Chapter 1 Prologue: The Wizard and the Princess
"That supreme, majestic, and boundless kingdom was forged by fire and dragons."
The scorching white sun baked the vast city stretching as far as the eye could see. Countless ships, their sails dyed in every imaginable color, were packed like sardines within the seemingly endless harbor. The wide Lorne River flowed in quiet dignity. Spanning its estuary stood a grand bridge, broad enough for two four-wheeled carriages to pass side by side. Along its length, sphinxes, dragons, and griffins carved from black stone gazed coldly down upon the bustling crowds below.
A nimble falcon streaked across the sky like a bolt of lightning. A single feather drifted downward and was carefully retrieved by a slave marked with maggot tattoos before being placed into the crude basket strapped to his back. Nearby, a man bearing tiger-striped tattoos cracked a whip, driving a long line of slaves to sweep the broad avenues.
The falcon soared over the busy port district, where the air carried a thick mixture of fish, flowers, faeces, and rot. It passed merchants and sailors from distant lands, slaves branded and inked in strange symbols, and nobles reclining upon golden palanquins carried atop dwarf elephants, leaving behind a trail of half-heard curses. It flew beyond the towering two-hundred-foot Black Wall.
At last, the falcon descended upon a peculiarly shaped pillar of black stone. At its summit was carved the emblem of a fire-breathing dragon encircled by laurel leaves, wrought in pure silver and gleaming beneath the sun. In the chamber opposite that pillar, an old man clad in grey robes leaned beside a fountain adorned with dragons and griffins, holding a thick tome and reciting calmly.
The handsome silver-haired boy lifted his head, a trace of delight in his violet eyes as he quietly glanced at the falcon.
"Ray, attend carefully," the old man in grey robes said without haste, raising a hand to adjust the necklace upon his chest—an intricate chain composed of a dozen different metal rings.
"I'm sorry, truly sorry. I simply miss Flame Wing too much, Master Viserys. Please do not tell my brother." Twelve-year-old Ray hurriedly lowered his gaze, looking pleadingly at Dr. Visari, who regarded him in silence.
This learned scholar hailed from the distant west, a land known within the Black Wall as the Sunset Land. Yet Ray knew its true name: Westeros. His late father and mother had spoken of it often.
It had been his mother's homeland—a place she longed for and yet despised.
"Your brother Dragonzel would not abandon knowledge for the sake of a mere falcon," the old scholar replied earnestly, turning a page of the heavy book. "Unless it were a dragon hatchling."
But we no longer have dragons.
Ray lowered his head as the old voice beside him continued to recite in High Valyrian.
"Dawn shone upon the seemingly eternal empire, where the children of light and darkness, fire and ice, ruled over land and sea. Their reign endured for ten thousand years, until fate intervened: the Pearl Empress sat upon the throne, the Tourmaline Empress wove the royal robes, the Onyx Emperor forged armor, the Topaz Emperor compiled chronicles, the Opal Emperor healed the wounded. Then order collapsed, chaos reigned, siblings slew one another, the Long Night descended, heroes raised their swords, and the Night Lion wept."
An old and stale legend.
Ray's thoughts drifted once more to Flame Wing.
But my brother enjoys this tale. Is it because the Amethyst Empress also possessed violet eyes? Does he believe there is some link to our blood?
He blinked those striking purple eyes and feigned attentiveness.
"Your ancestors rose from the endless mountains of the Fourteen Fire Peaks. They were children of flame—valiant warriors, master scholars, enigmatic mages, and peerless craftsmen."
Legends remain legends. Our forebears were shepherds.
On that point, history is clear.
"They awakened the children of the Fourteen Fire Peaks," Viserys lowered his voice, "and thus the greatest nation was born. The Valyrians mounted dragons and began their grand conquest. The darlings of the Harpy—the ancient Ghiscari Empire—were burned by dragonfire into salt flats where no crop would ever grow again. The Lois Rivers, whose water sorcery could drown dragons, and their brave Prince Gailin perished in the fury of three hundred dragons."
Now this grows interesting.
Ray withdrew his hand into his purple silk sleeve. A small silver dragon figurine had somehow appeared within his palm. He gently rubbed it, his attention finally returning to the tome.
"At the height of the Valyrian Freehold, forty Dragonlord families commanded thousands of dragons."
And now only one Dragonlord house remains with dragons. No—rather fortunate exiles.
Ray continued to stroke the figurine, recalling his lessons.
"The Dragonlords schemed within the towers of Valyria while dragons roared across the volcanoes. Beneath those peaks, millions of slaves labored in the mines. Across the known world, the Andals fled like frightened mice, the Tall Men of Sarnor bowed and crawled, the ancient Ghiscari became thralls, and even the proud Emperor of Yi Ti deemed it an honor to wed a silver-haired noblewoman."
The old scholar's voice swelled like poetry.
"The wise Dreamer Daenys Targaryen foresaw the coming doom. Thus, her family carried their dragons westward. Then came the cataclysm that ended all. Dragonlords turned to ash. Dragons fell from the heavens. The mighty empire vanished in a single night."
He cleared his throat.
"Your ancestor, the last Valyrian Emperor, Orion Valareus, was stationed in Qohor with his dragon at that time. Seeing opportunity in disaster, greed consumed him. He gathered thirty thousand men—mercenaries, fortune-seeking farmers, wandering Valyrian warriors yearning for home, and the Black Goat riders of Qohor. Supplies were secured in Volantis. There, he also left descendants."
The scholar glanced at Ray.
"Among them—your direct ancestor, Lingor Varezes, the Lost Dragon."
