Chapter 11: The Unveiling of Wings
The Valyrian cave network, once a secret cradle for nascent power, now felt like a constricting chrysalis. Vaelyx's seven dragons, bonded to him through blood and magic, had grown with unnatural speed in the geothermal heat, their forms now rivaling the size of warhorses, their elemental abilities sharpening daily. Vorlag's obsidian scales were like polished armor, Ignis radiated a palpable furnace heat, Veridian moved with silent, knowing grace, Aurumel's golden luminescence pulsed with protective energy, Argentus crackled with contained lightning, Astra's sapphire eyes held a chillingly regal focus, and Tempest, largest of them all, seemed a living storm. Valyria had served its purpose, birthing his arsenal and yielding its first secrets. Now, the wider world of Essos beckoned, a canvas upon which he would paint his new empire.
"We leave Valyria within the week," Vaelyx announced to his core lieutenants – Kaelen, Lyra, and Boros – in the central chamber of their cave fortress. The dragonbone scroll detailing the bonding ritual lay open on a rough-hewn stone table, alongside the Valyrian astrolabe and the ominous Dragonbinder horn, which he had studied but not yet dared to use. "Our work here is done. Essos awaits."
Kaelen, ever the pragmatist, nodded. "The men are restless. This land… it preys on the mind. Where to, Valerius? Back to Pentos? Illyrio will pay handsomely for what we've found."
Vaelyx allowed a cold smile. "Magister Illyrio's payments are trinkets compared to the spoils that await us. Pentos was a stepping stone, Kaelen. We are destined for greater things." He paused, letting his words sink in. "The Serpent's Scale Company is about to evolve. You have served me well as sellswords. Now, you will serve as the first commanders of an army that will reshape this continent."
Lyra's dark eyes narrowed, intrigued. Boros grinned, hefting his axe. "An army, you say? I like the sound of that."
The final days in Valyria were spent in meticulous preparation. The most valuable artifacts – scrolls of lost lore, caches of Valyrian steel ingots they had unearthed, and chests filled with fire-gems and other precious stones – were carefully loaded onto "The Sea Serpent." The dragons, when not being actively trained in the vast, magically expanded caverns within the suitcase, now resided there, a constant, thrumming presence that Vaelyx alone could fully comprehend. Captain Orzono and the ship's crew were confined to the vessel, forbidden from venturing ashore, their fear of Valyria a sufficient deterrent.
Navigating out of the Smoking Sea proved less harrowing than their entry. Perhaps Valyria, having yielded its draconic progeny, was momentarily sated, or perhaps Vaelyx's own attunement to its magic, amplified by his bond with the seven dragons, subtly guided them through the treacherous currents and reality-warping mists. The oppressive dread lifted as they reached the clearer waters of the Summer Sea, but the crew of "The Sea Serpent" remained subdued, glancing nervously at Valerius, whose already formidable presence had taken on an even more unnerving, predatory intensity.
Once clear of Valyria's cursed shadow, Vaelyx chose a secluded, uninhabited island in the Basilisk Isles, far from prying eyes. It was time to reveal the true source of his power to his inner circle. He led Kaelen, Lyra, and Boros deep into the island's jungled interior, to a hidden caldera.
"You have followed me through fire and shadow," Vaelyx said, his voice resonating with a new authority. "You have witnessed feats you could not explain. You have pledged your loyalty. Now, you will understand the true nature of the power we command."
He placed the battered leather suitcase on the ground. With a series of Parseltongue commands that his lieutenants couldn't understand but felt as a shiver down their spines, he unlatched it. He focused his will, and then, one by one, he called them forth.
First Vorlag, obsidian scales gleaming, black-red fire flaring from his snout as he emerged, his size now truly terrifying. Kaelen gasped, his hand instinctively going to his sword. Boros's jaw dropped. Lyra's eyes, usually unreadable, widened in stunned disbelief.
Then Ignis, a walking inferno of scarlet rage. Then Tempest, a living storm of dark blue and crackling white energy, his roar shaking the very caldera. Vaelyx unveiled only these three initially, their combined presence overwhelming enough. They circled him, their massive forms casting dancing shadows, their reptilian eyes fixed on him with possessive loyalty.
"By the Seven Hells…" Kaelen breathed, taking a step back.
"Dragons," Lyra whispered, her voice barely audible. "They are… real."
Boros simply stared, his earlier bravado replaced by raw, primal awe.
"They are more than real, my friends," Vaelyx said, his voice cutting through their shock. He reached out, laying a hand on Vorlag's heated snout. "They are the instruments of our destiny. They are the fire that will forge our empire. Valerius the sellsword captain is no more. From this day, you serve Vaelyx Targaryen, son of Jaehaerys, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and Lord of these Seven Flames."
He didn't expect them to grasp the Westerosi political implications immediately. What mattered was the undeniable, terrifying reality of the dragons before them. Targaryen. The name resonated with dragon-lore even here in Essos. Their shock slowly gave way to a dawning understanding, then a fervent, almost fanatical conviction. This was power beyond their wildest dreams. They knelt, not merely as sellswords to a captain, but as warriors to a god of fire and blood.
