"You two seem awfully wary…" The old man sighed, shaking his head as he regarded them with an almost sympathetic gaze, as though their suspicion were a personal slight. "Ah, it wounds me so."
Unfortunately, a certain person in the room was only growing more irritated with each passing moment.
"Stop." Baelon spat out. "Frankly, I ask you to cease your rambling." His gaze fixed on the man. "What in the gods makes you believe I give a damn about how you feel?"
Silence followed, but Baelon's mind did not share in it as it churned through all that he knew.
'Who is this old man? Some sort of intelligent fae bound to the book?' Baelon mused, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. 'But then…what of his purpose? And those visions…surely they were not random.'
The revelation in the temple and then this? What did they mean?
Meanwhile, the elderly figure raised a brow, his expression unchanged, though the pause stretched just a fraction too long.
"I just need to know how we can leave this place," Baelon pressed. "You may be able to resurrect through whatever ability you possess, but I refuse to believe that it is costless."
Ah.
There it was.
Baelon caught it, the flicker in the man's eyes, the fracture in his supposed calm.
His eyes glinted faintly as the man's genial countenance seemed to shrivel, if only for a heartbeat, the warmth draining from it like water through cracked stone.
"You two are free to leave whenever you wish." The man spread his hands, his demeanour slipping into something almost helpless, though it sat poorly upon him. "I have much less power here than either of you can imagine. As long as you wish to leave, you can do so at any time. After all, the Codex has recognised you."
"The Codex?" Baelon echoed, the word tasting unfamiliar. He spared a glance toward Helaena, who shook her head.
Clearly, it was not something of her knowledge either.
"Aye." The man nodded. "The pinnacle of Valyrian magic and arts. An artefact that records the past, present… and future of Valyria."
For a moment, Baelon simply stared at him.
Then—
He chuckled.
As it slipped out of him as he turned his head slightly, a hand rose to cover his mouth as though he might stifle it, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him.
"Have my words amused you, young Dragonlord?" The old man's brows furrowed.
"No, no," Baelon replied, a faint cough following as he lowered his hand. "Nothing of the sort. I simply happened across a rather pleasant memory."
Future was, after all, not a word one would associate with a long-dead empire.
Nevertheless, as his words flowed freely, he was not otherwise idle.
Using the moment, he gave the slightest nod.
Helaena caught it instantly.
Her lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, and then, after a faint glance to the strange figure, she was gone.
The space she had occupied moments before was now empty, as though she had never been there at all.
"Oh?" The old man tilted his head, something curious flickering in his gaze. "Your friend seems to have left you, clearly haven taken my words to heart. But what of you?"
The man paused, his words warm, his tone kind, yet his intentions seemed as malicious as before.
"She scarcely seemed to hesitate in leaving, nor did she show regard for your own well-being. Do you not feel a sense of betrayal? Failure? Unwillingness, perhaps?"
Baelon rolled his eyes as he heard him. How utterly blatant and crude was the attempt to beguile him.
"No," he said simply, though his thoughts spoke far louder than his voice.
This thing, could not stop them. At least as shown by Helaena.
And, from his earlier choice in opening the book again, he understood its influence in the real world was likewise limited.
It could prod. Suggest. Nudge the mind along.
But control?
It could not.
"You needn't worry. The only thing you must understand is that outside, right now…" Baelon gestured with his hands, as though painting the image before him. "This precious little book of yours is likely being swallowed by a ball of sullen flames, controlled by an even grumpier dragoness."
The old man did not flinch.
"The Codex has already been bound to you," he replied flatly. "It cannot be destroyed through any typical means. It would simply regenerate, drawing upon the ambient magic within your body."
Baelon winced.
Not too obviously, but it was there and beneath it simmered a great deal of anger.
'Great. A strange magic book has decided to siphon my power.'
The thought alone was enough to sour his mood entirely. Years, years, of discipline, of sacrifice…and now something else had latched onto it, feeding without permission.
For a fleeting moment, Baelon considered tearing the wretched old man apart where he stood.
But that was the problem, wasn't it?
He couldn't.
Not yet.
Nevertheless, the girl outside this space was someone he had known since the day he was born. Literally.
And, he knew she would not be stumped by this.
"Regeneration will not help you," Baelon said. "She…" He tilted his head slightly. "Is no fool."
The old man's gaze narrowed, if only by a fraction.
"Merely by the fact you showed us those images, those scenes, tells me enough," Baelon continued, taking a slow step forward. "You want people to interact with this book. To show them something. Of course, they must fit whatever criteria you've constructed in that…head of yours, but the intent is nonetheless clear."
He took another step forward.
"You want it found."
He paused, just long enough for the words to settle.
"So tell me…" His voice dipped. "What would you do if we decided to bury it? Deep underground. No light to grace it. No hands to turn its empty pages."
There it was again.
That flicker.
This time, it lasted longer.
"And what then?" Baelon pressed, relentless now. "If we dropped it into the Smoking Sea? Let it sink where no man dares to tread?" His lips curved faintly. "Or perhaps beyond the Wall. I hear it is quite…lonely, up there. Nothing but Free Folk and ice as far as the eye stretches."
With each word, the man's composure frayed.
"And, I don't ever recall the Free Folk being learned enough to read nor skilled enough in magic to fit whatever you are scheming." Baelon pressed with glee as he ate away at the mans' inner peace.
"Well won, boy," the man snapped, his earlier gentility stripped away entirely. "I will tell you what you wish to know"
Baelon smiled with quiet satisfaction.
Enough.
He had no patience left for this decrepit fool's act of superiority and façade of control.
