Volnyr Hold stood on the edge of oblivion.
Once carved from obsidian and white marble, crowned with towers veined in living gold, it now trembled with every whisper of the earth beneath it. What once symbolized the unbreakable legacy of House Vórenyx now bore hairline cracks along its foundations, as if the land itself had turned traitor. Smoke bled into the skies. Ash fell like snow. And deep beneath the crust, fire stirred like a dragon waking from a thousand-year slumber.
Vaeron stood atop the citadel's highest tower, wind tugging at his cloak. From here, he could see the Fourteen Flames in the far distance, their peaks smoking like chimneys of the gods. They had always been beautiful. Majestic. Now they looked… hungry.
A soft rustle behind him. Mylara approached, eyes shadowed but sharp.
"They're still arguing," she said. "Half the council wants to flee west. The others talk of binding the dragons together for a ritual defense."
"They would rather chant at the fire than prepare to fight it," Vaeron muttered.
"They're scared."
"So am I." He glanced at her. "But fear does not excuse cowardice."
Council in Chaos
The war chamber was louder than a battlefield. Lords, vassals, captains of slave legions, and merchant princes shouted over one another as maps were unrolled and contingency plans torn to shreds.
Lord Rhael of House Talor pounded his fist. "We waste time with dreams! We should be evacuating now! To Lys, to the Summer Isles—anywhere!"
"And abandon the Vault?" snapped Lady Yelona. "There are relics here older than Valyria itself—dragonsteel, spellbooks, unhatched eggs! We must preserve them."
"Preserve them for what? If the ground opens, none of it will matter!"
Mylara cut through them all. "We've found something," she announced, voice cold and controlled. "A hidden chamber beneath the Old Forge. Vaulted by runic wards older than this hold."
That shut them up.
"It contains three dragon eggs, untouched by sunlight for centuries. A crown etched in high Valyrian runes—pulsing with heat. And… scrolls. Dozens of them. One of them describes something called The Binding of Flame—a spell meant to shield an entire city from volcanic wrath."
Silence fell.
Vaeron leaned forward. "Can it be done?"
Mylara shook her head. "The ritual requires nine bonded dragonlords. We have four."
Dread returned. He saw it flicker across their faces like smoke across stone.
System Message — Notification
🜂 World Event: The Doom Approaches (Unstoppable)Cataclysmic volcanic activity has begun across central Valyria.Estimated time until eruption: 38 hours.Questlines and strongholds in this zone will be permanently lost unless evacuated.⮞ New Critical Quest Unlocked: "The Last Ember"Objective: Preserve legacy, escape Valyria, and carry forward the blood of the dragon.Rewards: ???Failure: Permanent death and loss of system connection.
The Final Preparations
Vaeron dismissed the council with orders.
Ships were to be loaded. Vaulted artifacts packed by Mylara's most trusted. Slave legions armed for defense, not conquest. All dragon eggs—four now, with the new ones uncovered—were to be guarded day and night.
The forge bellowed again for the first time in weeks. Vaeron personally worked beside the last remaining master-smith, using system-enhanced smithing skill to fold pure Valyrian steel into a new blade: Ashreaver. Tempered in dragonfire. Etched in spells drawn from the recovered scrolls.
That night, under starlight tinted red with ash, he stood in his private sanctum and opened the system interface.
System Menu [Valyrian Legacy Engine v.1.7]
StatusName: Vaeron VórenyxTitle: Dragonlord | Warlord of Volnyr HoldLevel: 57Class: Legendary ArmsmasterDragon Bond: Ashryn [Adult, Loyal, Wary of Doom]
Skills– Dragonlord's Command (Max)– Valyrian Smithing (Advanced)– Command Presence (Epic)– Tactical Foresight– Language of Flame (Basic)
Artifacts Secured: 11– Valyrian Crown of Binding– Scroll: Binding of Flame– Blade: Ashreaver– Egg of Black Ember (Unhatched)
Quests Active:– The Last Ember– Dragonblood Legacy– Secrets of the Old World
Vaeron closed the interface.
There would be no more time for training. No more politics. Only fire and survival.
Farewells in Firelight
He found Mylara meditating alone in the vault. Candlelight reflected off her armor, half-burnished, half-bloodstained.
"They won't stay loyal," she said. "Not all of them. Some are already planning to steal the ships."
"I know."
"What do we do when they turn?"
"We burn them."
There was no malice in his voice. Only certainty. The world was dying. Mercy was a luxury for the living.
She rose, walked to him, and pressed her forehead to his. "Then we burn together."
A Council of Ash
With thirty hours remaining, Vaeron summoned only those he trusted to a final private council: Mylara, Captain Druvos of the Blackscale Hunters (now reformed and loyal), Nelya the Halfblood Seeress, and Grand Steward Volkor.
Volkor spoke first. "The ritual won't work. We don't have the dragonlords for it. But if we can fuel the spell with a sacrifice…"
"No," Vaeron said. "I will not trade blood for delay."
Nelya looked up. "Then you must leave. You must survive."
"But I built all this—"
"You built a seed," Mylara said. "Now let it fly on dragon wings."
An Ominous Flight
That night, Vaeron took Ashryn into the skies to survey the land.
Ash hung thick. Lava veins glowed red across the mountains. Animals fled in herds. Rivers turned black with soot.
And in the distance—he saw it. A gaping chasm opening across one of the Fourteen Flames, glowing like the mouth of hell. The mountain groaned. A jet of fire erupted into the heavens.
Doom had begun.