Chapter 1 – Ashes of a Bastard
The streets of Braavos stank of salt, sweat, and rot. Fish guts floated in the canals, slick blood drained from butchered pigs into the water, and the laughter of whores echoed through the night. Yet among the shadows, a boy crouched, his knees pressed tight to his chest as though trying to vanish into the cobblestones themselves. His hair caught the faint moonlight—pale silver, almost white—and his eyes glowed faintly violet even in the dark.
That was why the street rats called him "the silver rat."
He had no name, no father, and now, no mother.
She had left him—just like that.
One moment she was holding his hand, dragging him through the crowd outside the Black Pearl's court, perfumed in sweet oils and painted lips, whispering that she would return soon. The next, she was gone, her figure disappearing into a swirl of silks and shadows. He had waited hours, then days, certain she would come back. But courtesans never returned for their bastards. They had patrons to entertain, wealth to chase, and lives to keep unsoiled by the stain of children.
At eight years old, the boy had been abandoned to the filth of Braavos.
Tonight, hunger gnawed at him like knives. His ribs showed through his shirt, his lips cracked, and his eyes burned. The other orphans watched him from across the square, their sneers sharp, their whispers venomous.
"There's the silver rat again."
"Bet he sells that hair to old men."
"No, no, he's cursed—his eyes glow. Demon's blood."
The boy didn't move. He simply stared at the black waters lapping against the stone, his heart slowing, his body failing. He almost welcomed the thought of death.
But then—
A voice.
Cold. Mechanical. Resonating directly in his skull.
> [System initializing…]
[Bloodline Host identified: Unregistered Valyrian Bastard]
[Awakening core functions…]
The boy gasped, clutching his head as lines of burning text seared across his vision.
> [Welcome, Host.]
[Survival Protocol Engaged.]
[First Quest: Survive the night.]
Conditions: Defeat or evade the street gang approaching.
Reward: Bloodline Trait – Fire Resistance Lv. 1]
His breath hitched. "What… what is this?" he whispered hoarsely.
The words hovered in front of him like firebrands etched against the night. And then he heard them—the footsteps.
Five older boys emerged from the alleys, carrying broken bottles and rusted knives. They were grinning.
"Well, well," one of them sneered. "The rat's still alive. Thought he'd starve by now."
"Let's sell him," another laughed. "Some old salt's bound to pay for hair like that."
"Or gut him. No one would care."
The leader, a thickset boy with scars across his cheeks, raised his blade. "Let's see if silver rats squeal like normal ones."
The boy—no, the new Host—stood. Something in him had shifted. His heart was still hammering, but the fear wasn't the same anymore. He could feel fire in his veins, burning, answering a call. The System's cold words echoed again.
> [Quest Active: Survive.]
The first thug lunged. The boy moved instinctively, ducking beneath the slash. Hunger, desperation, and something deeper—a buried instinct—guided his hands. He snatched up a jagged brick from the ground and smashed it into the thug's temple. Bone cracked. The boy collapsed, twitching, blood spilling across the cobblestones.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then chaos.
"Kill him!"
"He's mad!"
"Get the rat!"
They rushed him. He twisted, dodged, each movement sharp, almost serpentine. When a blade scraped his ribs, he barely felt the sting. His eyes locked on the leader. Silver hair fell across his face, his violet gaze burning. For the first time, the boy's lips curled into something like a smile—cold and merciless.
He leapt. His brick met the leader's jaw, once, twice, again, until teeth shattered and blood spattered across his hands. The boy panted, feral, blood dripping down his fingers.
The others hesitated. Then, one by one, they fled.
Silence returned, broken only by the ragged sound of his breathing. He dropped the brick and stared at his trembling, blood-soaked hands. Something inside him felt… alive. For the first time since he'd been abandoned, he wasn't powerless.
The System spoke again.
> [Quest Complete: Survive the night.]
[Reward Unlocked: Bloodline Trait – Fire Resistance Lv. 1]
[Notification: Host's Valyrian bloodline is impure. Initiating purification protocols.]
A searing heat spread through his chest. He cried out, clutching himself as though his very blood boiled. Flames seemed to dance behind his eyes, visions of fire and wings flashing through his mind. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw a dragon's shadow across the moonlit sky.
Then it was gone. He collapsed against the stones, gasping. The hunger was still there, but beneath it, strength pulsed in his veins. His skin felt warmer, his breath stronger, his limbs lighter.
He looked into the canal. For the first time, he saw his reflection clearly: silver hair matted with blood, violet eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly gleam.
Not a rat. Not a victim. Something more.
"Vaeryn…" he whispered. The name came unbidden, from the fire, from the voice, from the blood itself. "I am Vaeryn."
The System responded, cold and absolute.
> [Host registered: Vaeryn Maeloris.]
[Survival achieved. Path of Fire begins.]
Vaeryn stood, the corpses cooling around him, the night air sharp in his lungs. He was still hungry, still small, still abandoned—but now, he had a name.
And with it, the fire of destiny burned.