A brief silence followed.
The King's jaw tensed, a flicker of irritation shadowing his features, but before he could speak, Aegon did.
His voice ca low, even, but laced with steel.
"I am not an object, Maester," Aegon said.
"I don't need to be studied. I can control my flas."
"And I can control myself."
The words hung in the air like coals left to smolder, quiet, yet burning.
Aegon's pulse was steady, but his fingertips itched faintly, a familiar warmth coiling inside his body, the sa heat that answered when he summoned fire.
He kept it leashed, just as he kept his tone from flaring.
There was no need to raise his voice. Not when the truth cut so clean.
The room stilled.
The maester blinked, caught off guard. Aegon had pierced right through him, not just the words, but the intent behind them.
His mouth parted, fumbling for a reply.
"I didn't an…"
"You did," said Queen Alysanne as her eyes locked on the maester like a hawk considering a rat in her dovecote.
"And I believe the Prince has made himself clear."
The maester's throat clicked shut. He bowed his head, pale, the unspoken reprimand weighing heavy in the charged air.
A cold bead of sweat trickled down his temple.
Baelon gave a slow, predatory smile.
"Seems the Citadel trains its minds but forgets to teach them respect," he muttered, voice cold and sharp as flint.
The maester flinched. He stepped back quietly, retreating into the shadows of the chamber, cowed.
Around the table, a quiet understanding dawned like a slow, collective breath held too long.
Lady Jocelyn's brows were raised, her eyes locked on Aegon.
She looked at him, and saw not a child, but sothing else.
Not just blood of the dragon… but sothing rarer still.
Sothing that would interest many eyes across the realm, powerful eyes.
Eyes that rembered the old tales, whispered of pyromancers and fire-speaking sorcerers from the ashes of Valyria.
The older maester beside the sharp-nosed one, his face slack with age, jowls trembling, bowed his head, not in reverence, but regret.
As though silently distancing himself from his colleague's blunder.
Aegon said nothing. He didn't need to.
He was not rely a prince. Not rely a dragonrider. He was a Valyrian pyromancer.
A creature of story and legend, born anew in flesh and fla.
And if anyone dared to treat him like a curiosity, or worse, a threat, they would not face just his wrath.
They would face the fury of House Targaryen.
Later that night, after the wonder had cooled into silence, the royal family and household retired to their chambers.
The fire had burned late into the night in Dragonstone, but no one spoke much after.
The King and Queen exchanged a few words.
Everyone had their thoughts, their doubts, their awe.
And soon, Dragonstone settled into sleep.
But before drifting to sleep, Aegon had one more thing to do.
Currently, his class [Rune Initiate] was at level 6.
Wasting no more ti, he imdiately transferred the experience into it:
[-45,000 EXP]
[Class Level Increased: 6 → 10]
[EXP: 58,906]
[ Class: Rune Initiate (Tier 2) ]
[ Prerequisites:
- Max level Class: Occult Scholar (satisfied)
- Max Level Class: ntal Adept (satisfied)
- INT ≥ 11.0 ]
[ Level 10 (MAX) ]
[ Trait : Rune Sense
( 55% speed of recognizing hidden or partial rune structures)
( 55% efficiency in creating simplified rune constructs from raw magical observations) ]
[ Trait : Rune Engraving
( 55% speed and accuracy when drafting or engraving structured rune sequences)
( 55% stability when layering runic patterns to form complex glyph constructs) ]
The change was imdiate.
His thoughts sharpened, and patterns began to flicker through his mind, clearer, more coherent than ever before.
The flow of magic, the runes he had studied, the principles he'd uncovered, all of it converged, sparking fresh ideas.
Alongside this clarity ca new understanding, not just of runes themselves, but of how to discover them, shape them, and combine them into more complex forms.
He felt the urge to experint imdiately, but it was already deep into the night. He sighed, forcing himself to wait.
I will test it later
And with a small, satisfied breath, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
The next day, everyone slept until the sun was high.
At midday, they gathered again, this ti in the solar for a quiet lunch.
