Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

Fourteen plumes of smoke rolled out of the volcanic craters, staining the azure sky with dark clouds that seemed like fourteen permanent patches of black.

Surrounded by these fourteen volcanic peaks lay a vast city. Without walls, its towering buildings sprawled freely in every direction.

This was a city so magnificent that only deities themselves could claim it as their own!

"Roar—Roar—"

Black spires, tall as mountains, pierced the heavens like the fingers of gods, while seventy to eighty massive dragons leisurely soared between the towering spires.

Red dragons, white dragons, golden dragons, green dragons, black dragons, and purple dragons—dragons of every imaginable hue painted the skies with their beauty, appearing as if they were celestial beings under the command of gods.

Beneath the clouds, even during broad daylight, the city glowed with a searing, dark red hue.

This glow came from rivers of molten lava that flowed down the slopes of the fourteen fiery peaks, giving the city an appearance reminiscent of Venice—but instead of water, the canals brimmed with glowing, steaming lava.

The dark stone towers, seamlessly integrated into the terrain, emitted the same crimson glow through their windows, seemingly drawing heat, light, and magical power from the flowing rivers of lava.

On the ground, no pedestrians walked the streets, and no residents lived in the low-lying buildings. In fact, the lower atmosphere was thick with gray-black smoke, making survival nearly impossible.

Only in the uppermost levels of the sky-reaching towers, within gardens adorned with mythical sculptures of griffins, dragons, and gargoyles, did silver-haired, strikingly beautiful men and women dwell.

Some sat quietly in the gardens, reading books resting on their knees. Others attended lively banquets or whispered secrets to their companions while stroking the heads of dragons perched nearby.

These were the Dragonlords of Old Valyria, who ruled the skies with their dragons, harnessed volcanoes with magic, and extracted power from lava itself.

They enjoyed a level of power and wealth that even the gods might envy.

The towers served different purposes—some were domed residences, others were open-roofed gardens, and some were mage towers, where massive blue orbs of magical energy shimmered. All were impossibly tall and unbreakable.

At the very center of these towers stood a 300-meter-high mage tower. On its topmost platform, a tall, imposing elder clad in ornate robes rested his hands on a glowing blue orb, his stern gaze scanning countless images that flashed before him.

From this tower, he monitored real-time events from cities across the world.

Every day at 5 PM, stationed mages from around the globe transmitted significant local events to the Valyrian capital via enchanted glass candles.

"Crrk—"

At that moment, a golden dragon flew in from the far side of the city. A young knight, clad in a silver robe, agilely leapt off the dragon's back and strode quickly to the elder's side, bowing respectfully.

"Archmage, Aenar Targaryen is selling off his possessions," the knight reported.

The elder did not turn his head, continuing to extract vital information from the orb while addressing requests with calm authority. "Everything?"

"Everything, including his tower. It's said that his daughter, Daenys Targaryen, dreamed of Valyria's impending destruction," the knight replied softly.

"The Targaryens have fallen," the archmage said, his tone laced with mockery rather than anger. "The city court declared Aenar guilty long ago. His appeals have all failed, and the final deadline for appeal is fast approaching.

"As a loser in the game of power, his choices are limited. Exile himself, or face blood and death as payment for his foolishness.

"I had once thought him brave, yet here he is, cowardly enough to hide behind his daughter's dreams. Do you know where he plans to go?"

"Westeros," the knight answered.

"Westeros?" For the first time, the elder frowned. "They say, 'The world is vast, but all lies under the shadow of dragon wings.' Yet that land in the far west is barren and insignificant. Challenging those ancient gods for such a place seems unwise."

"We've already sealed R'hllor. Why should we fear the decaying, dying old gods?" the knight asked, puzzled.

The elder pondered for a moment, then replied in a measured tone, "You are the rightful heir of the Fifth Peak. Young as you are, you've already tamed your dragon. You're qualified to learn the secrets known only to the Fourteen Peaks' masters."

The elder withdrew his thin hands from the glowing orb and walked slowly to the balcony. Looking down at the grand city, he sighed.

"Valyrians recklessly drain the earth's magic, build sky-reaching cities, and appear as gods to other peoples. But we are not gods.

"For thousands of years, the Mage Alliance has tirelessly sought to create our own god—not some petty faith spirit like Qohor's Black Goat, but a true god, like the ancient gods or R'hllor.

"Alas, even Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes—powerful as they are—are not true gods.

"In this world, everything, even dragons and demigods, lives and dies. Only gods are eternal.

"The old gods may be decayed and failing, but as long as someone remembers them, they will never truly die."

"But even true gods cannot meddle directly in the mortal realm. A single dragon is more useful than a host of ancient gods," the young Dragonlord argued.

Though young, he had been groomed as the next peak master and knew far more secrets than fringe nobles like the Targaryens.

