The smoke and dust of Valyria have not dissipated for a thousand years.
As Ghidorah's massive pale-gold shadow once again swept over those twisted, ash-covered black mountains, over the solidified rivers of lava and fragmented buildings, and through the air filled year-round with the scent of sulfur and death, a trace of cold indifference welled up in Aegon's heart.
Once upon a time, this place was his hell.
The betrayal of the Mercenaries, the cruelty of Euron, the blood sacrifices of Corleone—every step was taken on the edge of a blade, and every breath could have inhaled lethal, cursed dust.
He had struggled to survive here, exhausting his schemes and courage just to earn a slim chance at life.
Now, returning to the old place, his state of mind was entirely different.
Ghidorah spread its wings, its six molten-gold vertical pupils looking down coldly at this cursed land below.
To the current Aegon, this desperate land where countless explorers had left their bones was nothing more than a back garden to be taken at will.
Ghidorah's existence itself was the most powerful protective talisman and exploration tool.
It did not need Aegon's guidance; its ancient and powerful biological instincts could easily sense the remnants within the depths of the ruins that carried energy fluctuations.
Those were its prey.
Over the past few days, they had ventured deep into the Smoke Sea and the ruins.
Ghidorah had preyed upon several twisted monsters.
Twisted tentacled monsters lurking in the Smoke Sea, predators covered in black scales hiding in the depths of canyons, and even a flying monster that looked similar to a dragon but possessed low intelligence and knew only slaughter.
But Ghidorah's feedback came back clearly: junk food. Thin energy, poor taste, and ugly appearance.
It was like asking a king accustomed to enjoying top-tier steak to gnaw on moldy black bread.
It needed higher quality fuel.
At this moment, they were hovering over a relatively intact section of the ruins.
Calling it intact was only in comparison to the surrounding areas that had been completely reduced to powder.
One could faintly see what used to be the foundation of a grand temple or palace; massive stone pillars lay scattered about, carved with long-blurred Valyrian runes.
The ground was not entirely covered by volcanic ash, revealing strange dark-red rock layers beneath that seemed to still be pulsing slightly.
Ghidorah's three heads turned simultaneously toward a certain direction deep within the ruins, its throats emitting a low hum of clear longing.
It felt it.
Aegon lightly patted the dragon's back.
Ghidorah lowered its altitude, folded its wings, and dove down in a nearly vertical posture. Its heavy dragon feet slammed onto the dark-red rock layer, kicking up a circular shockwave of air laden with ash.
Almost the instant it landed, several hundred meters ahead, that seemingly solid dark-red ground suddenly exploded!
Broken stones fell like rain as dust rose everywhere. A massive, dark-red shadow like molten lava soared into the sky from the blasted pit!
That wasn't magma; it was a living creature!
It had a hideous, dragon-like head covered in dark-red crystals, but it had no horns, only a few twisted bone spurs. Its eyes were two clusters of burning dark-red flames, filled with primal tyranny and terror.
Its body could no longer be called a dragon's body; it was more like a giant worm that had been stretched, twisted, and covered in a lava-like shell. Its diameter exceeded three meters, and its length... before it fully emerged from underground, it was hard to estimate, but the exposed part alone was no less than a hundred meters!
"Fire Wyrm... or rather... Fire Dragon Worm."
Aegon whispered, confirming the description given by the Ironborn before his death.
This monster had no wings and no legs, relying entirely on its worm-like body to travel underground.
At this moment, it clearly sensed Ghidorah's soul-shuddering aura of terror. Its first reaction was not to attack, but to flee!
Its massive head suddenly turned, wanting to dive back into the hole it had just burst from.
But it was too late.
Ghidorah's central head had already reared up. Deep in its throat, a piercing point of golden light suddenly brightened! It wasn't a breath, but more like the condensation and release of some power.
"Zzzzt—Boom!"
A torrent of pale-gold plasma, not straight but moving as if alive, erupted from Ghidorah's mouth!
It didn't directly strike the Fire Wyrm's body; instead, it suddenly unfurled in mid-air, turning into a massive pale-gold lightning net composed of pure energy. It draped down from above, instantly enveloping the Fire Wyrm's massive body, which had only half-emerged!
"Hiss—!!!"
The Fire Dragon Worm let out a screech sharp enough to tear eardrums, like a wail of a soul being scorched.
It struggled frantically, its dark-red body twisting and thrashing within the pale-gold lightning net, smashing the surrounding rubble and ruins to pieces.
The high temperature of its body surface was enough to melt steel, yet it couldn't budge the cage made of pure destructive energy in the slightest.
The lightning net suddenly contracted, tightening inward!
A hair-raising scene occurred.
The Fire Dragon Worm's struggling movements suddenly froze. The dark-red light on its surface, which looked like flowing magma, was instantly sucked away as if by an invisible hand, rapidly dimming and extinguishing.
Its massive body, which had been emitting terrifying heat, began to shrivel and grey at a visible rate. Its color changed from dark-red to deathly grey, finally taking on an unsettling greyish-white hue.
It was like a bonfire that had been drained of all fuel and life force.
"Rumble..."
Losing its internal energy support, that hundred-meter-long massive husk could no longer maintain its structure. It collapsed with a crash, hitting the ground. There was no expected earth-shaking impact; instead, it was like a pile of long-accumulated ash falling apart.
It turned into a pile of grey-white powder that was no longer hot but instead emitted a strange, bone-chilling cold, mixing with the surrounding black volcanic ash until it was hard to distinguish.
Ghidorah's three heads roared in unison as the pale-gold lightning net was retracted. Wisps of dark-red residual energy seemed to flow within it before finally merging into its body.
