After bathing in the fire of the great fish, drowsiness seized Rhaegar quickly.
He was still a child in body, and he could only digest the energy of the flame slowly.
As sleep washed over him, the dream swept away his excitement, confusion, and exhaustion.
Moments later, Rhaegar drifted into a strange vision.
A river surged, wide and restless, its waves turbulent.
The air was thick with moist, fish-scented steam, humid and teeming with life.
In Rhaegar's sight, a small hill town on the riverbank appeared, already swallowed by blood and fire.
Houses were burning. People were being slaughtered.
The victims were slender, with dark hair and dark eyes, their skin smooth and olive-toned.
Clearly, they were Rhoynar, the children of the Mother Rhoyne.
At the edge of the town, Valyrian ships prowled. Behind one vessel, a giant fish was being dragged through the water. The black-scaled leviathan was pierced by several cruel hooks, bleeding profusely, leaving a wide trail of crimson in its wake. On the decks, Valyrians strutted, boasting of their great victory.
Purple banners snapped in the wind; only the true dragon could rule.
Soldiers clad in armor black as obsidian rampaged through the town, looting and killing.
Rhaegar witnessed it all, the grief and hatred of the Rhoynar, and the brutality of the Valyrian host.
Yet their armor was neither stone nor simple iron; it looked like obsidian fused by dragonflame.
Above the town, dozens of dragons soared. Two purple leviathans led the formation.
Their wings beat the air, stirring gales with every stroke.
On the forehead of every dragon, a striking rune shone, the rune of House Belaerys. The same rune was mirrored on the bodies of the dragonriders. Dragon and knight danced together, a single entity, interdependent and whole.
The scales of the Purple Dragons shimmered like amethyst; anyone who looked upon them had to marvel at their rare majesty. Their wing-shadows could swallow a prosperous town; their maws could engulf a mammoth whole.
One purple dragon descended slowly. From its back leaped a youth with silver hair and purple eyes, a sword at his waist, he was peerlessly handsome, like an exiled god.
The second purple dragon spiraled down, depositing a tall woman with the same silver hair and violet eyes.
The young dragonriders bore a striking resemblance to one another. They wore circlets of Valyrian steel set with massive purple crystals.
Neither wore armor. Instead, they were draped in magnificent purple robes embroidered with dragons and flames, shimmering like celestial raiment. In every fold of the cloth, the purple dragon-flame crest of House Belaerys was clearly visible.
"Rhoynar, come and greet us, the leaders of the dragonlords of the Valyrian Freehold, the Purple Dragonlords, the glorious twins of House Belaerys. I am Ogo Belaerys, and this is my sister and wife, Oris Belaerys." His voice was hard as steel, carrying a cruel charisma.
But the town was silent, save for the crackling of fire and the groan of collapsing roofs.
The Rhoynar had not surrendered; the Belaerys soldiers had simply herded the survivors into the small central square.
Only a dozen remained, some old, some very young children.
At their front stood a white-haired Rhoynar elder. He glared at the young dragonlord, eyes filled with a hatred so deep it choked his words.
"Bring out the false god these vile Rhoynar worship," Ogo Belaerys commanded, clapping his hands.
Valyrian soldiers in their obsidian-dark armor dragged a black-scaled, six-barbeled fish from the shallows.
The ten-meter-tall beast glistened, dying. The Valyrians held no awe for the river god.
"River God... how can the Valyrians blaspheme you so?" the Rhoynar wept.
Ogo laughed. "Pitiful Rhoynar. You are fit only to be slaves. There is no greater joy than to destroy an enemy's faith, raze their temples, and lie with their women."
The Rhoynar cursed without ceasing. They revered the river as their mother; their gods were mostly turtles and great fish.
Ever since the Valyrian hosts had killed the Rhoynar's turtle gods, the war between Valyria and the Rhoynar had been one of extermination.
A cruel smile hooked the corner of Ogo's mouth again. "Watch my little trick."
Oris, the female dragonlord, watched her brother's performance without interfering.
Valyria and the Rhoynar were mortal enemies now.