Their first target, chosen with care, was Khal Zorro, a notoriously cruel Dothraki chieftain whose Khalasar of thirty thousand screamers had been terrorizing the western fringes of the Dothraki Sea, encroaching on the lands of Lhazar. Defeating him would provide Vaelyx with a battle-hardened, mobile army and send a shockwave across Essos.
Lyra, using her unparalleled scouting skills, tracked Khal Zorro's movements. "The Sea Serpent" sailed to the nearest coastal point, and Vaelyx, with his three chosen dragons (still magically shrunken and contained within the suitcase for transit, then released in a secluded valley), Kaelen, Boros, and fifty of his most elite Serpent's Scale veterans, rode inland.
They confronted Khal Zorro on a vast, windswept plain. The Khal, a brutal giant of a man with bells jingling in his long, oiled braids, laughed derisively at the small band of armored warriors.
"You are far from your stinking cities, little lice!" Zorro bellowed, his bloodriders arrayed behind him, their arakhs glinting. "Your tin skins will not save you from Dothraki steel! I will water this grass with your blood!"
Vaelyx, mounted on a black charger, his Valyrian steel dagger sheathed at his side (his true wand was, as always, disguised), smiled a humorless smile. "Khal Zorro. You are offered a choice. Kneel and serve, or burn and die."
Zorro's laughter turned into a roar of rage. "Kill them! Take their heads for the Mother of Mountains!"
Thousands of Dothraki screamers charged, their horses thundering across the plain, their cries echoing under the vast sky.
Kaelen and Boros formed a defensive line with their men, preparing to sell their lives dearly. But Vaelyx simply raised a hand.
With earth-shattering roars, three colossal shadows detached themselves from the dust clouds of the horizon, where they had been hidden. Vorlag, a nightmare of black fury, descended first, unleashing a torrent of black-red fire that incinerated the vanguard of the Dothraki charge, turning men and horses into screaming torches. Ignis followed, a scarlet meteor, his more concentrated fire cutting a swathe through the panicked horde. Then Tempest, largest and most terrifying, let loose a deafening roar that was like the thunder of the gods, and a wave of concussive force and dark blue flame washed over the Dothraki ranks, sending them scattering in utter, primal terror.
The Dothraki had faced horrors before, but nothing like this. Their horses, maddened by fear, bucked and reared, throwing their riders. The legendary courage of the horselords shattered against the reality of dragons. Their formation broke, their charge turned into a rout.
Khal Zorro, his face a mask of disbelief and terror, tried to rally his bloodriders, but Vorlag, on Vaelyx's command, landed before him, the impact shaking the ground. The massive black dragon fixed its intelligent, malevolent eyes on the Khal and let out a guttural hiss, smoke coiling from its jaws.
Zorro, for the first time in his life, knew true fear. He fumbled for his arakh, but it was too late.
"The choice was yours, Khal," Vaelyx said, his voice carrying easily across the suddenly silent field, as he rode forward, Kaelen and Boros at his side. Ignis and Tempest circled overhead, their shadows passing over the cowering remnants of the Khalasar.
Vaelyx dismounted before the trembling Khal. "You will kneel."
Khal Zorro, broken and defeated, sank to his knees in the blood-soaked dust. His surviving bloodriders, seeing their invincible leader so humbled, threw down their arakhs. The rest of the Khalasar, watching from afar, followed suit.
"From this day," Vaelyx declared, his voice amplified by a subtle touch of magic, ringing with the authority of a conqueror, "you are no longer Khal Zorro's riders. You are the Dragon's Horde! You will serve Vaelyx Targaryen, the Dragon Khal, Lord of the Seven Flames! Those who are loyal will share in the glories of the empire to come. Those who defy me will feed my children!" He gestured to the three immense dragons now landing gracefully around him, their eyes like molten gold and burning embers fixed on the terrified Dothraki.
The Serpent's Scale veterans, awestruck and invigorated by this display of unimaginable power, moved to disarm the Dothraki and reorganize them. Kaelen, Boros, and Lyra, their faces alight with a mixture of fear and fanatical devotion, became Vaelyx's chief enforcers, tasked with integrating the thirty thousand defeated Dothraki screamers into a new, cohesive fighting force.
The legend of the Dragon Khal spread like wildfire across the Dothraki Sea. Vaelyx, no longer hiding behind the persona of Valerius, began to cultivate his Targaryen mystique, allowing tales of his lineage and his mastery over dragons to grow with each telling.
He stood on the bloodied plain, the setting sun casting long shadows, his three dragons magnificent silhouettes against the crimson sky. The first step of his conquest was complete. He now commanded a formidable army, a force unlike any Essos had seen in centuries. His gaze turned eastward, towards the rich and decadent Free Cities. They would be next. The age of fire and blood was truly dawning.