"I am Kael'thir," the man continued. "The manifestation of the Codex. My memories are…fragmented, but my true form was discovered within what is now called the Fourteen Flames. The local shepherds found me alongside the dragon eggs they had unearthed."
As he spoke, something distant crept into his expression, as though recalling a life not entirely his own.
"As time passed, and their people began to brush against the thresholds of magic, I was woven into an artefact. The Codex." He gestured faintly to the space around them. "I was used not only to record Valyrian knowledge… but to refine it. To elevate it."
"You helped them develop their spells?" Baelon's brow lifted slightly, scepticism plain in his tone. It was difficult to reconcile the man before him with the heights of Valyrian mastery.
"Of course." Kael'thir's response came swiftly, arrogance bleeding through once more. "How else would mere shepherds rise to such heights? How else would they grasp the deeper truths of magic?" His chin lifted. "Through the Codex, I can develop new spells and improve existing ones. Provided there is sufficient information to work with."
Baelon was silent for a moment.
Impressed.
Reluctantly so, but impressed nonetheless. Of course, this was on the assumption that this was all true.
Still, he thought of what he had found in Valyria prior. Fragments of broken spells. Lost knowledge. Half-finished theories abandoned to time…
All of it, suddenly, held potential again.
Dangerous potential.
His eyes gleamed.
"Ah…" Baelon murmured, stepping forward once more, his gaze locking onto Kael'thir with renewed interest. "With capabilities like that… I imagine you can be made to do something… useful."
He smiled as he closed the distance, the air between them tightening.
How one could be cornered in an endless void was a question with no answer.
At least none that gods or men could give.
Perhaps only Kael'thir knew.
Alas, he was currently occupied by a greedy silver-haired bastard who was attempting to fleece him for everything he was worth.
***
Night had all but faded, surrendering to the slow rise of dawn as Baelon stood upon the daunting stretch of the Black Cliffs. He let out a slow breath as his gaze drifted downward.
Below him, the Tolos sprawled. Alive. Well. Vibrant.
From this height, its beauty was undeniable, terraced structures carved into the rock, their pale stone catching the early light, sloping streets winding like veins through the city's heart.
The harbour beyond teemed with life; ships rocked against their moorings, sails half-furled as men shouted and hauled cargo with practised ease.
Market squares already stirred with life, colour bleeding into the streets as merchants laid out wares, fabrics fluttering faintly in the morning breeze.
It was thriving. It was bustling. It was…his.
Baelon's lips twitched faintly at the thought, though it did not quite reach his eyes.
Instead, his mind wandered to the previous night.
To the moment he had awoken.
And the sight that had greeted him.
A helpless smile tugged at his lips as he recalled it, the Codex resting by his bedside, encased within a dense sphere of fire as flames licked at its surface with a hunger that was almost… eager.
This of course, was Helaena's work.
The moment she had noticed him stir, the fire had vanished as though it had never been, leaving only a shadow of heat behind.
It seemed that Kael'thir spoke true; the book truly could not be harmed. According to Helaena's words, she had tried burning it, but it would simply 'heal' on its own.
And…with every recovery, Helaena would find herself more and more tired. Strained. Fatigued.
Before he had returned, she had been attempting to turn it to ash to see if it could regenerate from embers.
But before she could, well, Baelon had woken up.
Nonetheless, after waking, Baelon had told her everything, every word, every detail of what had transpired after her departure.
Still, they were not entirely certain what to do with The Codex. Destroying it seemed to be a bust, whilst burying seemed akin to sleeping atop a barrel of Wildfire.
After all, it was bonded to them; Seven knew what someone could do to them using it as some sort of medium.
He knew enough from his time in Asshai about the dangers of that.
As for his words spoken in the dream? A complete bluff.
Still, Baelon could not feel at ease having it outside his control or field of vision. Its unknowable nature only deepened his sense of caution.
Silas sighed as he pondered it all, but soon was gripped by what they were to do today.
Today…was different.
Baelon idly ran a hand along the scales of Vermithor beside him, the motion absent-minded.
The dragon's hide was warm beneath his touch, each scale thick and daunting, undulating subtly as the great beast breathed.
He exhaled softly.
Seeing him like this…it felt as though a lifetime had passed.
Vermithor had always been large.
Greatly so.
But now?
Now he was something else entirely.
What a horse had been to the Vermithor of old… was what most dragons were to him now. His sheer size bordered on the absurd; his presence alone was enough to dominate the cliffside.
As the Bronze Fury pressed down on the cliff, Baelon half believed he could hear the sheer cliffs groaning at the weight placed on them.
At this point, even Vhagar would have had little choice but to concede in terms of size.
"You ready?" Baelon asked, turning his head slightly toward Helaena.
She stood not far from him, fingers lightly tracing along Dreamfyre's neck.
The dragoness, too, had grown, her form longer, her blue deeper, her wings vast and elegant as they shifted with a low, contented rumble from her chest.
Where once she had rivalled Silverwing, she now far surpassed her.
"Mmh." Helaena nodded, a faint smile resting upon her lips. "How many years has it been…" She murmured, more to herself than to him.
Baelon gave a noncommittal nod, his posture loose, almost casual.
But his mind…his mind was anything but.
This journey weighed on him in a way few things ever had. More than Valyria. More than war.
He could not quite place why.
Only that it did.
Before long, the two moved as they mounted their dragons with practised ease.
Soon, settling into place as muscle and instinct guided them skyward.
And then—
The morning sun broke through the lingering clouds, its light spilling across the horizon in pale gold.
It pierced through drifting veils of mist, casting long, stretching rays that fell upon them, upon scale and stone alike.
It was time…to go home.