Chapter 59

The news of Valyria's downfall spread like wildfire, but many did not believe it at first. Valyria, the invincible empire of the Dragonlords, could not simply disappear overnight. But the rumors did not die down. The more reports came in from all over the world, the harder it became for people to deny the catastrophe.

Sailors crossing the southern sea were among the first to tell of the chaos. They told of a dense, sinister fog that had suddenly settled over the sea and of pillars of fire rising on the horizon as if the earth itself was on fire.

But the most haunting thing was what they heard - the screams. "It was as if the dead themselves were calling from the depths of the sea," said an experienced captain who had sailed southern Valyria for decades. "Screams that tore the mind apart - as if the souls of all those who died were howling in the wind."

The sailors told of unheard-of sights. Some claimed that the fog was so thick that it could not have come from this world. Others told of flickering shadows dancing through the smoke, as if they were the spirits of dragon lords caught in their final moments. A helmsman from Lys swore he saw the silhouettes of dragons in the mist, but they were not alive - they were ghosts, translucent, as if born from the ashes of Valyria itself.

Others told of sudden, violent storms that came out of nowhere and engulfed ships before disappearing again. "It was as if the gods themselves were pouring out their wrath on Valyria," murmured an old sailor who had not slept properly for weeks. "The fire, the fog, the screams... it wasn't a natural demise. They were punished for the arrogance and greed they carried within them. The work of the gods!"

Slowly but surely, everyone began to realize that a new age had begun.

The dragons that once ruled the skies over the people of Essos with iron fists and chains were no more.

In the taverns of the great cities and the whispering halls of the royal courts, people spoke only of the Doom.

For as much as they might have rejoiced in the power vacuum left by the fall of Valyria, the horror of such a fate outweighed any joy. How could it happen that such a powerful empire, whose rulers summoned dragons and mastered magic, was completely wiped out in a single day? This question hung like a dark shadow over every conversation.

Some interpreted what had happened as divine judgment, a punishment for the arrogance of the Valyrians, who considered themselves gods. But even this explanation left a queasy feeling. For if it had indeed been the gods who had brought such destruction upon Valyria, what was to stop them from doing the same to others? If even the most powerful dragonriders in the world were not safe from divine vengeance, then who was?

Others, however, those who saw the gods and religion more as a means to an end, saw the whole thing with a different, more pragmatic fear.

Who could be capable of that?

In Westeros, the fall of Valyria was seen by many as a good omen. The fear of the Dragonlords had always outweighed the benefits that the realm of the dragons had brought, such as Valyrian steel or their rare goods. Although these valuable goods were coveted, nothing could outweigh the constant fear of the dragons and the sinister magic of the Valyrians. Now that this threat from the far east had been eradicated, the kings and queens of the seven kingdoms felt safer than before.

For the religious fanatics and devout believers in Westeros, it was a cause for celebration.

The dragonlords, who had believed themself to be above the gods and the laws of nature with their unholy ties to magic and dragons, had finally fallen.

In the halls of the Sept of Seven, the faithful burned candles and said prayers to show their gratitude. To them, the Dragonlords were nothing more than heathen heretics who dared to defile creation with their magic.

The maesters of the citadel were also relieved. They had always viewed Valyria's power with distrust.

For the scholars who sought knowledge and order, magic was something that hindered progress and understanding of the world.

But even among the people of Westeros, there were those who had secretly turned to magic, even if they outwardly flaunted a belief in the Seven or the Old Gods.

Even in the remote villages and forests of Westeros, far from the great cities and castles, there were those who were secretly immersed in the old magical arts. Witches, seers and healers who practiced their power in the dark corners of the world.

But that was not all.

Even if the peasants and the uneducated had no idea of the political consequences of the Doom, one thing was immediately clear to the great players of the world - the kings, lords and masters - that much blood would flow in the near future.

The fall of Valyria had left a huge power vacuum and an entire continent without a ruler. An empire that had once been held together by dragon fire and ancient magic had been reduced to rubble overnight. The order that Valyria had once enforced will quickly turn to chaos and war.

The ancient alliances and pact laws that had once forced the mighty cities of Essos to peace were now meaningless. Without the stern hand of Valyria to hold them together, these treaties were crumbling faster than they had ever been forged. Every ruler, every city, every influential noble clung desperately to any power they could seize.

The old families and trade guilds prepared to assert their power, whatever the cost. Fleets were built, armies reinforced, and the fire of ambition smouldered everywhere.

The cities quickly declared their independence.

But everyone was aware that this would never end peacefully.

The only city that did not outwardly declare itself and refused all access for a short time was Lys.

No one knew what was going on in Lys, but in the midst of the chaos that erupted after the fall of Valyria, hardly anyone had the time or leisure to focus on this puzzling silence. The other cities and kingdoms were too preoccupied with themselves to focus their attention on such a detail.

Volantis, Myr and Tyrosh were already pursuing their own ambitious goals, while tensions in Essos escalated inexorably.

In the midst of all this, new rumors emerged: An army of 30,000 men had set out from Qohor, marching under the banner of the self-proclaimed First Emperor of Valyria, Aurion.

And as quickly as Aurion had risen, all news of him suddenly fell silent. Reports of his mighty army and the mighty dragon that flew at his side had spread like wildfire across Essos in the weeks following his departure from Qohor. But the silence came just as abruptly as his rise.

The last sighting of Aurion came from merchants who had seen him on the heights of Volantis.

Whatever had happened to Aurion remained a mystery that would never be solved. The stories about him and his army faded with time, like so many myths and legends. No word of his whereabouts, no clue as to the fate of his mighty dragon. It was as if he and his soldiers had vanished from the face of the world, swallowed up by the darkness that surrounded Valyria.

Only a short time after Aurion's mysterious disappearance came the next shocking news: Volantis had officially declared itself the heir to Valyria and declared war on the other Free Cities. The Tiger faction, descendants of the old Valyrian nobility, had taken over the reins in Volantis. This faction advocated a warlike and expansionist policy.

Even though Azorath was known to all, Volantis saw itself as the city that claimed the legacy of Valyria as the rightful heir to the fallen empire.

In the eyes of the tiger faction, House Baelaeron and their city of Azorath were not strong enough to make this claim. To them, Azorath was merely an outlying city that, by luck, still possessed dragons, but not the power to take Valyria's place. Moreover, Azorath was not even on the continent of Essos, which was a decisive argument for the Tigers to underpin their supremacy.

Officially, according to the rumors, Azorath had only a mere ten thousand soldiers - a small number compared to the forces of Volantis.

And the few dragons that lingered in Azorath did not frighten the Tigers of Volantis in the slightest. Had they seen a serious threat in these few living creatures, they would have been ready to pledge their allegiance to either House Targaryen or House Baelaeron long ago.

But that had not happened. Volantis saw himself as the true heir to Valyria and was convinced that neither Azorath nor his dragons could pose a real challenge to their ambitious plans.

To their dismay, however, the world did not know that Azorath was far more than what it appeared to be.

The misjudgment of the Tigers of Volantis was more serious than even they realized. There weren't just a handful of dragons watching over Azorath - there were dozens.

And it wasn't just "a mere ten thousand" soldiers defending the city either. In truth, an army of hundreds of thousands stood ready to fight to the last man or the last breath for their Emperor Kaelarys Baelaeron.

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I don't know if I'm happy with the chapter myself, but it's done I guess.

Men scroll

Men see

Men smile

Men gifts Stones

Men leaves Review

Men leaves happily.

Yours,

Jasonenrick! :D