The elder nodded. "True, gods cannot directly intervene in the mortal world. R'hllor, the so-called Lord of Light, cannot even ignite a single dry leaf by will alone.

"But gods don't need to act directly. Through their followers, they can change the world.

"Like me, the Archmage of Valyria. For thirty years, I haven't left this tower, yet the world bends to my will. A single moment of my wrath changes the skies.

"Ordinary people cannot comprehend my methods, just as we must not underestimate the power of gods."

"Archmage, I am enlightened," the young man replied earnestly, bowing deeply.

Finally, he added, "Targaryen didn't go straight to the Westerosi mainland. He plans to settle on Dragonstone, the fortress guarding Valyria's western frontier. They could be seen as still defending the empire's borders."

"Hmm," the elder replied indifferently.

Suddenly, the archmage's expression changed as he glanced skyward. Stepping quickly back to the glowing orb, he placed his hands upon it again.

"Who dares to spy on Valyria...? Hmm? Whose child are you?" he began with a stern rebuke, but his tone softened after a moment, though suspicion lingered in his gaze.

"What's happened?" the young knight asked anxiously.

"Someone has been eavesdropping on our conversation," the elder said calmly, though his face grew increasingly puzzled.

"Who would dare?" The young man was both furious and alarmed.

"It's not an outsider," the elder replied, his tone a mix of surprise and doubt. "It's a young Dragonlord, exceptionally gifted... but," he hesitated, "she doesn't even know basic spells and cannot communicate with me."

"Even if she's a highborn Valyrian noble, she cannot spy on the mage tower! Didn't her parents or teacher ever warn her?" the young man exclaimed, his anger intensifying.

"I sense the aura of House Baleris," the elder said uncertainly.

"The First Peak... Baleris?" The young man's expression shifted, his voice tinged with disbelief, his demeanor becoming extraordinarily serious.

The elder, his magical power resonating with the mage tower's energy orb, strange runes flashing across his eyes, continued to speak. "Perhaps. Go to the First Peak later and inquire. I sent her a '108-Letter Standard Pronunciation Chart.' If I'm mistaken, we can question her directly next time—hmm?"

"Young lady, your life force is rapidly draining! What's happening to you? Never mind, you can hear me, right? You're likely under attack by a dark spirit. Where is your dragon? If it's not nearby, enter a draconic spirit state immediately!" the elder shouted to the sky, his voice urgent and filled with concern and fury.

"Which blood mage dares to target a true Valyrian Dragonlord's bloodline?"

"Archmage, are you saying she can achieve the legendary 'Draconic Spirit' state?"

The possibility of such a feat astonished the young man even more than the audacity of anyone daring to harm the bloodline of true dragons.

Sensing that the presence had retreated, faint traces of her dragon's aura lingering, the elder sighed with relief. Turning to the young man, he said, "I told you before, the girl has remarkable potential."

"But Balerion, Vhagar..."

The rest of the conversation was lost to Daenys as her consciousness withdrew from the river of time.

When she had sought knowledge of magic suitable for herself from the undying ones, a deep blue screen of light appeared in the darkness, displaying countless images before her eyes.

Guided by mysterious forces, Daenys witnessed Valyria before the Doom. Like flipping through channels on a television, she effortlessly shifted her view to what was perhaps not the tallest but certainly the most enigmatic mage tower.

She marveled at the massive orb of magical energy, saw the blackstone towers drawing power from the molten rivers, watched the elder mage manage the world with the orb, and overheard secrets about gods.

For the first time, Daenys truly felt the grandeur and sophistication of Valyrian civilization.

Yet what shocked her more was that the "characters on the television screen" could see the "viewer on the sofa." They even interacted with her and sensed a danger she herself hadn't realized.

Was I seeing the past, or had my consciousness traveled back to that point in time?

As this thought crossed her mind, Daenys entered the draconic spirit state.

The soul of her dragon was with her!

She felt the essence of her life—her vitality and spiritual energy—pouring out like a flood breaching a dam. Opening her "eyes," she saw a chilling sight:

The undying ones had left their seats around the stone table and encircled her like a net. Shadowy blue figures of ice chanted sharp incantations, tearing golden strands of life force from her body.

This was the perspective of her dragon.

When Daenys opened her own eyes, the scene became even more terrifying:

A group of blue, decayed corpses, glowing with greedy light from their icy blue eyes, surrounded her. Their cold, shriveled hands clawed at her clothes, touched her body, and tangled their fingers in her hair.

Paralyzed as if under a nightmare's spell, Daenys could not move her limbs. Even her heartbeat had ceased.

She felt a hand dig into her eye socket and pull out her violet eye, shoving it toward her mouth. She saw sharp teeth pressing against the tender flesh of her throat.

"Ah—!" Daenys let out a furious roar. "You're courting death!"

(End of Chapter)

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