The wind off the Narrow Sea blew gently through the open shutters, and the scent of roasted fish, lemon and bread filled the air.
King Jaehaerys set down his goblet and swept his gaze around the table, his voice calm but firm, carrying the gravity of a ruler speaking not just to his kin, but to history.
"This is no small wonder," he said.
"It must be honored, not in silence, but before the eyes of the realm."
"In two moons, when spring arrives, we shall hold a royal hunt. Let it stand as a celebration of the return of true Valyrian magic."
He then turned to the older maester at his side.
"Send word to every great house, from Winterfell to Reach. Let them all know: the magic of Valyria lives again in House Targaryen."
Baelon gave a low, approving chuckle. "Now that will have the lords talking."
He grinned, setting his goblet down with a satisfied thump.
"As for you," he added, turning to Aegon, "et in the training yard after this. I want to see what a pyromancer can really do."
Aegon raised a brow, halfway through a bite of bread.
Queen Alysanne cut in gently, though a note of amusent colored her voice.
"Don't pester him too much, Baelon. He's a boy, not a fire barrel."
"I want to see too," Gael said softly, her voice laced with shy excitent.
"Then we'll all watch," said the Queen, her eyes lingering on Aegon. "I admit… I'm curious myself."
Aegon looked around the table, seeing their eager face, his grandmother's steady gaze, his father's challenge, his aunt's gentle smiles, even the spark in Gael's eyes.
The King, seated at the head of the table, said nothing, just watched them all with a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Aegon gave a small, confident nod.
"I think I can manage sothing interesting."
Dragonstone Castle, Training Yard
The clash of steel faded into silence as the guards paused mid-drill, turning toward the new arrivals, especially the silver-haired boy beside Prince Baelon.
Whispers had already begun to ripple through the castle's halls: Prince Aegon, a Valyrian pyromancer, reborn from the ashes of legend.
It started in hushed tones among the maids, passed in wonder between kitchen hands, then carried by torchlight to the soldiers in the yard.
So were awestruck, others skeptical, and a few simply curious, wondering if the tales were truth or rumor dressed in silver and fla.
Up on the viewing balcony stood King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, joined by Lady Jocelyn, Maegelle, and bright-eyed Gael.
The Queen wore a light shawl against the wind, her hands clasped as she stared down at the yard.
Baelon stood on the training field, sword in hand, opposite Aegon, who wore no armor and looked more amused than concerned.
The King turned slightly to the Queen beside him. His voice was soft, almost reverent.
"First the youngest dragonrider… and now, a pyromancer."
The Queen didn't look at him at first.
Then, after a pause, she said quietly, "Alyssa gave us a gift before she left us."
Jaehaerys looked at her, surprised by the sudden softening in her tone.
"Yes," he murmured, his gaze distant as mories of their lost daughter stirred. "She truly did."
The Queen turned to him fully now, her expression firm.
"We must protect him properly. The world won't be kind to a boy with such power."
The King's face darkened slightly with understanding. He gave a single, solemn nod.
"They'll have to go through us first."
A shout from the yard drew their attention back.
On the ground, Baelon was pacing in a wide arc, sword drawn.
"Co now, boy! Show what the songs will write of. Don't go shy now!"
Aegon let out a long sigh, shaking his head.
"Father, please step back."
"What?" Baelon snorted. "Afraid you'll singe ? Co on. I'm not that old."
"You're not old," Aegon muttered under his breath, "just reckless."
The guards nearby, who had stopped their training when the pair entered, watched with wide eyes.
Whispers passed among them. Everyone had heard the tale whispered through the castle the night before.
Aegon gave one last glance to the balcony, his grandparents, his aunts, and Lady Jocelyn all watching with sharp eyes and bated breath.
He drew in a slow breath.
This is it.
What he showed here, how much power, how much control, would decide his future.
If he held back, they'd think him fragile, an anomaly to be hidden away, swaddled in protection like a rare bird.
But if he proved strength… if he made them feel it…then perhaps they'd give him what he truly wanted.