A wisp of purple flame burst from the silver-haired dragonlord's fingertip. With a wave, the fire coiled around the great fish.
This was the Fire of Life. A spark began to rotate slowly between the black fish's brows.
The leviathan roared in agony, a sound like a dying calf.
What began as a spark threatened to bloom into wildfire.
The blaze raged, devouring all vitality.
Wherever the fire touched, the black fish's flesh charred.
The River God's body withered. Skin and flesh melted in the light; even the bones turned to dust.
The black fish vanished, while the fire burned ever more violently.
Only the flame remained, now shaped like a black fish, flying back into Dragonlord Ogo's palm.
Slaughter destroys the soul as well!
The Rhoynar were terrified, yet they cursed still. "Damned Valyrians! May you die a thousand deaths!"
Dragonlord Ogo's face grew a shade paler.
The powerful magic of Life Reaping took a heavy toll on the spirit; his own talent could only master simple creatures like this.
Only when he could seize the life of a mighty dragon would the other dragonlords truly take notice of him.
"I call this 'Life Reaping.' The breath, blood, and flesh of this great fish are now fused within this flame. Once I swallow it, my true dragon body will burn even brighter." Dragonlord Ogo toyed with the spark of life on the fish, the Fire of Life, a supreme elixir.
"You demons! You beasts who bed your own sisters, Mother Rhoyne, bring down your wrath!" the Rhoynar elder screamed, his voice trembling.
The words were like poking a hornet's nest.
No matter how the Valyrian dragonlords justified it, their custom of marrying sister to brother was infamous, mocked by every other nation.
Most who dared mention it to a dragonlord's face were burned alive.
"Dracarys!" Dragonlord Ogo roared.
The purple dragon's eyes, like molten lava, turned cold. A torrent of furious flame erupted from its maw, turning the Rhoynar before them into charcoal in an instant.
Oris Belaerys shook her head, offering no rebuke to her husband. She felt no pity for the Rhoynar; she only felt her brother's slaughter was too messy, better to burn the fish and the people together, sparing them prolonged suffering.
They were born proud and glorious, styling themselves dragonlords who ruled the world. Only the dragonlord families were supreme, all other humans and races were merely a low, beast-like rabble.
"Water has tides, and so does fire. Most dragonlords know only destruction; we can grasp life as well," Ogo said to his wife.
Oris nodded. "Life Reaping" was their clan's secret: stealing the spark of life to nourish their own "Blood of Fire."
"The Dragon Council has ordered three hundred dragons to take wing. As Chief Dragonlord, our father has granted us command of the family's true dragon army, to join the war against Prince Garin. This time, we shall seize rich spoils."
Ogo's eyes shone with a greed like wildfire. The black, scale-shaped spark vanished into his bronze ring.
Twenty adult dragons struck at once, this was the majesty and power only a dragonlord could command.
"I will forge the strongest Blood of Fire in the world, not just be the Chief Dragonlord of Valyria. We worship no gods; we are gods. If our child tempers his body with this Fire of Life from birth, his Blood of Fire will be unmatched," Ogo declared to his wife, his gaze cast toward a bright future.
"However, the Reaping Rune disrupts the balance of the heavens and burdens the flesh. We can only take life from dull creatures, mammoths, giant fish, never from a powerful dragon, let alone a human," Oris said with concern.
"We are young. We will breed stronger dragonriders. And then small families like House Targaryen will make our best test subjects," Ogo proclaimed boldly.
The bronze ring on Ogo's hand flashed, and a horn appeared in his grasp.
A bronze horn, its surface crusted with green patina.
Mounting his dragon to soar into the sky, Dragonlord Ogo blew the dragon horn. All the dragons began to circle in the air.
"Lords of the True Dragons, advance!"
Twenty dragons turned, speeding toward Prince Garin.
The main host lay ahead; three hundred dragons would soon unleash the terror of fire, crushing the pitiful faith of the Rhoynar into dust.
~~----------------------
Patreon Advance Chapters:
[email protected] / Dreamer20