Chapter 3: Echoes in the Caldera, Whispers of Ruin
The aftermath of Vaeron Belaerys's spectacular demise settled over Valyria like a shroud of volcanic ash. The Smoking Sea had claimed its due, and Aemond Xantys, the boy with the Stark hair and the obsidian dragon, was no longer just a scholarly anomaly. He was a specter, a chilling prodigy whose quiet demeanor masked a capacity for ruthless, decisive violence.
In the grand halls of the Freehold, whispers followed him like his own shadow. Some lords, those who valued strength above all and saw in Aemond a reflection of Old Valyria's unyielding might, offered grudging respect, their eyes holding a new wariness. Others, particularly allies of the diminished House Belaerys, seethed with impotent rage, their hatred a palpable force that Aemond registered with detached interest. House Belaerys itself, crippled by the loss of its heir and the public humiliation, retreated into sullen silence, their threats now hollow echoes. No one dared issue a direct challenge to Aemond or House Xantys, not while the image of Ignis's broken body plummeting into the boiling sea was so fresh in their minds. Vhagarion, with his emerald-fire gaze and unnatural aura, had become a symbol of dread.
Aemond moved through this changed landscape with the same outward composure as before, yet an undeniable aura of menace now clung to him. He was the "Obsidian Prince," some called him in hushed tones, or "Vhagarion's Shadow." He cared little for the titles, but the fear they engendered was… useful. It created space, deterred interruptions, and allowed him to pursue his true objectives with greater freedom.
His father, Rhaegar Xantys, found himself in an unexpectedly powerful position. Rivals who had once been eager to contest his claims now hesitated. Doors that had been closed began to open. Rhaegar, a man of conventional Valyrian ambition, sought to capitalize on this, urging Aemond to take a more prominent role in House politics, to cement their newfound dominance.
"You have their fear, Aemond," Rhaegar had said, his violet eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "Now we must cultivate their respect, their obedience. We can ascend, boy. House Xantys can reach heights it has not seen in generations."
Aemond, seated across from his father in the Xantys library – a room that felt more like his own domain now – merely nodded. "Fear is a more reliable foundation than respect, Father. Respect can be feigned. Fear is visceral." He let his gaze drift to a detailed map of the Fourteen Flames. "However, an appearance of contributing to the family's… prestige… can be arranged, if it serves a greater purpose."
That greater purpose, as always, was his relentless pursuit of knowledge and power, and the meticulous preparation for the Doom. The duel had been an informative, if minor, data point in his study of soul release. The concentrated burst of terror and life force from Vaeron and Ignis had been duly noted by the Hōgyoku, which seemed to subtly catalogue these energies, its internal thrum a quiet hum of satisfaction only Aemond could perceive.
He now had access to even more restricted archives, not just within the Xantys manse, but in some of the Freehold's central repositories, a privilege ostensibly granted for his "scholarly contributions to Valyrian strategic understanding" – a euphemism for the chilling efficiency he had displayed. He delved into texts that bordered on the heretical even by Valyrian standards: treatises on the theoretical manipulation of life essence, Valyrian attempts at achieving true immortality (most of which ended in grotesque failures or the creation of mindless, soul-burned husks), and obscure records of interactions with entities from the "Outer Dark," as the Valyrians called realms beyond their comprehension.
Aizen's Shinigami knowledge provided a unique lens through which to interpret these texts. He saw the Valyrians fumbling in the dark, grasping at immense powers with crude tools and a profound lack of theoretical understanding. Their blood magic was a messy, inefficient method of spiritual energy transfer. Their fire magic, while devastating, was untamed, lacking the precise control of Kido. Their understanding of souls was primitive, focused on binding and domination rather than the intricate mechanics of Reishi, Konpaku, and the cycle of reincarnation he knew from his previous existence.
In his shielded laboratory, his experiments grew more audacious. He had moved beyond small animals. Now, condemned slaves, destined for the brutal conditions of the Fourteen Flames mines or the sacrificial altars of minor blood cults, occasionally found their way into his possession, spirited away through intermediaries Rhaegar unknowingly funded, believing them to be "research materials" for Aemond's studies into Valyrian physiology.
