[Zathari, Jhala – Three Days After the Fall of Zathari | 187 AD / 85 AC]
The scent of charred wood still lingered faintly over Zathari, carried by a humid breeze from the south. Though the fires had died and the screams long faded, the memory of conquest hung thick in the air, a silent presence the city could not escape. Its people remained subdued, eyes cast downward, lips trembling in fear. They had witnessed horror, not merely an army of Valyrians or two dragons circling overhead like gods of death… but one man, a force unto himself. They saw a dragon cloaked in flesh, standing alone against hundreds. They saw Balthagar Draceryos.
He did not falter. He did not fall.
And now, that very man sat cross-legged atop a high hill overlooking the city. Zathari, the heart of Red Flower Vale, lay below him like a humbled offering. Behind him, the blackened slopes bore scars of fire and magic, scars carved by one who had descended like a storm.
Azantyos slumbered a short distance away, curled atop a nearby rise, his vast frame glinting under the dawn sun. The Great Dragon's dark-red scales shimmered faintly, casting flickers of light upon the hilltop like scattered embers. But Balthagar's eyes were shut. His breath steady.
He meditated.
Pain radiated through his insides, not from visible wounds, but the ache of what had been pushed too far. Force Rage, Force Lightning, Force Telekinesis, Force Drain. He had wielded them all together, at full strength. His heart had thundered like a war drum. His veins had nearly seared. Without the Ritual of Transformation, he would have collapsed. He might have died.
"The dark side is strength… but strength misused is ruin," he whispered, the words stolen by the wind.
Ancient Sith gestures flowed through his fingers, delicate and controlled. He drew the Force inward, not to destroy, but to mend. Sith healing was always a paradox, an unnatural act born of hatred and will. The cold heat of power sank into his bones. His muscles eased. His breath became deeper, more measured.
Inside him, the Holocron stirred. It never spoke in words, but pressed against his mind with locked vaults of layered knowledge.
"It gives only when earned," he murmured.
It was not a gift, but a test. A crucible. The teachings of the Sith were never handed down, they were conquered, seized by those worthy of them. He recalled the legends of Darth Vitiate, Tenebrae, the closest any Sith had come to immortality… and even he, was broken in the end. True immortality had never been achieved.
Perhaps immortality was not a matter of one grand revelation… but of layers. Biological, magical, philosophical. A puzzle unsolved because it was too simple, or too vast.
"And so, I will solve it."
A grin ghosted across his lips. He was only eighteen name days old, yet already a legend. The heir of Aurion. The shadow reborn in fire. When he returns to Martivia, when he sits upon the throne he would forge with his own hands, nothing would be beyond him. Not death. Not time.
And so, he meditated. And so, he healed.
And the world trembled, unaware that the dragon had only begun to stir.
[Zathari Palace – Later That Day]
The palace of House Xho had been emptied of its soul. Tapestries torn down. Thrones of goldenheart wood splintered. Every sigil and banner burned away. In its place rose obsidian reliefs of the Draceryos sigil, red and gold, the winged flame of Valyria. The throne room, once dim and narrow, had been cleared. A great circular table stood at its center, a stretched leather map of the Summer Isles laid across it.
Balthagar stood at its head, cloaked in his reforged armor, Stormbringer sheathed to his left side. Lord Vaelys Belaerys stood beside him, composed and quiet. The Dark Mistress lingered like a shadow in her robes of night-blue. Princess Nalla Qhara watched from the side, unreadable.
The three commanders, Vaelar Raelnaris, Aenor Celnaeros, and Aegalon Dalreos, flanked the table, each armored and alert. With them stood four Flamecallers and three Bloodcallers. Seven powerful mages of war and healing.
Ten galleons had already docked in the Zathari port, their hulls trimmed in black steel. Dragonguards, four thousand strong, marched in quiet formation. Dragonhunters took to the towers. Order reigned beneath the smoke-stained sky.
Balthagar placed a grey dragon marker upon Jhala, then another smaller one on Tall Trees Town.
"The people of Tall Trees remember," he said in High Valyrian. "They never severed their loyalty. They remember who gave them steel and fire."
His eyes met Nalla's. She understood the unspoken words. House Draceryos and House Xhar, those ties ran deeper than any.
He moved ships across the map, lines of fire, arcs of conquest.
"Lord Maerys Kostagar will arrive soon with forty ships. Two Man o' Wars among them. He will land on the eastern coast of Ombaru." He turned to Aenor and Aegalon. "You two will take eight galleons, circle south and west, then strike the western shore. We form the jaws. When Maerys lands, we close them."
Aenor spoke, "And if Ombaru has time to raise its walls?"
