Chapter 11: The Dragon's Awakening, The Westeros Gambit
The Obsidian Spire, Aizen Sōsuke's fortress of solitude and arcane science, stood as a silent, brooding monument amidst the desolate ruins of Valyria. Within its walls, the passage of years had been marked not by the turning of seasons – for the Smoking Sea knew none – but by the steady, relentless accumulation of knowledge and power. By Aizen's internal chronometer, nearly two decades had passed since the Doom, a blink of an eye for a being with eternity stretched before him, yet sufficient time for his initial preparations to reach fruition. The whispers from the wider world, once faint and distant, now carried the distinct, enticing scent of large-scale conflict: Aegon Targaryen's audacious conquest of Westeros was well underway.
The time for isolated study and subtle, distant manipulations was drawing to a close. The "testing phase," as Aizen considered it, was complete. It was time to step onto a larger stage, to harvest the rich bounty of souls that war inevitably offered, and to begin actively weaving the socio-political fabric of this world to his grand design.
Before he turned his gaze fully westward, however, two crucial domestic matters required final attention. The first was Ignis Primus, the colossal magma-colored dragon egg whose slumbering consciousness had become a silent companion to Aizen's own profound meditations. The preparations for its hatching were complete. A vast, geothermally heated incubation chamber had been carved deep beneath the Spire, directly tapping into a controlled fissure that channeled the raw, volcanic energies of the planet's core. Vhagarion, himself a being of immense, Doom-forged power, stood ready to provide the precise resonant frequency of soul-fire required.
The ritual, for lack of a better term, was a symphony of controlled power. Aizen, clad not in armor but in simple, dark robes that did little to conceal the ethereal light that now seemed to cling to his form, stood before the great egg. The obsidian rod, resonating with ancient Valyrian runes, was held aloft in his hand. Vhagarion, at Aizen's telepathic command, unleashed a torrent of his unique emerald-black flame, not upon the egg, but into a complex array of Kido-Valyrian focusing crystals Aizen had constructed. These crystals refined Vhagarion's fire, stripping away its overtly destructive aspects, amplifying its soul-resonant frequencies, and bathing the magma egg in a pure, incandescent bath of life-giving, awakening energy.
Aizen then channeled his own immense spiritual pressure through the obsidian rod, directing it into the egg, not as a command, but as an invitation, a psychic bridge. "Awaken, Ignis Primus," his mental voice resonated, not with the dominance of a master, but with the call of an equal. "The world awaits your fire. I await your alliance."
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, the golden veins on the magma egg began to blaze with a light so intense it outshone even Vhagarion's amplified flames. A deep, resonant cracking sound echoed through the chamber, followed by another, and another. The ancient shell, harder than any stone, began to fracture. The psychic presence within surged, a colossal wave of ancient pride, primal power, and dawning awareness.
With a final, explosive shattering, Ignis Primus emerged.
It was a creature of breathtaking, terrifying majesty. Far larger than any normal hatchling, nearly the size of Aizen's juvenile dragons, its scales were the color of cooling magma, deep charcoals and fiery reds, with the same intricate network of molten gold veins that now pulsed with a fierce, internal light. Its eyes, when they snapped open, were not the slitted pupils of lesser dragons, but orbs of pure, white-hot incandescence, like miniature suns, radiating an almost unbearable heat and an ancient, profound intelligence. Its roar, when it first sounded, was not the shriek of a newborn, but a deep, resonant bellow that shook the very foundations of the Obsidian Spire, a sound that spoke of primeval power, of mountains being born and worlds ending.
The dragon unfurled its vast, leathery wings, each beat stirring a whirlwind of superheated air. It fixed its incandescent gaze upon Aizen, and Aizen met it without flinching, his own eyes swirling with cosmic light. There was no fear, no subservience in the dragon's gaze, only a deep, penetrating scrutiny, an assessment of the being who had dared to call it forth. Then, slowly, with a regal dignity that was almost human, Ignis Primus lowered its massive head in a gesture not of submission, but of profound acknowledgement, a recognition of shared power and purpose.
"Aizen Sōsuke," a voice echoed in Aizen's mind, not in words, but in a wave of pure, conceptual thought, ancient and powerful. "I am Ignis Primus. The pact is sealed in fire and soul. We shall reshape this age together."