There was no cruelty in Aemond's methods, no sadistic pleasure. Only cold, detached scientific inquiry. He observed the fading of life, the separation of the spiritual from the physical, using the Hōgyoku to sense the intricate dance of energies. He attempted, with minute precision, to influence this separation, to stabilize the departing essence, to measure its intensity and composition. He was, in essence, reverse-engineering the soul in this new world, comparing its properties to what he knew, looking for vulnerabilities, for methods of seamless absorption and integration. The Hōgyoku was instrumental, not only enhancing his senses but also providing intuitive leaps, bridging gaps in his understanding, subtly guiding his hands and his will. He began to theorize about creating contained spiritual constructs, rudimentary versions of artificial souls, perhaps as receptacles or amplifiers for the energies he would harvest.
The Hōgyoku itself seemed to be evolving, or at least its interaction with him and this reality was. It no longer felt like a separate artifact but an extension of his own will, a living conduit. Sometimes, during his deeper meditations or when Vhagarion was near, resonating with the geothermal energies of Valyria, Aemond would feel the Hōgyoku pulse with a rhythm that seemed to mirror the planet's own heartbeat, and ancient, alien knowledge would flood his mind – star charts of unknown galaxies, the resonant frequencies of exotic matter, the mathematics of dimensional folding. It was as if the Hōgyoku, in this magic-saturated world, was tapping into cosmic undercurrents, far beyond the scope of Valyrian sorcery or even his own Shinigami past.
Meanwhile, Lyra Stark watched her son with a heart heavy as northern stone. The boy she had sung lullabies to, the child she had named Sōsuke in secret hope, was receding, replaced by this cold, brilliant, terrifying young man. The events of the duel had horrified her. She saw no honor in it, only a chilling predatoriness.
"He killed him, Sōsuke," she confronted him one rare evening when he sought her out in the godswood. The weirwood sapling was now a small tree, its carved face more defined, its red sap tears more pronounced. "Vaeron Belaerys. He was just a boy, like you."
Aemond looked at the weirwood, its silent, weeping face. "He was an obstacle, Mother. A threat. In this world, threats are not reasoned with. They are eliminated." His voice was devoid of malice, a simple statement of fact.
"Is that what your books teach you? What that… beast… whispers to you in the fire?" Lyra's hand trembled as she gestured vaguely towards the distant glow of the city.
"Vhagarion whispers nothing but the truth of instinct and power," Aemond replied. "And my books reveal the fundamental nature of reality. A reality many in this city choose to ignore." He paused, then, in a rare moment that almost seemed like connection, he added, "Your Old Gods, Mother. They understand this. The wolf does not apologize to the sheep."
Lyra recoiled. "The Old Gods speak of balance, of cycles, of life and death in their turn. Not of… calculated extermination for convenience." She searched his face, desperate for a flicker of the child he had been. "I see flashes, in my dreams. Fire, an ocean of it. And you… you are not consumed by it. You are… part of it. What are you planning, Sōsuke? What are you becoming?"
Aemond's expression remained unreadable. "I am becoming Valyria's future, Mother. One way or another." He knew her greensight, however fragmented, was picking up echoes of his intentions, reflections of the Hōgyoku's vast ambition. He could obscure her visions, but he allowed her these glimpses, these anxieties. Her fear, her attempts to understand, were useful distractions for any other prying eyes, grounding his strangeness in a mother's concern rather than something more… alien. Her continued existence also served as a tie, however tenuous, to that other form of magic, the earth-bound energies of the weirwoods, which he was still analyzing for potential exploitation.
Rhaegar Xantys, emboldened by Aemond's fearsome reputation, pushed for greater influence. He proposed a daring venture: a Xantys-led expedition deep into the unexplored, highly unstable northern caldera of the Fourteen Flames. Officially, the purpose was to scout for new geothermal vents and potential sources of rare minerals, vital for Valyrian dragon-glass forging and sorcery. Unofficially, it was a power play, a demonstration of House Xantys's courage and capability.
"You will lead the aerial contingent, Aemond," Rhaegar declared, spreading a map across a massive obsidian table. "Vhagarion is the only dragon I trust to navigate those treacherous thermals. The other houses will see the strength of Xantys blood."
Aemond saw his father's true motive: to use him and Vhagarion as a spearhead, a symbol of their House's resurgence. He also saw, with his enhanced greensight, the extreme dangers. The caldera was a death trap of collapsing tunnels, unpredictable eruptions, and creatures mutated by raw magical energies. Most expeditions that ventured too deep never returned.