"They won't, no wall can stop us," Balthagar said. "You land fast, establish a foothold. When Lord Kostagar moves, I will descend on Azantyos."
He pointed at the mages. "Two Flamecallers, two Bloodcallers. One pair for each commander. You will ward them, guide them. No failure."
Four of the mages stepped forward, bowed, and aligned themselves beside their assigned commander.
Balthagar picked up a sealed scroll and handed it to Aenor. "Take a fast sloop from the port. Have some of our men disguised and the Summer Islanders who fought with us sail for Tall Trees Town on the sloop. Make sure they deliver this to Prince Daba Xhar. No matter what, it is not to be opened." He looks at the Flamecaller who will follow Aenor and continues, "Have a couple of your mages go on the sloop, ensure they place it in his hand."
The Flamecaller bowed and Aenor raised his fist to his chest, then extended his arm palm-down, the Valyrian salute, and bowed. "By Vermax's will, it shall be done."
Balthagar turned to Vaelar Raelnaris. "You remain in Zathari. Ensure order and stability."
He gestured to the last Bloodcaller and the two remaining Flamecallers. "Aid him. Quell unrest before it stirs."
With only Lord Vaelys, the Dark Mistress, and Princess Nalla remaining, Balthagar placed a red dragon token on Lotus Port, then another on Koj.
Nalla's brow lifted. "Koj is no threat. House Xaq builds ships, not armies."
"Which makes them more dangerous," Balthagar replied. "Most Swan Ships are born in Koj's yards. If we take Koj, we hold their future by the keel."
He leaned closer. "Let them choose peace… or fire."
[Southern Jhala Highlands - Two Days Later]
The hills of Jhala were jagged and wild, sharp green against the sea-blown sky. Upon one peak, Balthagar and Lord Vaelys Belaerys stood beside their dragons, gazing southward.
For the past hour, they had flown and scouted, until they found it. A sloped plateau on the mountainside, half-cliff, half-ledge. Flat enough for a foundation. High enough to see every approach. The perfect site.
"Here," Balthagar said. "The Valyrian Fort shall rise. It will guard both land and sea."
Lord Vaelys nodded, eyes scanning the range. "It's well-positioned. The southern coast is visible, and the Summer Islanders have already begun clearing ground for a port below.'
The initial plan had called for a direct stairway up the mountain, eight men wide from base to summit, but it would take too long, and the incline too harsh. Instead, Balthagar had devised a switchback route; A road would begin southwest of the mountain's base. A town would be built upon a lower ridge to support a small garrison and for a rest stop, where taverns and shop will be built. Then a winding stairway would ascend southeast, linking town, port, and fortress in a defensive triangle.
Balthagar gestured towards Aegovax, Lord Belaery's golden Dragon. "You should oversee the construction, Uncle. The fire mages would need a Dragon to shape it."
Lord Vaelys nodded. "It shall be done."
[Eastern Sea Approaches of Ombaru - Two Days Later, Early Morning]
Mist clung to the waves as forty galleons sailed through dawn, their sails dark and quiet. At the front sailed the Black Wave, trimmed in obsidian, banners of House Kostagar flapping in the breeze.
Lord Maerys Kostagar stood at its prow, helm tucked beneath his arm, his violet gaze fixed on the rising coastline of Ombaru. Jagged rocks, high cliffs, dense trees beyond.
He turned to his master-at-arms. "Signal the line. No horns. No drums. Prepare to land in silence."
Then he descended below deck, entered the candle chamber, and placed both hands on the obsidian rim of the Glass Candle.
[Zathari, Glass Tower – Minutes Later]
The candle flared.
Balthagar's eyes opened. No words were spoken. He turned at once and descended the tower. The palace was silent as he passed through its halls.
Azantyos waited below. Balthagar mounted, the Great Dragon stirring as if summoned by thought alone.
With a single roar and rush of wings, they rose into the clouds, toward Ombaru.
[Western Shoreline of Ombaru - Hours Later]
Aegalon Dalreos stood atop a rocky ledge, watching the waves break against the beach. Behind him, Dragonguards spread out, securing the area. Dragonhunters vanished into the jungle's edge. Two mages whispered incantations, flames coiling around their hands.
Then the sky changed.
A roar split the heavens.
Azantyos descended like a hammer of judgment, wings vast, breath molten. Sand and wind surged outward as he landed.
Balthagar stepped down, black cloak trailing, eyes sharp.
"Report."
Aegalon saluted. "Secure. No scouts. No resistance. Mapping begun."
Balthagar nodded, then turned toward the sea. In the far shimmer of horizon, black sails began to appear, Lord Kostagar had arrived.
He drew in breath, his voice quiet.
"Then it begins."