The Vault of Twelve Flames
In a chamber buried deep beneath Cair Volakar, beyond twisting tunnels warded with ancient glyphs, Neron stood before a massive vault door. The stone shimmered with old Valyrian enchantments—symbols shifting subtly as if alive, etched in pyre-glass and darksteel.
Kaerys approached from behind, holding a scroll sealed in black wax. "The key," she said. "Taken from the corpse of the assassin. It wasn't meant for him."
Neron took the scroll, but didn't open it. His eyes were fixed on the vault.
"This place…" he whispered. "It remembers."
"You've been here before?" she asked.
"No," he said. "But part of me has."
He stepped forward and placed his hand against the central rune. It pulsed. The vault shuddered once—and opened.
Inside was no treasure. No gold. No dragon eggs. Only twelve pedestals, each with a single object: a relic, a weapon, a tome. And in the center, a floating crystal, suspended in chains of starlight.
Kaerys stepped closer, brow furrowing. "That's… a Skyshard. They only exist in myth."
"No," Neron said. "They exist in fear. The Valyrians feared what they couldn't master. So they sealed it away."
The Skyshard pulsed, casting glimmers across the walls.
A vision overtook Neron—violent, quick:
Fire. Chains. Screams in High Valyrian. A dragon larger than any ever born—its wings blotting out the sky. And above it, a throne not made of swords, but of black flame and crystal bones.
He staggered.
Kaerys caught him. "Neron?"
He steadied himself. "This isn't just a relic. It's a gate."
"To where?"
He looked at her, voice cold.
"To the source of Valyrian magic itself."
The Gathering of Wyrms
Meanwhile, the secret council chamber of House Maegyr was filled with rage. Twelve dragonlord banners fluttered in the brazier-lit room. At the head sat Lord Tyragas Maegyr, his robe lined with fresh dragonhide, his jaw clenched like a clenched fist.
"He rides a dragon," Lord Qhoron of House Threx hissed. "He seizes spice routes. And now we hear he walks in the Vault of Twelve?"
A noblewoman slammed her goblet on the table. "He draws old houses to his side—Naelarys, Velaryon, and worse. Some say even the Stygai of Asshai speak his name."
Tyragas raised a hand. Silence fell.
"We have waited. We have watched," he said. "But the time for patience is over."
He turned to his right, where a tall figure stood cloaked in crimson and gold, face hidden behind a veil of fireglass.
"Release the Ash-Binder."
Gasps echoed.
"That thing is forbidden—"
"We forbid nothing," Tyragas snarled. "We are the blood of Valyria. He threatens the Order. The Line. The Flame. Let him taste what old power truly is."
The fireglass veil flickered. And the figure nodded.
Back at Cair Volakar – A Choice of Power
In his personal sanctum, Neron stared at the Skyshard resting now inside a box of stone.
Kaerys sat nearby, sharpening a dagger. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that power is never silent. It calls to you."
"And demands a price."
He nodded. "The shard offers knowledge. Magic not of this world. The kind even the Archons feared."
"And what will it cost you?"
"Everything," he said. "But I'm not afraid to pay it."
Kaerys looked at him for a long moment. Then said, "You don't have to walk into fire alone."
A pause.
He turned to her, truly seeing her. "I know. But some fire… only answers to one name."
Far Away – In the Vale of Bones
The Ash-Binder rose from its tomb.
It had no face—only a skull of dragonbone fused with iron, eyes glowing violet and red. It walked without footsteps, a shadow made flesh, and carried a sword shaped like a fang of obsidian flame.
As it stepped into the moonlight, the stars above flickered.
And in its wake, all fire dimmed.
End of Chapter 11