And yet, Aizen was intrigued. The core of the Fourteen Flames was the heart of Valyria's power, the nexus of the energies he planned to harvest. A direct, prolonged exposure, a chance to study the raw, untamed forces that would eventually cause the Doom, was an opportunity too valuable to pass up. He could also conduct experiments there that were impossible in the city, shielded by the sheer chaos of the environment.
"Vhagarion and I will require specialized equipment," Aemond stated, his mind already racing with calculations and designs. "And a small, expendable ground team for sample collection. Their loyalty must be… absolute."
Rhaegar, pleased by Aemond's uncharacteristic enthusiasm, readily agreed. "Whatever you need. Success will elevate us beyond measure."
The preparations took months. Aemond designed reinforced obsidian armor for Vhagarion, imbued with heat-resistant glyphs based on his Kido knowledge, far more advanced than standard Valyrian dragon accouterments. He selected a ground team of disgraced former soldiers and desperate outcasts, men whose lives were forfeit, bound to him by fear and promises of wealth they would likely not live to enjoy. For himself, he crafted a suit of dark, articulated armor, lighter than Valyrian steel but incredibly resilient, woven with fibers that could channel and dissipate extreme heat, another product of his cross-world knowledge.
As the date of the expedition neared, the signs of Valyria's impending doom grew more pronounced, though most dragonlords, blinded by their arrogance, dismissed them. Earth tremors became more frequent, rattling the obsidian towers. Strange, phosphorescent mists, carrying the scent of sulfur and something indefinably alien, would sometimes drift down from the Fourteen Flames at night. Slaves in the mines whispered of new, terrifying creatures stirring in the depths, of tunnels that glowed with an eerie, internal light before collapsing. Even the dragons seemed more restless, their roars carrying a new edge of anxiety.
Aemond, through his greensight and the Hōgyoku, saw these as the planet's dying breaths, the initial cracking of the eggshell before the cataclysm. His timeline was contracting. The Doom was no longer a distant eventuality; it was a gathering storm, perhaps only a decade or so away now. This expedition was more critical than ever.
The expeditionary force consisted of five dragons, including Vhagarion, and a ground contingent of fifty men. Aemond, atop his obsidian beast, led them into the fiery maw of the northern caldera. The landscape was a Dantean inferno: rivers of molten rock, plains of razor-sharp volcanic glass, geysers of superheated steam that erupted with the force of cannons. The air was thick with poisonous fumes, and the sky was a permanent, angry red.
Other dragons struggled in the chaotic thermals, their riders shouting commands, their beasts unnerved by the oppressive atmosphere. Vhagarion, however, seemed to thrive. The green streaks on his scales pulsed with vibrant energy, and he navigated the treacherous air currents with an eerie grace, his emerald eyes glowing with an almost feral joy. Aemond felt a connection to the raw, destructive power of this place, a resonance that the Hōgyoku amplified.
They established a fortified base camp on a relatively stable plateau overlooking a vast lava lake. From there, Aemond directed the ground teams into promising fissures and cave systems, while he and Vhagarion conducted aerial reconnaissance, venturing into regions where no Valyrian had dared fly before.
He found what he was looking for: nexuses of immense geothermal and magical energy, places where the veil between worlds seemed thin, where the raw power of the planet bled openly. In these locations, shielded by Vhagarion's intimidating presence and the sheer desolation, Aemond conducted his most daring experiments yet.
He wasn't just observing soul release; he was attempting to directly interact with the ambient spiritual energies, to draw them, shape them, even to briefly bind them to inanimate objects using principles derived from both Kido and his fragmented understanding of Valyrian enchantment. He tested Vhagarion's unique spiritual signature, finding it deeply attuned to these volcanic energies, almost symbiotic. The dragon's fire was not mere flame; it was laced with a strange, green energy that Aemond suspected could interact with spiritual matter in unusual ways.
One day, while exploring a newly opened chasm, Vhagarion sensed something deep within. A network of tunnels, not natural, but carved with an ancient, non-Valyrian geometry. Aemond, his curiosity piqued, descended with a small, heavily armed team, Vhagarion guarding the entrance above, his roars echoing in the subterranean darkness.
The tunnels led to a vast, spherical cavern. In its center, pulsed a colossal, crystalline heart, easily thirty feet across, shot through with veins of what looked like solidified lava and glowing with a soft, internal luminescence. Strange glyphs, unlike any Valyrian or even Asshai'i script Aemond had encountered, covered its surface. The air hummed with immense, dormant power.
