Death had a particular smell. Cordite, blood, and fear, a cocktail Alex Frost had become intimately familiar with over his twelve years as a SEAL.
The mission had gone sideways the moment they breached the compound. Intelligence had said eight hostiles. They'd found twenty-three so far, all armed to the teeth and fighting with the desperation of men who had accepted death.
Alex pressed his back against the crumbling concrete wall, the rapid thump of his heartbeat keeping time with the sporadic bursts of gunfire. Sweat stung his eyes as he reloaded, fingers moving through the practiced motion without conscious thought. The weight of his tactical vest felt heavier than usual, laden with extra ammo he was burning through too quickly.
"Frost, we need to push through the east corridor!" Jenkins shouted over the comms, voice barely audible above the chaos.
Alex risked a glance around the corner. Three tangos, all with AKs, positioned behind overturned furniture. Poor cover, but enough to make advancing costly.
"Copy that. Need suppressing fire on my mark." He inhaled deeply, tasting dust and copper on his tongue.
The building shuddered as something exploded in another wing. Plaster rained down from the ceiling.
"Three, two—"
The metallic clink that followed wasn't loud. Just distinctive. Unmistakable.
Time slowed as Alex tracked the grenade's arc as it sailed through the shattered window, bouncing once before rolling to a stop in the center of the room where Jenkins and Martinez had taken cover.
"Grenade!" he shouted, already moving.
Fuck.
The thought barely registered as his body made the decision his mind hadn't yet processed. Alex lunged forward, throwing himself onto the small metal sphere. He curled his body around it, using his vest for what meager protection it might offer.
In that suspended moment, strangely peaceful despite the gunfire around him, Alex had time for one final thought: At least it'll be quick.
The explosion tore through him with white-hot agony.
Then darkness.
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Consciousness returned like a tide, formless and weightless.
Alex blinked. Or tried to. Did he even have eyelids anymore? The absence of pain surprised him. The explosion should have—
"Deceased: Alex Frost. Male. Thirty-four years of age."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Alex found himself, his essence, his consciousness, whatever he was now, drifting through a pearly haze toward what looked like... a reception desk?
The afterlife was a lobby. A fucking lobby with potted plants, soft ambient lighting, and what appeared to be elevator music playing from hidden speakers.
Behind a curved white desk sat a young woman with short blue hair and glasses, sipping from a novelty mug that read "World's Best Afterlife Processor." She looked bored out of her mind as she tapped at what resembled a touchscreen floating in the air.
"Alex Frost," she intoned without looking up. "Cause of death: threw himself on a grenade to save two teammates. Selfless sacrifice. Hmm." She took another sip. "Soul designated for standard purification and recycling. Identity erasure protocol initiated."
Alex tried to speak but found he had no voice. No body either, just awareness.
The woman, her nametag read "Mizuki, Soul Processing Technician", set her drink down and began typing. "Okay Mr. Frost, nothing personal, but standard procedure for souls at your karma level is complete identity wipe before reassignment. You won't feel a thing."
She reached for a glowing button on her console.
Her elbow bumped her mug. Coffee splashed across the controls.
"Shit! Shit shit shit!" Mizuki frantically dabbed at the liquid with her sleeve. "These things are so sensitive—"
The console sparked. A pulsing blue sphere materialized from nowhere, expanding rapidly.
"No, no, no, that's not the right—"
The sphere engulfed Alex's consciousness. Electric sensation jolted through his non-existent form. He felt himself being pulled, stretched, compressed.
"NO!" Mizuki screamed as Alex's awareness shot toward a doorway that hadn't been there seconds before. "My supervisor is going to terminate me!"
As Alex's consciousness hurtled through the portal, he caught fragments of Mizuki's panicked muttering.
"—Nereid Kyrie protocol activated, fictional universe transfer, that's for high-karma individuals only—"
Then came a different sensation. Falling. Spinning. Compressing.
Darkness again, but different this time. Wet darkness. Floating. The sensation of being underwater, but breathing. Growing. Changing.
His consciousness was a blur of sensations. Pressure, too much of it, squeezed around him from all sides. He couldn't make sense of the bright lights, the cold air, the strange voices.
