Dragonstone, Black Vault Tower, Late Morning
The chamber was quiet, save for the scratch of a quill on parchment. Aegon sat at a table near the window, writing steadily.
The room was large, plain, and cold, though the fireplace helped a little. A few crucibles of bronze and iron sat on side tables, along with mortars and pestles.
Two alembics and a pair of retorts glinted faintly in the firelight.
It wasn't much, but it was enough.
He paused, setting the quill aside and leaning back in his chair. A breeze slipped in through the window, sharp with the sea's bite.
Aegon let it wash over him, eyes distant as the past days replayed in his mind.
It had been ten days since the ravens were sent to every major house in Westeros.
The King and his father, Prince Baelon, had remained on Dragonstone for two more days before returning to King's Landing.
With the promise of the Crown's support, Aegon had asked for the old Black Vault tower, a lesser-known part of the Dragonstone castle, set near the cliffs.
It had been used as storage, filled with old furniture and rusting gears no one needed anymore.
He'd had it cleaned out in two days with the help of a few servants and maids.
Nothing elaborate, but enough to make it usable. His own chambers were too cramped for what he intended.
Here, at least, he had space and the quiet.
This would be his tower now. His place to study, to experiment.
Aegon glanced once more at the alembics, retorts, and crucibles on the tables, their glass and bronze-iron surfaces glinting in the light.
The glass was thick and slightly green-tinted, hand-blown in the eastern style, likely from Lys or Tyrosh, and the metalwork was clumsy in places but serviceable, forged from tin-braced copper and sealed with strips of leather at the joints.
This was no mere curiosity set; it was the genuine equipment of a working alchemist.
The tools had arrived a few days ago in a lacquered chest, bound in iron.
They were sent by one of the self-proclaimed "Grand Masters" of the Alchemists' Guild in King's Landing, an aged man who claimed to have glimpsed "the return of true fire" in his dreams.
He had journeyed to Dragonstone in person, hoping to meet the young prince said to conjure flame with his very blood.
But Queen Alysanne, had received the man herself and promptly dismissed him, stating that "Dragonstone is not receiving guests at this time."
The man left disappointed, but he did not leave empty-handed, he left the chest behind, as an offering.
It was not the only one.
In the days following the royal announcement, tokens and trinkets from neighboring houses had begun to arrive, books of Valyrian history, preserved scrolls, cloaks, carvings, even perfumes laced with spice and smoke.
Most were thinly veiled attempts at favor-seeking, but some bore a trace of sincere curiosity or reverence.
Aegon had no desire to be flattered or burdened with diplomacy. He'd asked his grandmother to handle the influx, and she had done so with relish.
Queen Alysanne had deputized Lady Jocelyn, along with Maegelle and little Gael, to manage the process.
The three women treated the matter like a game, laughing over the gaudy extravagance of certain gifts or debating the intentions behind others.
Lady Jocelyn kept score of the "most shameless offering" of the day. Maegelle, insisted on cataloging every item and organizing them by region.
Even Gael enjoyed guessing which noble had sent what based on the quality of the wrappings.
For Aegon, it was all noise.
But that wasn't all he received.
Two letters had come, distinct in tone and hand.
One bore the elegant script of his older brother Viserys, the other the bold, hastier scrawl that could only belong to Daemon.
Viserys's letter was polished, careful, and formal in its structure, though not without warmth. He began by offering his congratulations on Aegon's "awakening," calling it a miracle not seen since the days of the Freehold.
He quoted half-remembered legends of Valyrian pyromancers of old, who could ignite anything with a gesture or bend flames into living shapes.
He admitted, with cautious awe, that their father, Prince Baelon, had already spoken of Aegon's gift with pride.
But Viserys wanted to see it for himself.
"I hope to witness it in spring, when the royal hunt is held," Viserys wrote. "If you can conjure fire as they say… well, it shall be a sight worth more than all the tales."
He closed with a brief update on his bonding attempts with Balerion, the Black Dread. Though the ancient dragon was slow to respond, Viserys believed progress was being made.
"Soon, I shall mount him as 'The Conqueror' once did. I am certain of it." There was confidence in his words, though Aegon could sense the undercurrent of pressure, of expectation weighing heavily.
Daemon's letter, by contrast, was chaotic, personal, and entirely without caution.
He congratulated Aegon in his usual brash style, calling him "the flame-blooded brother," and declared that he would "see this fire-trick for myself soon enough."
He claimed he was nearly finished with his business in the City Watch under Ser Rickard Redwyne and planned to return to Dragonstone in secret.
"I'm coming to claim Caraxes," he wrote plainly, "and I don't mean to ask nicely."
He urged Aegon to keep his return quiet, "no telling Queen Alysanne or our aunts", and then followed it with a sharp jab of humor.
"You remember how Rhaenys crept into the Dragonpits and took Meleys for herself? That dragon belonged to Mother—and now I'll take her father's. Let's see what her face looks like when I fly off with her legacy."
Aegon smiled wryly, shaking his head.
Typical Daemon, bold, brash, and delighting in chaos.
Sighing to himself, Aegon turned his attention back to his immediate concerns.
The revelation of him being a pyromancer had never truly been 'sudden'.
He had known he would need to make a stronger impact when he reviewed the details of the [Wizard Apprentice] class after its creation had failed.
