chapter 9

After organizing the First Legion of the Imperial Army, Vaelion decided to establish a temporary base. He chose a strategic location in the forest, surrounded by dense trees and near a small stream, ideal for supplies and protection. Using the available resources, he ordered his soldiers to construct a simple yet functional cabin that would serve as his refuge while he consolidated his plans.

The construction was swift, a testament to the elves' efficiency and natural skill with wood and improvised tools. The cabin was modest, made of sturdy logs and reinforced with vines and leaves that camouflaged its presence in the forest. At its center was a small fire pit, and outside, an improvised table where strategies could be devised.

Now, Vaelion sat inside the cabin, observing the forest through the entrance. Two knights of his personal guard were stationed at the door, motionless as statues, their lances gleaming under the light filtering through the trees. They watched their surroundings attentively, ready to act at the slightest sign of danger.

He lifted his gaze to the knights.

"Inform me as soon as Vicente returns with the advance reports."

"Yes, Your Majesty," they responded in unison, their eyes never leaving the horizon.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his ambitions. Outside the cabin, the two knights remained vigilant, ensuring that nothing disrupted their master's plans.

The sound of Vicente's boots crunching dried leaves echoed softly as he entered the cabin, his posture firm and resolute. He bowed deeply as he crossed the threshold, his helmet under his arm, a sign of absolute respect for his leader.

"Your Majesty, I bring news of our progress and a situation that demands your immediate attention," he declared, his voice serious yet calm, as if weighing every word.

Vaelion slowly raised his eyes, gesturing for Vicente to approach.

"Speak, Vicente. What have you discovered?"

The commander stepped forward, placing a small, improvised map on the wooden table at the center of the cabin. He pointed to a spot marked with a cross.

"During our patrol, our scouts located a sizable group of mercenaries and traders, around forty men in total. They are transporting a large quantity of gold and grain, apparently destined for a larger village to the east." Vicente paused, his gaze intensifying. "They also identified other small villages in the area that rely on these traders for survival."

Vaelion leaned over the table, his fingers tracing the lines of the map slowly. His eyes glimmered with a mix of curiosity and determination.

"Mercenaries, you say? Not regular soldiers?" he asked, his voice low but loaded with interest.

"Yes, my lord. They fight for money, not loyalty. This makes them dangerous but also predictable," Vicente replied.

Vaelion smirked faintly, already formulating a plan in his mind.

"A large group, but divided in loyalty. And carrying wealth and supplies... they make a perfect target." He looked at Vicente. "And the villages? What strength do they have?"

"Weak, Your Majesty," Vicente said firmly. "At most, a few armed peasants with no training or organization. They are entirely dependent on these traders for supplies and protection."

Vaelion nodded, satisfied.

"Very well. Let's prepare." He fixed his sharp gaze on Vicente. "Divide the troops. Archers in the trees along the trail where the mercenaries are likely to pass. Spearmen on the flanks, ready to cut off any escape routes. I will lead the initial attack with the knights of the personal guard. I want this strike to be swift, lethal, and efficient."

Vicente bowed.

"As you command, Your Majesty. I will organize the troops immediately."

Vaelion raised a hand, stopping him before he could leave.

"And after the mercenaries are eliminated, we will turn our attention to the villages. We won't attack them right away. I want emissaries sent, offering our protection. They will have a choice: surrender peacefully or face our wrath."

Vicente smiled, impressed by Vaelion's cunning.

"A perfect plan, my lord. The First Legion will not fail."

With another bow, Vicente left the cabin, his boots echoing against the ground. Outside, the sounds of the forest seemed more distant, as if nature itself were silent in anticipation of what was to come.

Vaelion returned his focus to the map, his thoughts already anticipating the chaos he was about to unleash. Every step, every decision, brought him closer to his vision: an empire built on strategy, strength, and the failure of his enemies.

"Let the games begin," he murmured to himself, a cold smile crossing his lips.

---

**Dragonstone, 10 AC**

The wind blew fiercely against the dark walls of Dragonstone. Inside, Aegon Targaryen climbed the stone steps in haste. He heard the cries even before reaching the room, and upon entering, found Rhaenys curled up, weeping. Without hesitation, he embraced her.

"I dreamed again, brother," she whispered, sobbing into his chest.

Aegon held her tightly as Rhaenys continued, her voice breaking.

"An army... so large and so cruel. They marched mercilessly, killing everything—men, women, children. No one was spared." She looked up at him, her eyes still wet with tears. "Westeros was in ruins."

The door creaked softly as Visenya entered the room, her cold gaze sweeping over the scene. She remained silent, observing. When Aegon lifted his eyes, she finally spoke.

"Another dream?" she asked, without a trace of doubt.

Aegon nodded as Rhaenys tried to regain her composure. Visenya approached, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Tell me," she urged, her voice low but filled with urgency.

Rhaenys explained everything, her vivid description filling the room with a somber silence. When she finished, Visenya crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on the distance.

"It could just be a nightmare," Aegon said, though his expression betrayed uncertainty.

"Or a warning," Visenya countered. "We need to be prepared."

Aegon nodded slowly.

"Then we begin preparations. If chaos is coming, we will conquer Westeros before it arrives. Better to reign in war than perish in peace."

Rhaenys looked at the two of them, still trembling.

"And if we fail?"

Aegon cupped her face firmly.

"We will not fail. We are Targaryens. And with fire and blood, we will secure our place in the future."

Visenya moved to the window, staring out at the stormy sea.

"And if that future leads us to war... let Westeros learn to fear dragons."