Ray's violet eyes brightened.
Yes. My favorite tale.To avoid assassination by those with ulterior motives, his mother, a noblewoman also from a Dragon Lord family but without a dragon, broke the dragon egg Orion Valareus left for his son. Of course, he also failed to hatch a dragon," the boy thought to himself.
"The army disappeared in Valyria, and no one ever saw Orion Valareus and his red dragon again. Thus, the Varezes Family, once ranked seventh among the forty Dragon Lords, possessing one hundred and fifty adult dragons at its peak, declined." The old scholar sighed deeply, turned to the next page of the large book, and continued to narrate the history of the Varezes Family after their migration to the Black Wall in Volantis.
"...By the time Gemon Varezes died, the Varezes Family had accumulated vast wealth, owning not only large tracts of fertile land between the Lorne River and the Valanna River, but also twelve beet plantations, twenty-five wine estates, six silk workshops, two privately owned forests, one gold mine, two silver mines, and seven rich iron mines."
The old scholar turned to the last page of the book.
"Cleorius Varezes, the most legendary family head in the family's history. Some called him a madman, some a genius, and others a terrifying sorcerer. For the first twenty years, he was a prodigal son who squandered two-thirds of the family's fortune. For the middle twenty years, he was a miracle worker who tripled the Varezes Family's wealth on Gemon's foundation. The glass he produced was crystal clear and sold as far as Slaver's Bay and the Nine Nine Free Trade City States. The silver wine he brewed was mellow and sweet, captivating even the Dothraki horselords. He tripled silk production, and luxurious silk adorned with Silver Dragon and laurel leaf patterns even sold as far as Yi Land. He increased the annual yield of wheat, rice, beets, and saffron. His smelting methods doubled the output of gold and silver mines. His improved metal smelting techniques could cast steel second only to Valyrian Steel and Qohor blood steel. The ships built using his shipbuilding methods were even comparable to the purple-sailed warships of Braavos and the swan ships of the Summer Isles."
"If I hadn't personally witnessed the old master's brilliance, I probably wouldn't have believed that a noble who had never received an education from the Citadel could achieve all of this," Dr. Visari thought to himself as he spoke.
"He organized great voyages to Asshai and Westeros, earning countless gold through maritime trade. He freed the family's slaves, elevating them to contract workers and servants. From among them, he selected six thousand brave boys. From that day on, the 'Silver Blood Army' and the 'Weepers' of Volantis were born. The nobles within the Black Wall all said he conducted semi-public magic experiments. Shadowbinders from Asshai, Cloud Sky Mages, Fire Warlocks, Blood Witches, warlocks from Qarth, Moon Singers from Jogos Nhai, and Red-robed Monks from the Great Temple all frequented his palace. No one knew what your father intended until he rushed out of the palace like a madman, carrying treasures that nine elephants could barely bear, and burst into a notorious brothel in Volantis."
"He married our mother," Ray said in his heart, staring into the old scholar's eyes. "The mother who passed away when I was born."
"In my homeland, people called her the 'Whore Princess'; her name was Saenira Targaryen," Dr. Visari paused, a hint of regret in his eyes.
"She was the ninth daughter of Jaehaerys I, King Renrui of my homeland. In her absurd early life, she had more men around her than silver hairs on her head."
"I know," Ray had never respected his mother. As a child, he often felt sad because of her past. "Just around my brother, there are several bloodlines left behind by our mother. And that silver-haired bastard from the former Archon's family," the boy muttered to himself.
"Twenty-three years ago, the princess ended her dissolute life in Lys, settled in Volantis, and a year later established her own brothel, the infamous 'House of the Dragon Bastards.' No one understood why your father would marry a prostitute, even though she carried the blood of the only Dragon Lord family in the world that still had dragons. Even less did anyone understand why the princess agreed to your father's request, and then confined herself for two years after the marriage to purify her bloodline."
Dr. Visari closed the book. "I cannot understand it either, but history unfolded that way. In the third year of their marriage, your elder brothers Dragonzel Varezes and Valarr Varezes were born. Giving birth to twins nearly killed the aging princess, who then became bedridden. The old master seemed to lose his passion for his wife and turned his energy towards your eldest brother, who possessed innate wisdom. Master Dragonzel also had wisdom no less than the old master's. At seven years old, he had a complete grasp of all the family's industries and affairs, and at nine, he independently completed trade with Braavos and Lys. In his final moments, the old master imparted all his wisdom to your eldest brother, until he passed away in his own laboratory. Hm? Where are you going?"
The old scholar's voice abruptly stopped. The silver-haired boy suddenly shot up like a monkey, running heedlessly towards the main courtyard.
The Silver Dragon figurine in his sleeve suddenly became scalding hot, as if it were burning. Ray immediately realized what was happening. "Brother is back, I'm going to see him, Master Viserys, we can make up today's lesson tomorrow." Ray's clear voice echoed through the long corridor entwined with stone pillars and grapevines.
The old scholar smiled bitterly and shook his head. He murmured, "But your lesson for today is already finished." He straightened his grey robes and necklace. Dragonzel Varezes was his master, so he naturally needed to go and greet him.
The Silver Dragon figurine in his sleeve grew hotter and hotter, but Ray felt no pain, only comfort.
The boy ran through the long corridor, just turning past the dragon statue carved from dragon glass. A round object rolled to his feet.
Ray's heart instantly felt as if it had been gripped by a large hand. His hand involuntarily rose to cover his mouth, forcing back the scream that had reached his throat.
It was a human head.
New author, lacking experience, please feel free to criticize and correct.