Aizen felt a surge of something akin to satisfaction. This was not merely a weapon; this was an ally, a being whose power, once fully matured, might rival even his own in its own domain. The Hōgyoku pulsed warmly, recognizing the immense spiritual potential of this new entity, its energies already subtly intertwining with the dragon's nascent aura.
The second matter requiring attention before his Westeros gambit was the containment of immediate, localized threats. The "Seekers of the Lost Blood," with their kraken sigil and their shadowy machinations in the Basilisk Isles, were an irritant. While their current activities were minor, their ancient knowledge and their connection to the "Voice from the Abyss" made them a potential future complication. Aizen had no intention of engaging them directly yet – a waste of resources. Instead, he opted for misdirection and containment.
He tasked Argent, whose control over Vorian Salt's pirate kingdom was now firmly established, with a new objective: to subtly "leak" fabricated intelligence to the Seekers. This intelligence, carefully crafted by Aizen himself, would hint at the existence of exceptionally rare bloodlines and potent magical artifacts in a remote, inhospitable region of eastern Essos, far from Westeros and Aizen's immediate interests. Simultaneously, Aizen wove a complex, multi-layered Kido barrier around the entire Smoking Sea, a ward of immense scale and subtlety, designed not to be an impenetrable wall, but a vast, disorienting spiritual labyrinth for any who tried to scry or venture too close with hostile intent, particularly those attuned to shadow or necromantic energies. It would not stop a determined, powerful entity indefinitely, but it would buy him considerable time and discourage casual intrusion.
As for the abyssal whirlpool and its slumbering occupant, Aizen recognized it as a power far too ancient and alien for direct confrontation at this stage. His previous investigation had provided crucial data. For now, he placed a series of Kido-based "sentinel beacons" around its periphery, spiritual buoys that would alert him to any significant change in its energy signature or activity. It was a dormant volcano; best to let it sleep until he possessed the understanding and power to dismantle or harness it safely.
With these precautions in place, Aizen turned his full attention to Aegon Targaryen's conquest of Westeros. His scrying had provided a comprehensive overview of the conflict: the Field of Fire, where the combined might of the Reach and the Westerlands had been incinerated by dragonflame; Harrenhal's melting towers; the submission of the North and the Vale. Aegon, with his sisters and their three dragons, was carving out an empire with brutal efficiency.
This war, Aizen saw, was a perfect storm. It offered:
* A Massive Soul Harvest: Decades, if not centuries, of simmering resentments and burgeoning populations were being culled in a relatively short, intense period. The sheer emotional and spiritual energy released in battles like the Field of Fire was immense.
* A Living Laboratory: It was a chance to observe Valyrian dragon warfare firsthand, to study Westerosi martial traditions, their primitive grasp of strategy, their societal structures, and their diverse, often contradictory, belief systems.
* Shaping the Future: Aegon was creating a unified, albeit likely unstable, kingdom. A single, centralized power, even a fractured one, was often easier to manipulate in the long run than a multitude of petty states. Aizen could subtly influence the foundations of this new empire, planting seeds of future discord or dependency.
* Testing Grounds: It was an opportunity to deploy his own assets – his lesser dragon broods, his advanced Sentinels, perhaps even Ignis Primus in a limited capacity once it matured slightly – and to test his own abilities in a dynamic, real-world conflict, albeit from a disguised or indirect position.
His method of intervention would be characteristically Aizen. He would not overtly declare himself a new power. Instead, he would introduce a new, enigmatic player onto the Westerosi stage: "The Lost Legion of Volantis," supposedly a renegade fleet of Valyrian purists and dragonriders who had survived the Doom in some hidden enclave and now sought to reclaim a place in the world, or carve out a new one. This Legion would be led by a figure of immense charisma, arcane power, and Valyrian heritage – a carefully crafted persona Aizen himself would adopt: Lord Aerion Vaelaros, a "distant cousin" to the extinct Valyrian house he had once casually eliminated. This guise allowed him to operate openly, command dragons, and wield Valyrian-esque magic without immediately revealing his divine nature. His actual appearance would be subtly altered through the Hōgyoku's power, maintaining key Valyrian features but distinct enough from his former Aemond Xantys persona.