This feeding session was clearly quite satisfying for it.
Aegon could clearly feel through his mental connection with Ghidorah that the faint sense of hunger had receded somewhat, replaced by a warm, mellow feeling of fullness from slowly growing power.
The energy contained in this Fire Dragon Worm far exceeded those previous 'junk foods.'
Just as Ghidorah spread its wings, preparing to take flight again to find the next target,
Aegon's gaze was caught by a piece of wreckage beside the large pit the Fire Wyrm had dug, which had been swept aside during its struggle.
There, beneath a pile of long-rotted timber and shattered stones, a cold metallic luster, out of place with its surroundings, flickered slightly under the dismal light filtering through the dust.
It emitted an imperishable, sharp, and quiet luster, starkly different from the surrounding decay.
Aegon's eyes narrowed slightly as he patted the side of Ghidorah's neck.
The dragon understood, halting its movements. Its three heads turned vigilantly, and its six molten-gold vertical pupils scanned the surroundings, keeping watch for him.
Aegon leaped down from the dragon's back, landing soundlessly.
He drew the blackfyre sword at his waist and walked toward the wreckage with steady steps.
Stepping over soft ash and rubble, he approached the source of that metallic luster.
The first things to enter his sight were several sets of remains half-buried in the ash. They were ancient; the bones were already brittle and blackened, crumbling at a touch.
They were covered in rusted, tattered fragments of armor.
Aegon's gaze fell upon the breastplate of one set of remains, where a tiny trace of a metal sigil that hadn't completely rusted away still remained.
It wasn't the dragon-shaped emblem common in Valyria.
It was a lion. Although blurred by rust, Aegon would never mistake that head-raised, roaring posture.
Lannister.
The roaring lion sigil of House Lannister of Casterly Rock in the Westerlands.
These Soldiers were Lannister men.
Aegon's eyes narrowed slightly.
He followed the direction in which the wreckage was scattered and took a few more steps forward. Beside a fallen half-section of a stone pillar, he saw a relatively complete set of remains.
It leaned against the stone pillar, its once-magnificent full plate armor long since rusted into brownish-red iron flakes, barely maintaining a human shape.
The helmet had rolled off to the side, revealing a hollow skull inside. And beneath this skeleton lay a clearer metallic luster.
Aegon used the tip of his sword to carefully flick away the dark-red fabric covering it, which had long since turned into tattered rags... that was the color of House Lannister.
The light was revealed.
It was a sword.
The blade was broad and thick with smooth lines. Even after being buried under the dust of untold years, its brilliance remained restrained, emitting that singular texture peculiar to Valyrian Steel—something between metal and flowing water.
The leather wrapped around the hilt had long since weathered away, but the metal crossguard and pommel were still intact.
There was no scabbard.
It just lay there by the hand of its former master, who had turned to bone, as if the master had never let go even in death.
lightbringer.
The ancestral valyrian steel sword of House Lannister, lightbringer.
In Tywin Lannister's time, it had long been lost during a King of the Rock's exploration of Valyria, becoming a great regret for House Lannister.
So, it was here.
Then, the identities of these remains were obvious.
Lannister Soldiers, and this person who held lightbringer even in death... was most likely the one who organized the exploration back then, the King of the Rock, Tommen Lannister II himself?
Of course, it could also be Tywin's adventurous brother, Gerion, who eventually disappeared in the Smoke Sea?
Looking at the signs of battle and the distribution of remains around here, they had clearly encountered something terrible and were completely wiped out.
Was it a Fire Dragon Worm like the one just now? Or some other horrific existence within the Valyrian Ruins?
It was impossible to know.
But the end was already written... coming with the family's ambitions and a thirst for Valyrian treasures, only to eventually become part of the countless withered bones in this cursed land, with the family's greatest treasure buried alongside them.
Aegon bent down and picked up lightbringer.
The sword felt heavy in his hand, a cold sensation transmitting through his glove.
The crossguard was luxurious and grand.
It very much suited the proud 'Hear Me Roar' style of the Lannisters.
Aegon flicked his wrist, shaking the accumulated dust off the sword.
lightbringer emitted a slight, clear vibration like a dragon's cry in his hand, as if after slumbering for countless years, it finally felt the power of a wielder once more.
He felt no sentimentality, no pity.
History is written by the victors, and treasures belong to the hands of the strong.
The Lannisters were the mortal enemies of the Targaryens and the instigators of the tragedies he had experienced.
Their relics, their ancestral sword, falling into his hands now felt like a form of reincarnation and retribution.
Just as he was examining lightbringer and thinking about how to handle this unexpected gain, a cold voice that only he could hear abruptly rang out in his mind:
[Detected a nearby check-in location that meets the criteria: Ancient Targaryen Keep.]
[Proceed to check-in?]
Aegon's movements paused.
Targaryen... Ancient Keep?
The system's prompt clearly projected a direction and a distance into his consciousness.
He raised his head, following that mysterious sensation, and looked deeper into the ruins toward a massive black shadow built against a mountain, appearing and disappearing in the dim light and eternal dust.
It was a castle.
A giant castle carved and modified from half a mountain.
Even from a distance, even with most of it buried under subsequent volcanic eruptions, and even with many towers collapsed, the remaining main outline still showed its former grandeur and peril.
It stood silently among the mountains somewhere on the Valyrian Peninsula, like a sleeping giant, emitting an ancient, desolate, and... inexplicably calling aura.
The family castle of House Targaryen during the era of the Valyrian Freehold, before they crossed west to Dragonstone?
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