Chapter 8: The Setting Sun and the Ascendant Heir
The passage of years etched itself onto Rhaelor Vaerion's mortal frame, yet the ancient soul of Valerius within burned with an undiminished, cold light. By his sixty-fifth year, Rhaelor's silver-gold hair had thinned and whitened, his movements, once fluid and potent, were now measured and deliberate, aided often by a staff of polished obsidian that also served as a potent magical focus. His physical strength waned, but the aura of power surrounding him, the sheer weight of his intellect and magical authority, remained undiminished. He was the aging patriarch, the wise sorcerer-lord, his pronouncements carrying the gravity of decades of proven success.
House Vaerion flourished, a testament to his long and cunning stewardship. Their influence was secure, their wealth substantial, their magical lore deepened by his relentless pursuit of knowledge. The Ignis Chalybs discipline was respected, and their elite guard, led by an aging but still formidable Captain Cassian, was a model of discipline and loyalty. Valerius, looking back on Rhaelor's life, deemed it a highly successful incarnation. He had taken a minor, struggling house and forged it into a significant regional power, created a robust bloodline, and vastly expanded his own magical understanding and soul-strength.
His relationship with Elaena had settled into a companionable, deeply respectful alliance. Her divinatory gifts had only sharpened with age, her sea-green eyes often holding a profound, sorrowful wisdom as she gazed into the shifting currents of fate. Valerius suspected she knew, on some intuitive level, that he was more than just Rhaelor, that some ancient, formidable intelligence guided him. But she never spoke of it, perhaps content with the prosperity and security he had brought their house, or perhaps understanding that some doors were best left unopened. Her loyalty was to the legacy they had built together, to their children and grandchildren.
Aerion, their son, now a man in his early forties, had become Rhaelor's shadow, his right hand, his designated successor in all but formal title. He was a powerful sorcerer in his own right, master of the Ignis Chalybs, a keen administrator, and possessed of the ruthless pragmatism Valerius had so carefully nurtured in him. Vaelora, their daughter, managed the household's considerable medicinal herb gardens and healing practices, her gentle nature a counterpoint to her brother's fiery ambition, though she too possessed a core of Vaerion steel.
The grandchildren, Aerion's children, were bright and magically gifted. Valerius observed them with a dispassionate eye, noting their individual strengths and weaknesses, assessing their potential as future links in his chain of immortality should anything befall Aerion. But Aerion was the chosen one, the vessel prepared with decades of meticulous effort.
As Rhaelor's physical decline accelerated, Valerius began the final, critical preparations for his soul's transit. He spent long hours with Aerion in the ancestral shrine, imparting the deepest secrets of Vaerion blood magic, the nuanced control of geothermal energies, and the complex philosophies underpinning his unique magical constructs. He pushed Aerion's mind and magical endurance to their limits, ensuring his son could not only wield the family's power but also withstand the immense spiritual pressure of their shared destiny.
"The true legacy of a Dragonlord, Aerion," Rhaelor said one evening, his voice weaker now but his gaze as penetrating as ever, "is not in stone or gold, but in the blood and the will that flows through it. Our lineage is a river, and each generation adds its strength to the current. Soon, the full weight of that current will fall upon your shoulders."
Aerion, his face etched with solemn devotion and a touch of apprehension, knelt before his father. "I am ready, Father. I will uphold the honor of House Vaerion. I will carry forward your great work."
More than you know, my son, Valerius thought, a cold satisfaction stirring within him. You will carry me.
He finalized the intricate legal and magical successions, ensuring a seamless transfer of power within House Vaerion. He reinforced the wards around their estate, imbued key family heirlooms with potent protective enchantments, and penned a final treatise on the Ignis Chalybs discipline, a legacy for his house, but also a coded message for his future self, should any memories be lost in transition.
Valerius also focused inward, meditating deeply on the nature of his soul-transference. With each reincarnation, his soul grew denser, more powerful. The absorption of Davos had been almost instinctual. The taking of the infant Rhaelor's nascent spark had been effortless. Aerion, however, was a mature man, a powerful sorcerer with a fully formed intellect and will, albeit one carefully molded to be receptive. Consuming such a soul would be a different experience, a far greater influx of energy and complexity. He anticipated the process with a kind of detached, scholarly curiosity, mixed with the familiar predatory hunger. He had no doubt of his ability to dominate Aerion's essence; his own soul was vastly more ancient and powerful.
The end for Rhaelor Vaerion came not through illness or accident, but through a conscious act of will. On a cool autumn evening, with his affairs in perfect order and Aerion at the peak of his readiness, Rhaelor summoned his son to his private chambers. He was seventy-two years old, his body frail, but his mind a beacon of pure, focused intent.
"The time has come, Aerion," Rhaelor said, his voice a mere whisper. He lay propped against silken cushions, Elaena seated beside him, her hand in his, her face a mask of composed sorrow. Vaelora stood nearby, her eyes filled with tears.
"Father…" Aerion began, his voice thick with emotion.
Rhaelor raised a trembling hand. "No grief. Only continuation. You are prepared. The house is strong. My work in this vessel is complete."
He looked at Elaena, a flicker of something unreadable in his ancient eyes. Gratitude? Respect? It was impossible to say. "You have been a worthy partner, my lady. Guide him well, as you have guided me."
To Vaelora, he simply nodded. Then, his gaze fixed upon Aerion. "Come closer, my son."
Aerion knelt by the bedside. Rhaelor placed his frail hands on Aerion's head. This was the signal, the final attunement.
"The blood remembers. The will endures. Become what you were meant to be."
