The Syrax Tower
Laenor sent one last glance at Embaryx, who, too, had benefited from his recent changes. Though Embaryx had not gained as much as Laenor, perhaps his dragon's growth in power would come gradually, unlike his own.
Thinking of his newfound strength, Laenor's gaze shifted to his hands as he clenched them into fists. He could still feel the rush of energy, the endless power writhing just beneath his skin, yearning to be unleashed. Never before had he experienced such a sensation—this intoxicating state where the world felt as insignificant as an ant, and he a dragon capable of crushing it without the slightest effort. Not even when he had awakened in this world with Percy's power had he felt this overwhelming.
But perhaps it was not merely the sudden surge of power shaping his thoughts—perhaps it was something deeper, something Lord Caraxes had warned him about.
Laenor had never been entirely human, not from the moment he arrived in this world. Yet now, that truth had become far more pronounced. This was what Lord Caraxes had cautioned him about—his humanity slowly yielding to his divine, draconic nature. It was changing not only his thoughts and emotions but also the very way he perceived the world. In a sense, Laenor could feel his understanding of reality shifting, aligning itself with the perspective of immortals and long-lived, powerful beings.
For now, his body might still be human, but even that would not remain unchanged. It would evolve, reshaping itself to accommodate what he was becoming—a divine dragon in essence. It was only his coil that restrained him, holding him back from ascending into a higher state of existence. Yet neither Lord Caraxes nor Laenor himself could predict when that transformation would occur—when his power would inevitably rewrite his coil into something greater, capable of sustaining what he had become.
Laenor descended the steps toward his solar, absentmindedly noting how his divine power still permeated the air around him. The rain alone had not been enough to heal those sheltered beneath roofs, left deafened by the thunder. So, with a small effort, he had transformed that rain into mist, carrying the same restorative properties. Even now, all of Valyria lay shrouded in a dense, golden-hued fog.
Though the feat itself had not been particularly difficult, nor had it drained him significantly, the strain it placed upon his body—upon his coil—was something Laenor could not ignore. He would have to be cautious in battle, ensuring that his opponents never discovered this weakness.
As he made his way to his solar, he passed the servants of his tower—once slaves, now freed, though still seen by the world as bound to House Velaryon. One of them had already been sent ahead to inform his family of his return and summon them to gather in his solar.
Laenor soon reached the chamber and took his seat behind the desk, leaning back as he waited for his family to arrive.
His thoughts, unbidden, drifted toward Elaena—the champion of Light. From what Laenor understood, Light and Night were among the oldest of the gods… no, the oldest. Lord Arrax himself had called Light his elder sister. By that measure, they must be at least as powerful as the Old Gods of nature worshipped in the North—if not greater.
Fortunately for him, Light had chosen Elaena as her child, which meant one less uncertainty to contend with.
But the Lion of the Night…
Laenor could not help but feel that whoever would be chosen as his champion would prove far more troublesome than any of the new demigods soon to emerge.
After becoming Lord Caraxes's champion, Laenor's already impressive awareness of all things magical had expanded. He could now feel the power that had been granted to Elaena; the sheer potency of it exceeded anything he had been capable of before this recent transformation. Meaning that, given enough time, Elaena would wield more power than his pre-Dragon-blessing self ever could.
Laenor's train of thought was broken by the sudden opening of the door as Laena entered, with his parents following close behind. Before they could speak, his uncle Vaemond and his sons, along with Melisa, entered as well. When their eyes fell upon everyone gathered, their expressions turned serious as they took their seats one by one.
"I believe that thunder was your doing, brother. Is that the reason for this gathering?" Laena was the first to break the silence, as impatient as ever. "So, you have accepted the blessing of the Dragon Gods of Valyria?" she asked, her tone edged with accusation. When he had first mentioned the offer, the Dragon Gods had given him the option to share that power with another—someone of his choosing—so that he would not stand alone. Laena immediately asked him to choose that option. Laenor knew that she wanted that power to not remain weak and become his weakness. He would have to talk to her later and explain to her.
"Yes, I have become a champion—or child, whichever you prefer—of Lord Caraxes, the God of the Seas. And no, I did not call you all here merely to share that. The reason I accepted Lord Caraxes's offer today was Elaena Drakonar," Laenor said, pausing briefly to gauge their reactions. "Lady Light has outpaced the Dragon Gods of Valyria in creating the first demigod—as I prefer to call them. Elaena Drakonar is now a demigod, the Daughter of Light, as she calls herself."
The shock he had anticipated was evident on every face present.
"But Lady Elaena is a staunch worshipper of Lord Arrax. How could she accept becoming the champion of another god?" Melisa asked, both confused and astonished.
"That may be because Lord Arrax and the Maiden Made of Light share a… close relationship. Something akin to siblings," Laenor replied. He chose not to elaborate on just how fond Lord Arrax was of Lady Light; they did not need to know that.
"Will you have to fight her as well, Laenor?" his father asked, curiosity evident in his voice.
"No. We spoke briefly. She said Lady Light holds no hostility toward the Dragon Gods or Lord Caraxes, and I have no issue with her either. So we may choose not to come into conflict. Though I do not know whether she will attempt to spread Lady Light's faith, given that Melisa described her as a devoted follower of Lord Arrax," Laenor answered.
"So if both gods are at peace with one another, and their champions bear no animosity, then conflict between them could be avoided? If that is the case, what is the purpose of all this? I had assumed this was some form of competition, yet if alliances form, then there may be no single victor," his father said, clearly perplexed and out of his depth.
"To be honest, I do not know either. At first, I believed it to be some twisted game of the gods—but now, I am not so certain," Laenor admitted, clicking his tongue in mild frustration. "However, it hardly matters now. I have already accepted and become part of this… whatever it is. Perhaps we will learn the true endgame when I win."
Laenor finished with a small shrug, deciding that overthinking it any further would only give him a headache.
"And you are certain of your victory over everyone? Tell me, how powerful do you think Elaena will become? Will she grow as powerful as you?" his mother asked, her expression both calculating and concerned. She always assumed the worst and preferred to be prepared for it.
"Well, if I am not mistaken, then Elaena possesses great potential and will likely grow more powerful than even I was before receiving Lord Caraxes's blessing," Laenor admitted honestly. His words drew mixed reactions—some dismissed the idea outright, while others appeared visibly shocked. His uncle, in particular, seemed unwilling to accept that anyone could rival Laenor's strength.
"But there will be hell—and in that fiery hell, there will be a cold day before any being of mortal origin can ever hope to defeat me. I am Laenor Velaryon, after all," Laenor said with unwavering confidence, both in himself and in his abilities. He would prevail. He would rise to such heights that even the gods would hesitate before crossing him.
"Now, I have gathered you all here for another matter as well. I have been thinking about the other gods, and my thoughts turned to the Seven. They, too, will choose their champions—perhaps one, perhaps several—and I doubt those champions will remain silent under Targaryen rule, more so when said Targaryens are settling back into Valyria. Not to mention, they may target our remaining family in Westeros. Gods can be petty—believe me when I say that. So, I would like your counsel on how we should deal with this," Laenor said.
One by one, each of them offered their thoughts and advice, but it was his father's and his uncle's words that Laenor found most compelling. The Seven were not the only gods worshipped in the Seven Kingdoms. While the smallfolk largely followed them, they did not hold dominion over the entire Sunset Lands. There were the Old Ones—the ancient gods of the North.
And his father's suggestion was simple: make an enemy of his enemy into an ally.
Who knew? Perhaps Laenor—and whichever champions the Old Gods of the North might choose—could stand together against the champions of the Seven.
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