Freedom. Resources. Respect.
Aegon stepped forward. The courtyard felt larger now, as if the stone itself were holding its breath. His palm rose, steady.
The air around him shimred. Heat coiled up his arm like a serpent.
Then…
[Spell: Fireball]
A burst of fla swirled to life above his hand, twice the size of a clenched fist, the core burning white-hot, edges flickering orange and gold.
The guards stiffened. Even the wind seed to draw back.
Aegon then released the fireball.
It shot through the air like a blazing cot, striking the armored training dummy dead-center with explosive, unerring force.
BOOM.
Flas exploded outward, wrapping the figure in a violent embrace.
The impact rang out like a war drum, echoing against the stone walls. The force was enough to knock the dummy halfway off its stand.
The flas didn't sputter. They clung.
Armor glowed red, then blackened. Smoke curled thick into the air, acrid and sharp.
A few soldiers staggered back on instinct, hands rising to shield their faces. One dropped his spear.
A gasp rippled across the balcony.
Gael squeaked aloud and clutched Maegelle's arm, eyes wide as saucers.
Maegelle herself blinked rapidly, her usual poise shaken. Jocelyn pressed a hand to her chest, lips parted in shock.
The retainers exchanged uneasy glances, each silently wondering what their fate might've been had they stood where the dummy did.
Jaehaerys leaned forward in his chair, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised. There was no jest in his gaze now. Only calculation… and awe.
Beside him, Queen Alysanne had gone still.
Her eyes were locked on her grandson, lips parted as though she'd forgotten to breathe.
Baelon stood at the edge of the yard, his sword lowered slightly, staring at the smoldering ruin of the dummy.
He swallowed hard.
And then ca Aegon's voice, light, teasing, but unmistakably clear:
"Would you still want to face , Father?"
The question floated over the smoke and silence.
Baelon didn't answer right away.
He just stared at the blackened crater, the faint heatwaves still rising from it.
His jaw clenched. Slowly, his sword dipped all the way down, tip brushing against the dirt.
"Gods," he muttered.
Not in anger. Not in fear. But in sheer, dawning realization.
But Aegon wasn't finished yet.
Without a word, he turned and launched two more fireballs in quick succession.
BOOM. BOOM.
They struck two nearby dummies, both armored, igniting them in near-instant bursts of fla.
The crackle of fire filled the yard as the heat shimred off the air. The soldiers nearby flinched again, backing further away.
Then, as the last flas settled into embers, Aegon strode toward a fourth dummy.
All eyes tracked him, silent, focused, tense.
He stopped just a few feet from the target.
He raised his hand.
"Wait!" Baelon shouted sharply from behind, alarm flashing in his voice. He stepped towards his son.
The boy was too close, if he cast another fireball at that range, it could splash back and burn him.
But Aegon didn't cast another fireball.
He had sothing else in mind.
[Spell: Fire Torrent]
With a sudden roar, a stream of fla erupted from both of Aegon's hands—intense, concentrated, and unrelenting.
The torrent blasted forward, engulfing the dummy in a cone of searing fire.
For ten long seconds, he held it there, flas hissing and writhing as they poured from his palms.
The tal armor on the target turned cherry red, then began to blacken. The wood beneath cracked, splintered, and collapsed into molten ruin.
On the balcony, King Jaehaerys leaned in, his expression stunned. His voice was quiet, but carried:
"…The sa as dragonfire."
There was no argunt. No one disagreed.
Even the maesters held their tongues.
The lean, sharp-nosed one, who had earlier suggested studying Aegon and been swiftly silenced by both Prince Baelon and Queen, took a cautious step forward.
His eyes flicked between the boy and the smoldering wreckage below, the weight of what he had just witnessed pressing visibly on him.
Finally, Aegon turned toward his father. The scorched training yard around him still sizzled.
Baelon stared at him, mouth slightly agape, unsure whether to be alard or proud.
Aegon shrugged, voice light, almost casual.
"Well… that's it."
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Author's Note:
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