Leveling his first Tier 3 class, [Wizard Apprentice], to its maximum would demand an enormous amount of experience. And earning that experience by simply flying around atop Dreamfyre would take far too long.
But he couldn't afford to wait that long, because he needed the class [Wizard Apprentice] urgently.
His magic attribute was steadily increasing, little by little, and he knew all too well the toxic effect it had on living beings.
Yes, he could have created another physical class to resist the side effects of magic, but that would take him down another path.
His future depended on magic. He couldn't reject it, he had to transform it into his own power.
After all, magic was his only hope of fighting the fate that hung over him like a sword.
The prophetic dreams had shown him that his existence hadn't caused a strong enough butterfly effect, at least not yet, to alter the future.
He remembered the show, House of the Dragon, more clearly now that his [INT] had increased.
In truth, there were many differences between what he saw here and what he had watched, but the overall flow of the story remained the same.
He knew this because he had dreamed of the Dance of the Dragons.
The dreams were a jumbled mix of scenes and silhouettes, difficult to interpret, but he wasn't foolish enough to miss the meaning.
To Aegon, they suggested two possibilities: either the dreams showed the most likely course the future would take, or they revealed certain fixed events, anchor points in time that would unfold no matter what.
Either way, his life was at risk. But since danger was already part of his path, a little more of it was worth the gain, especially if it brought a large amount of experience.
"Knock. Knock."
The sound of knuckles against wood broke through Aegon's thoughts.
"Come in," he said, not turning from the table.
The door creaked open, and Ser Clement stepped inside. The white of his Kingsguard cloak shimmered faintly in the light.
"My prince, the things you ordered have arrived," he said with his usual calm.
Aegon gave a short nod. The guards on Dragonstone had been significantly increased since his awakening as a pyromancer.
King Jaehaerys had immediately seen to the security of the island.
And along with the soldiers came Ser Clement, the sworn brother of the Kingsguard who had once trained both Aegon and Daemon in swordplay and discipline.
Now, he served as Aegon's protector.
Following him, a few servants and maids filed into the chamber, carefully carrying two wide trays, each filled with damp clay.
"Place them beside the crucibles," Aegon instructed.
Once the trays were settled near the corner of his worktable, he added, "You may go."
Ser Clement gave a silent nod and left with the others, shutting the heavy door behind him.
Aegon stepped forward. On the table, next to the newly arrived trays, lay the collection of crucibles and a single unremarkable-looking gray stone.
The crucibles contained soil and mud from various parts of Dragonstone, dug from beneath rocky cliffs, forest patches, even the black-sanded beaches.
These had been used in previous attempts to bind magic.
All of them had failed.
All except the stone.
Despite its plain appearance, the stone held magic, it was the only one that had successfully formed a binding.
Aegon could see the faint, steady flow of magical particles within it, twisting and curling in patterns only he could perceive. That flow was crucial.
Magic, in its raw form, could not be studied unless it was bound to a medium.
Once bound, the way it flowed through a material revealed the kind of magical trait or property that had awakened within it, or the specific effect it imposed upon reality.
From those magical flows, those glimmering veins of metaphysical black lights, he could observe patterns. From patterns came structure.
And from structure, he deduced runes.
He had already deduced the [Fire Rune] earlier, by observing the underlying magic flow of the flames he conjured through his flamecraft. But fire was only the beginning.
Since he had to observe the flow of magic to deduce runes, there remained the question: how to find more items that had magic bound to them?
He couldn't roam the world collecting every enchanted object or relic, such a method would be slow, inefficient, and draw too much attention.
But he had another path. A more elegant one.
Spirituality.
Granted by his Tier 3 class [Wizard Apprentice], spirituality was the metaphysical force of his mind, his bridge to the unseen.
With it, he could interact with magic particles itself, guide it, shape it, even subtly force it to bind.
Using the [Wizard Apprentice] class, Aegon could manually channel his inner magic, control it through spirituality, and guide it into selected objects, stones, soil, water, metal.
If the object accepted the binding, the magic would root within it, forming patterns. From there, rune deduction would begin.
Once he gathered enough runes, he would be able to construct mental spell models from them, complex, layered structures to be stored within his mind.
These models could then be activated with a single thought, unleashing their effects instantly.
The spells he currently wielded, like [Spell: Fireball] and [Spell: Ring Burst], were different.
They didn't rely on runes or structured models. Instead, they stemmed directly from his innate flamecraft ability.
From this point onward, he would refer to them as Innate Spells; simple, raw manifestations of his power, distinct from the more refined, rune-based spellcraft he now pursued.
Aegon's current goal was defense. A spell to block physical attacks or deflect arrows, bolts, thrown weapons.
Earth, being stable and protective, was the natural affinity to pursue.
Yet, all his previous attempts, soil from the cliffs, sand from the beaches, even volcanic ash, had failed to form a magical bond.
All except one: the gray stone.
Only the stone had accepted his guided magic. And only it revealed a magical flow that could be studied.
Using the combined benefits of his four classes: [Occult Scholar], [Rune Initiate], [Mental Adept], and [Wizard Apprentice], Aegon began observing the flow hour after hour, measuring the movement, sketching the patterns.
Within three days, he succeeded.
He had deduced the [Earth Rune].
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