world of Westeros would tremble.