With those final words, Rhaelor Vaerion closed his eyes. Valerius focused his immense will, severing the last threads that bound his soul to Rhaelor's dying flesh. There was a brief moment of disorientation, a wrenching sensation, and then his soul, a blazing comet of ancient power, surged forth.
It arrowed directly towards Aerion, drawn by decades of preparation, by the resonant harmony of their shared blood, by the pathways Valerius himself had carved into his son's spirit. Aerion gasped, his body stiffening, his eyes rolling back as Valerius's consciousness slammed into his.
For a moment, there was a maelstrom. Aerion's soul, strong and vibrant, recoiled from the invasion. It fought, not with malice, but with the instinct of self-preservation. Valerius felt Aerion's memories, his experiences, his personality – all the things that made him Aerion – resisting, trying to maintain their integrity.
But Valerius was a primordial force in comparison. His will, honed over lifetimes, was absolute. He did not fight Aerion's soul; he simply… enveloped it. Consumed it. Absorbed it. It was like a star swallowing a planet. There was a rush of power, far greater than any he had experienced before, a flood of new knowledge, refined magical skills, and the vitality of a man in his prime. Aerion's essence dissolved into his own, adding new layers, new depths, new strengths. The devotion Aerion had felt for his father was now twisted, internalized into Valerius's own self-regard.
The process took only moments, but it felt like an eternity. When it was done, Valerius opened his new eyes – Aerion's violet eyes. He sat up, no longer Rhaelor the frail elder, but Aerion Vaerion, Lord of the House, imbued with a power and an ancient wisdom that radiated from him like an invisible corona.
Lyra, who had been Rhaelor's mother and was Aerion's grandmother, had passed some years prior. Vaelora, Aerion's sister, rushed forward. "Father is gone! Brother, are you alright?"
Valerius looked at her, his gaze sharp and assessing. This was his daughter from his previous life, now his sister. He offered a reassuring smile, the smile of Aerion, but with a new, chilling depth. "Grieve not for him, Vaelora. His strength is with me. With us all."
Elaena, however, watched him with an expression of profound shock and dawning, terrified understanding. She had been Rhaelor's wife, mother to Aerion. Now, the man who wore her son's face looked at her with eyes that held the ancient, familiar intelligence of her deceased husband, amplified and infused with a terrifying new vitality. The subtle shift in aura, in presence, was undeniable to her divinatory senses.
"Aerion?" she whispered, her voice trembling, her hand flying to her mouth.
Valerius rose from where Aerion had knelt, now standing tall in Aerion's powerful body. He felt the renewed vigor, the potent magical reserves now at his command. He was Lord Aerion Vaerion.
He walked towards Elaena, his wife of his past life, now technically his mother in this one, though the blood tie was purely through Lyra. The dynamics were… complex. But Valerius thrived on complexity.
"The Lord Vaerion is dead," he said, his voice now Aerion's, yet imbued with Rhaelor's gravitas and something more, something older. "Long live the Lord Vaerion." He took her hand. Her skin was cold. "We have much work to do, my lady. Our House's destiny awaits."
Elaena stared into his eyes, searching. What she saw there seemed to confirm her deepest, unspoken fears. The son she knew was… changed. Subsumed. Overshadowed by something vast and ancient that had worn her husband's face for decades. She slowly withdrew her hand, a flicker of horror in her eyes before she carefully masked it.
"Indeed, my lord," she said, her voice strained. "The period of mourning must be observed, but the work… the work continues."
Valerius knew she suspected. Perhaps she even knew, on some level. It mattered little. Her loyalty to the House and its continued prosperity was what he required. Her personal feelings were irrelevant, as long as they didn't interfere. And he now possessed all of Aerion's memories of her, his son's affection for his mother, which he could expertly mimic if needed.
In the days that followed, "Aerion" moved with decisive speed. He consolidated his hold on the family, his pronouncements carrying an authority that stunned even those who had known him as Rhaelor's capable heir. He issued new directives for the mines, revised trade agreements with startling foresight, and outlined ambitious new programs for magical research, drawing upon the combined knowledge of Rhaelor and the newly absorbed insights from Aerion, now all his own.
The most significant change was in his magical practice. Aerion had been a powerful sorcerer. Valerius, inhabiting Aerion's body, with Rhaelor's lifetime of mastery and his own ancient soul-force, was something else entirely. The Ignis Chalybs discipline flowed through him with an effortless, terrifying potency. His control over the geothermal vents tied to their bloodline became absolute. He could feel the pulse of the mountain as if it were his own heart.
His grandchildren, Aerion's children, now looked upon their "father" with a new awe and a touch of fear. He was familiar, yet subtly, profoundly different. More intense. More demanding. More… powerful.
Valerius, now fully settled into his new vessel, surveyed his domain. This incarnation, as Aerion Vaerion, was built upon an even stronger foundation than the last. He had youth, immense magical power, a well-established house, and the accumulated wisdom of multiple lifetimes.
His long-term plans remained unchanged. The strengthening of his bloodline, the accumulation of knowledge and power, the subtle manipulation of Valyrian society to his advantage, and the ultimate goal of godhood. He thought of the political instability he had sensed brewing in Valyria during Rhaelor's later years – the growing arrogance of the Archons, the whispers of slave unrest in the distant colonies, the ever-present rivalries. These were dangers, but also opportunities for a cunning mind with a long view.
The sun had set on Rhaelor Vaerion. But for Valerius, reborn as Aerion, it was a new dawn, brighter and more potent than any before. The game continued, and he was ready for the next move. The shadow of his true nature deepened over House Vaerion, and its tendrils began to stretch further into the heart of the Valyrian Freehold.