The "Lost Legion" would consist of several of his rapidly maturing juvenile dragons, specially bred for combat and flown by his most advanced, human-like Sentinel constructs, cloaked and helmed to appear as mysterious Valyrian knights. Their ships, sleek black vessels of his own design, powered by elemental cores and armed with Kido-Valyrian weaponry, would be far superior to anything in Westeros or even the Free Cities.
Argent was recalled from the Basilisk Isles. Vorian Salt's pirate kingdom was now a self-sustaining engine of minor conflict, a useful distraction, and a potential source of illicit resources or deniable agents in the future. Argent, with his combat prowess and infiltration skills, would serve as "Lord Aerion's" second-in-command and chief intelligence officer.
The logistics of deploying this force from the Smoking Sea to the coasts of Westeros were complex but well within Aizen's capabilities. His new fleet, accompanied by the dragon squadron, would make the journey under the cover of magically generated storms and illusions, establishing a hidden forward operating base on one of the more remote, uninhabited islands in the Iron Islands archipelago or the Stepstones, a place from which they could strike or offer their "services."
As these preparations reached their zenith, Aizen stood in his central command chamber, the Hōgyoku a cool, steady fire against his chest. It resonated with the impending conflict, not with hunger, but with a calm, anticipatory hum, sensing the vast quantities of spiritual energy that would soon be unleashed. Aizen felt a similar anticipation. This was not merely about power acquisition; it was about the art of manipulation on a continental scale, the joy of a master strategist setting his pieces on a grand board.
He would not simply aid Aegon. Nor would he solely oppose him. The "Lost Legion" would be a chaotic neutral force, at least initially. They might offer their services to a desperate Westerosi king facing Aegon's dragons, prolonging a doomed resistance to maximize casualties and observe Aegon's methods. They might then "defect" or switch allegiance, perhaps even "aiding" Aegon in a particularly difficult siege, only to extract concessions or plant agents within his nascent power structure. The goal was to maximize bloodshed, gather souls, acquire knowledge, and subtly weave threads of influence that would pay dividends for centuries to come. He would also need to assess the Targaryen dragons – Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes – and their riders. Were they potential threats to his own draconic assets? Or could their bloodline be co-opted or eventually subsumed?
Ignis Primus, now resting in its vast geothermal chamber, was growing at an astonishing rate, its intelligence expanding daily, its bond with Aizen deepening into a true psychic partnership. While too young and too valuable to risk in the initial stages of the Westeros campaign, its presence was a trump card Aizen held in reserve, a force that could shatter armies and alter the course of history when the time was right. Vhagarion, his original companion, would be Aizen's personal mount in his guise as Lord Aerion, his terrifying presence a symbol of the "Lost Legion's" power.
The final orders were given. The Sentinels, disguised as Valyrian knights, boarded the black ships. The juvenile dragon squadron, already the size of Aegon's smaller dragons, took to the skies, their roars echoing across the desolate waters of the Smoking Sea. Aizen, garbed in exquisitely crafted Valyrian-style armor of dark, shimmering metal (a Valyrian steel-obsidian alloy of his own invention), his features subtly shifted into the handsome, aristocratic, and slightly intimidating visage of Lord Aerion Vaelaros, stood on the command deck of his flagship, Nyx. Argent, a silent, imposing figure in black, stood at his side.
"The currents of fate are shifting, Argent," Aizen said, his voice the smooth, cultured baritone of Lord Aerion, yet carrying an undercurrent of divine power. "Westeros believes it faces a Targaryen storm. They are unprepared for the true tempest that is to come."
Vhagarion landed on the Nyx's reinforced deck with a ground-shaking impact, his emerald eyes burning with anticipation. Aizen placed a hand on the dragon's massive, armored snout.
"Let the curtain rise on this new act," he declared, his gaze fixed westward. "The fields of Westeros will be fertile ground indeed."
With a silent command, the fleet of the "Lost Legion" slipped out from the perpetual twilight of the Smoking Sea, hidden beneath a cloak of illusion and unnatural fog, their destination the war-torn shores of a continent about to learn that the horrors of Valyria were not entirely extinguished, and that new, far more calculating gods were beginning to walk their world. The great soul harvest of Aegon's Conquest was about to begin, and Aizen Sōsuke, the Weaver of Destinies, was ready to claim his tithe.