His greensight, amplified by the Hōgyoku, screamed at him. This was not a geological formation. It was a bio-construct, incredibly ancient, a vast, sleeping consciousness, or perhaps the focal point of one. Its spiritual energy signature was colossal, dwarfing anything he had ever encountered, even in Soul Society, though it was diffuse, dormant.
"What… by the Fourteen Fires… is that?" whispered one of his men, his face pale with awe and terror.
Aemond felt a thrill that was almost… excitement. This was an unexpected treasure. He recognized some of the underlying principles in its construction – energy channeling, consciousness matrix, resonant frequencies – concepts he had theorized about but never seen manifested on such a scale.
He ordered his men to set up diagnostic equipment he had designed – arcane sensors that blended Valyrian crystal technology with principles of Reishi detection. For days, he studied the "Heart," as he began to call it. He discovered it was a regulator, a massive geothermal and magical capacitor, but one that was failing, stressed beyond its limits. Its decay was directly contributing to the instability of the Fourteen Flames.
He also realized that this Heart was a colossal soul-engine, or had been. It had once processed and stored vast quantities of spiritual energy, though its current purpose was unclear, its original function likely lost to time. The implications were staggering. If he could understand its mechanics, perhaps even reactivate or repurpose a fraction of its power…
His work was interrupted by a frantic message from the surface camp. A rival Valyrian faction, House Volantys, who had long coveted the northern territories, had launched a surprise attack on their base, likely having tracked their expedition.
Aemond's eyes narrowed. A distraction, but also an opportunity. He had been wanting to test Vhagarion's enhanced abilities in a larger skirmish, and to assess the combat effectiveness of his new armor and some experimental Kido-like energy blasts he had been practicing – small, contained bursts, nothing that would reveal his true nature, but enough to give him an edge.
Leaving a token force to guard the Heart, Aemond and Vhagarion ascended. The battle above was already joined. Three Volantys dragons, smaller but agile, were harrying the remaining Xantys defenders.
When Vhagarion appeared, a terrifying silhouette against the blood-red sky, his roar shaking the very mountains, the Volantys dragons faltered. Aemond, a dark figure on his dark dragon, was an image of impending doom.
"Break their formation," Aemond commanded, his voice amplified by a small device in his helm, cutting through the din of battle.
Vhagarion didn't just breathe fire. He unleashed a torrent of greenish-black flame that seemed to cling to one of the Volantys dragons, not just burning its scales but seeming to devour its energy. The stricken dragon shrieked, its rider losing control as it spiraled downwards.
Aemond, meanwhile, drew a Valyrian steel sword, its surface etched with glyphs of his own design. As another Volantys dragon swooped in, he channeled a burst of focused energy through the blade – not a true Kido spell, but an application of its principles – and a wave of concussive force slammed into the attacking dragon's wing, sending it tumbling.
The fight was short, brutal, and decisive. Vhagarion, empowered by the raw energies of the caldera and Aemond's cold, strategic direction, was an unstoppable force. The remaining Volantys dragon, seeing its companions fall, turned tail and fled, its rider screaming in terror.
Aemond did not give chase. He had made his point. The ground forces of House Volantys, seeing their aerial support annihilated, quickly surrendered or were cut down by Rhaegar's remaining men.
The expedition, though costly in Xantys lives, was deemed a success by his father when news of the discovered geothermal wealth (Aemond carefully omitted the Heart from his official report, classifying it as an "unstable geological formation requiring further study") and the decisive rout of House Volantys reached the capital. Aemond's reputation grew further, now tinged with the mystique of a sorcerer-warrior who commanded an almost demonic beast and delved into the deadliest secrets of the Fourteen Flames.
But for Aizen, the true victory lay hidden deep beneath the earth, in the pulsating, crystalline Heart. He now had a new, long-term project: to understand, and perhaps control, this immense source of ancient power. It could be a crucial amplifier for the Hōgyoku, a catalyst for his ascension, or even a failsafe if his plans for harvesting the Doom's soul-energy encountered unforeseen complications.
As he stood once more before the slumbering Heart, the Hōgyoku vibrating gently in tune with its immense, dormant energies, Aizen Sōsuke permitted himself a genuine, if fleeting, smile. Valyria was proving to be an even richer environment than he had initially anticipated. Its impending destruction was not just an end, but a spectacular beginning. The echoes in the caldera were the overture to his symphony, and the whispers of ruin were the heralds of his dawning godhood. The pieces were falling into place, one soul, one secret, one catastrophe at a time.