Valyrian Rebirth
Year 10363 AC — 16 Years Before the Doom of Valyria~5,800 words
In the mountain's heart, far below the world of kings and dragons, fire moved like blood beneath the stone.
The chamber glowed red with the reflected rage of the lava rivers beneath it. Runes pulsed in circular rings along the walls—ancient glyphs from the time before even the Valyrians had words to name them. The heat in the cavern was oppressive. But to those of dragon's blood, it was comforting. Familiar.
And from the middle of the stone altar, a cry rang out.
Not of agony.
But of birth.
A young man gasped in the darkness, chest rising sharply as life returned to flesh not long dead. His skin shimmered with faint silver veins that slowly faded. His long pale hair spread out beneath him like liquid moonlight, sticky with blood and ashes. His eyes opened wide—violet, glowing faintly as the ritual sealed.
His name had once been something else. On a world where dragons were fiction, and Valyria was just a footnote in a dusty fantasy novel.
But that was gone now.
He had returned.
And this time, his name was Aerion Wockenfd.
System Integration Complete.Status: Soul-Bound Rebirth Successful.Timeline: Valyria, 10363 AC. 16 years before global cataclysm event "The Doom."Special System Function: "Mirror of the All-Born" – Active.Function: Copy knowledge, skills, magic, or talents from other living beings once per day.
You are now fully synchronized. Welcome, Aerion.
He sat up, naked, surrounded by a ring of obsidian statues carved in the likeness of dragons with many eyes. The heat no longer felt like heat. It felt like home.
He pressed a hand to his chest. The glyph Maegor had carved into his soul still burned softly beneath the skin.
"I'm alive again," he whispered.
Footsteps echoed.
Not rushed, not hesitant.
Deliberate.
A tall man entered the chamber, his crimson robes trimmed with golden thread shaped like flames. His beard was braided with firestones. His eyes were old, tired, and filled with both ambition and fear.
This was Lord Maegor Wockenfd, the man who had summoned Aerion into this world.
And his father.
"You breathe, Aerion," he said. "That means the gods were merciful… or foolish."
Aerion looked up at him, speaking carefully. "You are Maegor. My… father, by blood ritual."
Maegor studied him. "Yes. By blood and by will. You are of House Wockenfd now. A scion reborn."
Target: Maegor Wockenfd – Status: Head of House Wockenfd. Lord of the Cradle. Master of Flames. Owner of 4 Merchant Fleets.Replication Available: High Valyrian (Master), Valyrian Trade Law, Magma Forging (Advanced), Arcane Negotiation (Intermediate)
Aerion nodded.
He already knew from his old life what this meant: House Wockenfd was one of the lesser-known of the Forty Dragonlord Families—wealthy, obscure, and dangerously quiet. They were not the political center of Valyria. But they were one of the richest merchant clans along the eastern Smoking Sea, building magical ships, fireforged weapons, and rare trade goods like glassfire silk and obsidian wine.
Not as prestigious as House Balerion or Velaryon—but cunning.
And Maegor had no surviving heirs worthy of the future.
Until now.
The next morning, Aerion stood before the family council in the Grand Flamehall of Wockenfd Citadel. Clad in simple black tunic robes, he looked every bit the noble son, despite being only a day old.
The Citadel sat high in the cliffs over the Red Coast. Its fused stone towers gleamed in daylight. A harbor of curved ships floated below—sleek, rune-carved trade vessels and flame-prowed war galleys.
Inside the Flamehall, the fire pits always burned. The ceiling was enchanted to look like the sky, currently glowing a soft amber.
Ten people waited for him.
At the head: Maegor.
To his right: Vaeron, Maegor's firstborn son—tall, grim, and muscular, with a warrior's scowl and eyes that never stopped calculating.
To the left: Syra Wockenfd, Maegor's niece and master of the family's merchant fleet—clad in silver silk and obsidian bangles, eyes sharp like a banker's ledger.
There were others—cousins, captains, vassal nobles.
All watched him silently.
"So," Vaeron said at last, his voice cutting. "This is the flameborn heir Father risked our blood magic for?"
"A child born in secret," Syra added. "Whose soul is not of this world."
"Enough," Maegor said, voice like molten steel.
He turned to Aerion. "Speak. Who are you? Let them hear your tongue."
Aerion raised his chin, then addressed them in flawless High Valyrian.
"I am Aerion of House Wockenfd. Born of flame, forged by sacrifice, and bound by your blood. I claim the name by your right, Lord Maegor—and I will prove worthy of it."
Copy Request: "High Valyrian (Master)" – Accepted.
Skill Acquired. Cooldown: 24 hours.
The council went silent.
Syra's eyes widened. Vaeron's nostrils flared.
"Fluent already?" one of the cousins whispered.
Maegor leaned back, a slow smile on his face.
"The fire burns well in him," he said. "He will be your brother. Your ally. Perhaps your ruler one day."
Aerion met their eyes with quiet confidence.
But inwardly, he was calculating.
These people would not love him easily. But they would learn to respect him.
And respect was the currency of power in Valyria.
Over the next three weeks, Aerion's life unfolded in a pattern of structure and shadow.
He awoke every morning before dawn and trained with House Wockenfd's master-of-arms, an aging knight from Sarnor named Quor Talys. Though not Valyrian, Quor had fought dragonlords in border wars and wielded a curved blade like a dancer.
Skill Copied: Sword Style – "Crimson Crescent" (Basic)
By mid-morning, he would sit with tutors—Maegor's personal scholars and shipwrights—who taught him the family's merchant holdings: spice trading with Volantis, glassfire silk production in western Valyria, obsidian wine smuggling from the Burning Isles, and even contracts for enchanted ship hulls sold to lesser dragonlords.
He learned that House Wockenfd owned four merchant fleets, three of which were enchanted to resist both flame and storm. Their captains answered directly to Syra. Their guards were fiercely loyal. Their ships had no royal banners—but carried the flame-eye mark of the house in golden paint.
Skill Copied: Valyrian Trade Law (Intermediate)Skill Copied: Shipwright Basics – Enchanted Hullcrafting (Basic)
At night, he sat with Maegor and studied ancient glyphs, soul-bond rituals, and magical metallurgy.
Skill Copied: Magma Forging (Basic)Skill Copied: Binding Glyph Theory (Basic)
And slowly, one person at a time, Aerion touched the lives of those around him—not just to learn, but to observe.
Syra, though cold, seemed impressed by his ability to track ledgers and predict the price of obsidian in port cities weeks in advance.
"You think like a merchant," she said one night, over wine. "You'll be dangerous someday."
Vaeron, on the other hand, remained hostile. A warrior with no interest in books, he challenged Aerion to spar daily—trying to draw blood.
He failed every time.
Maegor, despite his power, was fading. His hair had begun to fall. His spells grew weaker. And his words, once sharp, now trembled when he spoke of the coming years.
"I won't live to see the storm," he confessed one night. "But you will. And you must be ready."
In the fourth week, Aerion was granted his own ship: a small flame-sailed cutter named Whisper of Ash. It carried no crew but had an enchanted hull and a tiny cabin forged of dragonbone.
Inside, Maegor had left him a gift.
A black ring—unfinished. Runed. Still warm from the forge.
Object Detected: Proto–Space RingBound: YesStorage Functions: LockedRequired Materials: Dragonheart Core, Folded Valyrian Steel, Spatial Sigils, Soul Anchor
He stared at it for a long time, then slipped it onto his finger.
"This," he whispered, "will become my kingdom."
End of Chapter 1Word count: ~5,800