The first light of dawn crept across the volcanic ridges of Valyria as I stood upon the fractured steps of the Vault, the ruins bathed in a haze of crimson and gold. The sky no longer threatened storm or madness. It was eerily quiet-as though the land itself acknowledged what had awakened within it.
Xyron.
The hatchling perched beside me on the blackened stone, no larger than a warhound, his scales gleaming like tempered steel and fresh blood. Wings half-folded, eyes molten with hunger and understanding, he watched the world with a predator's patience. His thoughts brushed mine again-wordless but sharp, and filled with a possessive certainty.
We were bound now. Blood and fire, ancient and reborn.
Otherys waited below the steps, one hand resting near the hilt of his blade. His eyes flicked between me and the dragon, disbelief etched across his face.
"You did it," he said. "You actually… did it."
I nodded. "He is called Xyron."
Otherys gave the creature a wary glance. "He's small."
"For now," I said. "He grows even as we speak."
Xyron snapped at a drifting ash-moth, devouring it in a burst of flame. The heat licked my face, not painful, but invigorating-as though the fire recognized me as kin.
We descended together, dragonling padding silently at my side. The crew aboard the ship had not dared flee, though I saw the fear in their faces as we approached. Even from a distance, they could feel the weight of what had changed.
I did not speak as we boarded, nor did I need to. The men fell to their knees when they saw Xyron. One whispered a prayer. Another dropped his blade and fled below deck.
Good. Let them fear.
Let them understand.
-----
That night, as the fires on the deck flickered low, I studied the map stolen from the Hall of Records back in Volantis. The red ink traced east, beyond the Smoking Sea and past the remnants of ancient Valyrian colonies-toward a place barely marked.
The Shadow Lands.
"Why there?" Otherys asked, arms crossed.
"Because the Crown of the Deep Flame was only the second source of fire," I said. "The third awaits in the east. The priest-king of Stygai wears a ring older than the Doom, forged in shadow. Its magic predates even Valyria."
"You would face the priests of shadow to claim it?"
I looked out across the water where Xyron slept, curled around himself like a furnace of flesh and bone.
"I would face gods if I must."
Otherys grunted. "Then may the gods forgive us both."
-----
Far to the east, beyond the Bone Mountains, a different fire stirred in response.
In the deepest sanctum beneath Stygai, the priest-king opened his withered eyes.
"The Ember lives..." he rasped. "And comes for the Third Flame."
He raised a ringed hand. The shadows answered.
-----
EmbersOnTheBlackTide
-----
We sailed under a sky of fire. The waters east of Valyria were not seas but scars-black and choked with ash, streaked with streaks of molten rock that hissed and steamed as we passed. Xyron, no longer a mere hatchling, had taken to flight for short periods now, circling high above the ship with wings that grew more powerful each day. His cries echoed across the waters like the trumpets of a forgotten age.
Otherys had taken to sleeping with his blade in hand, and the crew no longer spoke to me unless commanded. I was no longer simply their leader. I was something else-something feared.
But I was not yet strong enough. Not for what lay ahead.
The third flame called to me like a whisper riding the wind. Even now, I could feel the pull of it-a dark presence, watching, waiting in the land of eternal shadow.
Stygai.
The city at the edge of the world.
-----
We made landfall two weeks later.
The coast was a jagged cliffside of blackened stone, pockmarked with ancient skulls and totems carved from obsidian. The sky was starless, the horizon swallowed by a darkness that seemed to breathe.
We left the crew behind once more-Otherys, Xyron, and I climbing the winding stair toward the gate of Stygai.
A city of silence.
There were no guards. No lights. Only shadows that slithered along the walls, and a feeling of being watched from every direction.
Otherys muttered a curse. "This place isn't natural."
"No," I agreed. "It's ancient."
The great obsidian gates opened without touch. A temple rose in the distance, carved from black crystal and bone. Around it, twisted buildings leaned inward like penitents in prayer.
And upon its highest tier stood the priest-king, waiting.
He wore a robe of living smoke, his crown a circlet of glass and flame. Upon his finger, the third flame pulsed-the Ring of Nightfire, older than the Doom.
"You seek the third flame," he said, voice layered like echoing bells. "But it is not a gift."
"I have not come for gifts," I said. "I have come to claim."
He smiled.
And the city came alive.
Shadows peeled from the walls, rising as figures in armor forged from nothing. Eyes like dying stars stared through us, weapons humming with dark fire.
"Then show me," said the priest-king. "Let the flames decide."
Xyron roared.
And we charged.
-----
TheTrialofNightfire
-----
The plaza before the obsidian temple became a crucible of chaos.
Shadows erupted from every alley and shattered window, congealing into warriors clad in voidsteel armor, their forms flickering between solid and smoke. Their blades whispered as they were drawn-voices of the damned carried on cold winds.
Xyron struck first. With a scream that split the silence of Stygai, he dove from the sky, white-hot flame searing across the temple's guardians. Fire met shadow in an explosion of shrieking mist. The first wave disintegrated under the fury of dragonflame-but they were endless.
"Go!" I shouted to Otherys. "Hold the square!"
He grunted, drawing his twin blades with grim purpose. "Don't die in there."
I sprinted up the black stone steps toward the temple. The Ring of Nightfire pulsed from within, and the priest-king waited atop his throne of bones and crystal.
The air shifted as I entered the temple, the heat of battle vanishing behind a wall of silence. The world dimmed, and I found myself no longer climbing-but falling.
Falling into fire and memory.
-----
A vision.
I stood once more in Valyria, before the Doom-its towers gleaming under a blood-red sky. The streets teemed with dragonlords and their servants, voices raised in laughter, command, and worship.
But I was not one of them.
I was among them. Watching.
Then the sky split, and flame devoured the city. Screams, thunder, shadows clawing the heavens.
"You do not carry their blood," a voice whispered beside me.
I turned. The priest-king stood there, unchanged by time. "You carry something older. Something cursed."
"I carry flame," I growled. "Enough to break the chains of the past."
He raised a hand-and the world changed again.
Now we stood in a hall of mirrors. Each reflection was a different version of myself-some crowned in gold, some burned and broken, others monstrous and draconic.
"You seek power, but what kind? Dominion? Salvation? Revenge?" he asked.
"I seek legacy," I said. "To carve a path forward-not repeat the mistakes of a dying empire."
The mirrors shattered.
And I was back in the temple-on my knees, before the throne.
The priest-king stood above me, his hand outstretched. The Ring of Nightfire hovered in his palm.
"You are not Valyrian," he said. "You are fire given form. A curse and a hope."
He pressed the ring to my chest.
"Then rise. Reignite the world."
Pain surged through me-fire and shadow twisting together as the third flame seared into my soul. My veins lit up like molten gold. My breath became steam.
When I rose, the priest-king was gone.
And the ring burned on my finger.
-----
Outside, the shadows had stopped.
Xyron landed beside me, scarred but alive, Otherys slumped against a broken pillar, his blades smoking.
"You have it?" he asked.
I looked down at the ring. "I do."
And from the far horizon, where the skies grew darker still, the fourth flame whispered in the distance.
Calling.
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Hope you are enjoying the story, please leave any name su for 'Xyron' as I am terrible at names, thank you.