The first breath hurt. Real lungs expanding, real air filling them. Small lungs. A baby's cry, his cry, pierced the air.
"A healthy boy, my lord," a woman's voice said. "Strong lungs on this one."
"Laenor," a deep male voice replied. "His name shall be Laenor Velaryon."
A pair of hands, massive compared to his tiny form, lifted him. The world tilted, swayed. His unfocused eyes caught the shimmer of silver-gold hair, the gleam of what might have been armor or jewelry.
"He has the Velaryon look, through and through," the man said, voice deep and resonant. Pride tinged every word. "The blood of Old Valyria runs strong in him."
Another set of hands took him, gentler. A woman's scent, something like lavender and salt, enveloped him as she cradled him against her chest.
"Our little dragon," she murmured. "Laenor."
The name meant nothing to him. His cries quieted as warmth surrounded him. Security. Safety. The panic receded.
Laenor. The name echoed in his mind. Not Alex. Laenor Velaryon.
His infant brain couldn't process the impossibility of his situation, couldn't reconcile the memories of a SEAL with this new reality.
As he drifted toward sleep, a peculiar sensation washed over him. Not physical, but something else. A presence. Ancient. Powerful. It brushed against his consciousness like the touch of an ocean wave, then receded.
Nereid Kyrie. The words formed in his mind with perfect clarity, though he had no idea what they meant.
Then sleep claimed him.
______________________________
He awoke to shouting. He was curled around a large object which was currently shuddering.
"The egg!" A man's voice, urgent. "It's hatching!"
"Impossible," a women's voice whispered. "He's barely a day old."
The egg shuddered violently against his tiny body. Heat radiated from its scaled surface, warming Laenor's swaddled form as cracks spiderwebbed across the shell. He blinked, infant eyes struggling to focus on the commotion.
"Stand back!" Corlys commanded, his voice thundering through the chamber.
Laenor's infant mind couldn't comprehend the words, but somewhere deeper, a primal recognition stirred. Dragon. The word meant something important.
The egg rocked again, pressing against him. A high-pitched crack split the air as a small section of shell broke away. A clawed foot, no larger than Laenor's thumb, pushed through the opening. Iridescent scales gleamed in the torchlight, shifting between midnight blue and deep purple.
The chamber erupted in exclamations.
Laenor felt no fear. The heat from the egg intensified, yet didn't burn him. Instead, it felt right. Familiar. His tiny hand moved without conscious thought, fingers reaching toward the breaching shell.
"Careful!" Rhaneys gasped, stepping forward only to be restrained by her husband's firm hand.
"Let it happen," Corlys murmured, eyes wide with wonder. "This is destiny."
The shell fractured further. A small reptilian head emerged, eyes like polished amethysts blinking in the sudden light. The creature chirped, a sound between a bird's call and a cat's mewl. It fixed its gaze on Laenor, unblinking.
Something invisible passed between them. A connection forming, ancient and powerful. In Laenor's developing mind, Alex's memories surfaced briefly, then sank again beneath infant consciousness.
The dragon hatchling wriggled free of its shell completely, its body no longer than Laenor's forearm. Pearlescent scales caught the light as it crawled awkwardly toward him, leaving fragments of shell in its wake.
"A dragon," Corlys breathed, voice thick with emotion. "The first hatched to House Velaryon since Valyria."
The creature curled against Laenor's chest, its warmth seeping through the swaddling cloth. A sense of completeness washed over him, as if a piece of himself he hadn't known was missing had finally returned.
"The gods have blessed House Velaryon this day," his father declared, voice thick with emotion.
The dragon chirped again, as if in agreement. Its wings, still soft and pliable, unfurled briefly before folding against its body.
"This changes everything," Corlys said, exultant. "A Velaryon with a dragon of his own. The king must be informed immediately."
Just before his eyes closed, Laenor noticed something strange. A faint lavender glow emanated from where his skin touched the dragon's. No one else seemed to see it.
Nereid Kyrie. The words surfaced again as consciousness faded. Whatever they meant, he knew they connected him to this creature. To this new world.
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Laenor Velaryon with a Longinus. And that too, Nereid Kyrie. Almost perfect for House Velaryon wouldn't you say?
Really hope you enjoyed the chapter.