Chapter 33

"Impressive," his aunt murmured in awe as she studied his creations.

They sat on a balcony overlooking a training yard. At first, she didn't want to go with him, she was tired after a stressful day, but when he told her he had created something new, she was hooked.

The training yard was near one of the entrances to the ancient tunnels beneath the mansion, and was the perfect location to give his aunt a glimpse of them, but keep them hidden from the rest of the world.

"They are, aren't they?" he said as they watched one of his Warborn, as he called them, pummel a handful of pit fighters into the dirt.

She just nodded, incredulous that her nephew could do such a thing at such a young age. She had always believed him to be gifted beyond common sense, but this was more than she could have hoped for.

While the mages of the Freehold had used and invented many different kinds of rituals to bring forth creatures that were neither human nor beast, this was... perfection.

They looked human, but were stronger, faster, and more skilled in combat than your ordinary man.

"Time will tell," he replied. He had a lot of things he would need them for, but he didn't want to tell just everyone about them, that would be the height of stupidity.

"So you're telling me that you created this," she waved her fingers in the direction of the training yard, "and have no purpose for it? Don't take me for a fool, boy. You don't have to tell me, but I can tell when you're lying."

He just laughed, "So little trust, eh?"

She shrugged her shoulders" Mistrust carries one so much further than trust. It is best that you learn that early in life, especially in politics."

"I will remember that."

"Good. Now," she turned to him, "it seems that the disciple has overtaken the master."

He grinned at her, "I had the best, after all".

She grinned back at him and held her head up, "Of course you did. But I don't mind hearing it from time to time. Anyway, I need my beauty sleep, we will see each other at dinner"

---

Aelor Baelaeron sat in his chamber, scribbling notes in a thick leather-bound tome. The night was cold and clear, the stars glittering like diamonds in the dark sky, as he was obliged to do his work.

Lately, tensions between House Zyraelor and House Thalyn had been at an all-time high. What had started as a small dispute and exchange of spiteful words needed only a small push before these two would have an all-out war, something no one in the Freehold needed.

House Thalyn were their allies and they would stand by them, but if House Baelaeron did, other houses would choose sides and a civil war could be on the horizon.

And the catalyst for all this was Lys, something he and probably many others suspected his son to be behind. 

During the investigation, several documents and bottles of poison were found that pointed all fingers at the Sathmantes family. But no one believed it. Nevertheless, the former First Magister and his second son were executed because they needed someone to be responsible for it, a scapegoat.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," he ordered, watching as his eldest opened the door.

"I wanted to talk to you, but it seems this is not the best of times, I'll leave you to your work," Kaelarys said and was about to close the door when he stopped him." It is okay, I was about to stop anyway."

A lie, but nothing Kaelarys needed to know. "Please sit down," Aelor offered.

His son moved to sit in the chair in front of him. He walked with confidence and purpose rarely, if ever, seen in someone his age.

"What can I do for you, son?" Aelor asked, encouraging Kaelarys.

With a stoic nod of his head, his son placed a book in front of him, similar to the one in which he had just been writing. Raising his eyebrows, he took the book and began to turn the pages. The more he read, the more his expression changed. At first, his eyes widened in surprise, then his brows furrowed in confusion. His breath caught in his throat as he reached a particular passage, and he felt a chill run down his spine.

He read the words again, hoping he had misunderstood, but the meaning remained clear. The book detailed events and revelations that he couldn't fathom happening.

As he continued reading, he came across a prophecy that sent a shiver through his very soul. It foretold a catastrophic event that would bring the Freehold to its knees, a vision so vivid and precise that it felt more like a dire warning than a mere prediction. The idea that such a disaster could be looming over them

He looked up at his son. "Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

His son met his gaze with unwavering eyes." I didn't find it, I wrote it."

He closed the book with a trembling hand and shook his head slowly, still trying to process the information." Since when do you have them?"

"I have not had them for a long time. I was very confused. I've never had them before, but they are unmistakably dragon dreams. There's no doubting that," he said.

He took a deep breath, his mind racing" I need to tell the Council"

"I can assure you, father, that this is the one thing you don't want."

His head turned back to his son" And why is that?"

He watched as his son stood up and paced around the room. He stopped in front of a painting as old as their home, painted by an artist from Yi Ti.

It was a painting of one of the oldest known ancestors of House Baelaeron, Valegar Baelaeron.

"It is fate, Father," his son answered him. He brushed his hand over the frame of the painting, a frame as plain as it could be. It was not adorned with gold, jewels, rubies, or other riches—just simple and unadorned, but more expensive than its weight in gold.

"No matter how resourceful you are, no matter how powerful... you can't escape fate. The more you actively try to work against fate, the more likely it is to happen. But," his body sharply turned towards him, and never had he seen his son's eyes like they were now, "every act of creation begins with an act of destruction."

"Our house is ancient and noble, Father. We shouldn't have to listen to lesser men the like of House Aggaeron. Imagine what we could achieve if we were the only dragonriders in the world. One house, one family, one name, one .... realm."

The words echoed in his mind, reverberating through his very soul. His heart pounded in his chest as he listened to his son's words. There was a seductive allure to his son's vision.

The idea of House Baelaeron standing above all others, unmatched and unchallenged, was a dream he had never dared to dream. He had always played the political game, always worked within the system, but his son was proposing something far more radical. It was a gamble with stakes so high they were almost unimaginable.

This was ambition on a scale that bordered on madness, a vision of supremacy.

"And what do you suggest we do?" he asked the one question that had been on his mind since he had read the book his son had given him.

"For now? Nothing. The vision I saw will happen far in the future, but we must be prepared to have a loyal army, enough dragons, and knowledge of everything from simple blacksmithing to sorcery outside of Vaylria when the time comes. We should begin by establishing an outpost where we can be left alone by the world."

His son retrieved a parchment with a map and pointed to a location he hadn't considered.

"Sothoryos? That continent is plagued by illness and creatures that make living there impossible," he said, skeptical of his son's choice.

His son just smiled mischievously" Yes, it is true. Many people have gone there and many have died there. A problem that has remained unsolved for thousands of years. But who said that their problem is mine?"

"You have a solution for this?"

"More than one, actually." His son turned to the door and called out, "Come in."

The heavy door creaked open and a group of figures stepped inside. What greeted him was something he couldn't describe. They were human, but looked like demons with their pale skin, inhuman eyes, and physical appearance.

"Behold, Father," his son said proudly, "my Warborn. Engineered to survive the harshest conditions and to conquer any enemy. They are immune to the plagues of Sothoryos and can navigate its treacherous terrain with ease. Well, I didn't make them for that purpose, but they will be useful, especially in the early stages. And they're not the only reason I suggested Sothoryos. As I said, it is a place that is deadly to many because of its many diseases and illnesses, but what if I could make people immune to them?"

If his son's words were true, then Sothoryos would indeed be the best place for a start.

"Very well, we will do as you say. I will trust you on this. I hope you won't disappoint me, Kael."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, I could have taken the route of telling the Council, since House Baelaeron has significantly more influence and they'd rather trust them than House Targaryen, but I didn't. Fuck them all.

I think Aelor would trust his son, who turns out to be blessed, the more he watches him in all sorts of things, from magic to his dragon to everything really. He just trusts him with his visions.

Anyway, I am not really happy with this chap, but I just wanted to write something and this is it. No regrets, because regrets are ghosts you will never catch.

Mic drop.

Peace out...