The Red Keep was never truly silent. To the servants, it was the sound of rushing footsteps, to the guards, the clatter of steel. But to the infant Prince Daemon Targaryen, the castle hummed with a different frequency entirely.
He lay in his ornate cradle, draped in fine Myrish silks. Outwardly, he was a placid royal babe. Inwardly, his mind was a storm of data.
The nursery was bathed in the amber glow of sunset. The scent of lavender and old parchment drifted through the air as a figure leaned over the cradle. It wasn't a wet nurse or a septa, but Queen Alysanne herself.
The Good Queen was known for her wisdom and her love for the smallfolk, but here, she was simply a grandmother. She began to hum a low, haunting melody ,a lullaby in High Valyrian that had been passed down from the days before the Doom.
"Drakari pykiros... Pūrely mērely..."
As the ancient words left her lips, the Magic Tower in Daemon's mind began to vibrate.
[Alert!]
Ancestral Resonance Detected.
Source: Queen Alysanne (Rider of Silverwing).
Effect: Mana Stabilization in progress.
Mana Awakening: 0.45%
Her voice... it's not just music, Daemon realized, his tiny ears straining to catch every syllable. She's weaving intent into the sound. This is the 'Old Magic' they say the Targaryens lost.
He watched her through half-closed eyes. Alysanne smiled, her silver hair shimmering like a halo. She saw him watching and slowed her song, her violet eyes twinkling with a strange recognition.
"You hear it, don't you, little dragon?" she whispered, stroking his cheek. "The song of the fires that never go out."
The heavy oak doors creaked open, admitting a gust of energetic air.
"Is he awake? Grandmother, is he awake yet?"
A boy of five years burst in, his silver hair a mess and his face flushed from running. Viserys Targaryen. The future King of the Seven Kingdoms looked down at Daemon with wide, curious eyes. To Daemon , Viserys felt soft a warm, gentle glow, but lacking the sharp edge of a warrior or a sorcerer.
Trailing behind him with much more poise was a girl of seven. Rhaenys Targaryen. Even at this age, the daughter of Prince Aemon carried herself with a regal sharpness. Her black hair inherited from her Baratheon mother was the only thing that set her apart from the sea of Targaryen silver.
[Detection!]
Rhaenys Targaryen (Unbonded)
Viserys Targaryen (Unbonded)
"He's so small," Viserys whispered, reaching out to poke Daemon's cheek. "Does he even know how to roar?"
Rhaenys stood beside him, her arms crossed. "He's a Targaryen, Viserys. The roar is in the blood, not the lungs." She looked at Daemon with an analytical gaze that made the infant's soul chill. She was siphoning the same royal authority she would one day be denied.
A man stepped inside, radiating a presence so fierce it felt like standing too close to an open furnace. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried the effortless grace of a predator.
Prince Aemon Targaryen. The heir to the Iron Throne and the rider of the Blood Wyrm.
[Alert! Massive Draconic Mana Detected]
Source: Prince Aemon (Bonded: Caraxes).
Synchronization Rate: High.
Daemon's tiny heart hammered against his ribs. It wasn't fear...it was hunger. The Tower inside his soul began to groan, its obsidian foundations vibrating as it sensed the sheer density of the mana Aemon carried. It was the scent of the sky, the tang of sulfur, and the raw, ancient power of Old Valyria.
"Mother," Aemon greeted the Queen with a nod before leaning over the cradle.
"Father!" Rhaenys brightened, moving to his side.
Aemon placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder before leaning over the cradle. As he reached down to ruffle Daemon's hair, the Tower screamed in triumph. The stolen energy flooded Daemon's core.
[Siphoning Critical Hit!]
Mana Awakening: 0.52% → 0.61%
Incredible, Daemon thought, fighting the urge to gasp as the stolen energy flooded his core. The bond between a rider and a dragon isn't just symbolic. Their souls are fused. Aemon is a walking conduit for Caraxes.
--------
The Great Hall of the Red Keep was a cavern of shadow and light, designed specifically to make men feel small. High above, the vaulted ceilings were lost in the gloom, while the afternoon sun bled through the narrow, arched windows in long, dusty shafts of crimson.
As the heavy oak doors swung open, the scent hit him with a cloying, suffocating mixture of expensive Myrish oils, stale incense, and the underlying metallic tang of the Iron Throne itself.
Daemon felt the steady rhythm of Baelon's stride as his father carried him toward the center of the hall. To anyone else, the court was a sea of faces; to Daemon's awakening Mana Sense, it was a chaotic whirlpool of colors and intentions.
On the left stood the Lords of the Reach, led by the Hightowers in their silks of silver and smoke-grey. They smelled of old books and hidden ambition, their eyes tracing the lines of Daemon's face as if calculating his future worth in gold.
On the right were the Lords of the West, the Lannisters shining in crimson and gold, their pride radiating off them like heat. Behind them stood the minor lords ,the vipers, the sycophants, and the power-hungry .All leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the newest Prince of the Blood.
The air was thick with the silent judgment of a thousand noble houses. Every rustle of a gown and every clink of a chain mail link felt amplified in the oppressive silence.
Then, his gaze moved to the end of the hall.
There it was. The Iron Throne.
It was a monstrous thing—an asymmetrical, jagged mountain of melted, twisted swords. It wasn't a seat for a man; it was a monument to conquest. It looked sharp enough to draw blood from the very air around it.
Perched upon it was King Jaehaerys I.
The Old King looked every bit the legend. His long, silver-white beard was neatly combed, falling over robes of black velvet. His crown of yellow gold, set with seven different colored gemstones, sat heavy upon a brow that was deeply lined with the burdens of a peaceful reign.
Beside him stood Queen Alysanne. Though shorter than the King, her presence was no less formidable. Her silver hair was pinned back with a simple circlet, and her eyes were a clear, piercing violet which seemed to look not at Daemon's physical form, but at the soul beneath the skin.
Baelon stopped at the foot of the throne and lifted Daemon high.
"Your Grace," Baelon's voice rang out, steady and proud. "I present to you my second son. Prince Daemon of House Targaryen."
The silence that followed was absolute.
A normal infant would have been terrified. The thousand eyes, the sharp edges of the throne, the weight of the Royal presence—it was designed to break the spirit. But Daemon remained unnervingly still. He didn't squirm. He didn't reach for his father's beard.
Instead, he tilted his head back and stared directly into the eyes of Jaehaerys I.
So this is the Conciliator, Daemon thought, his infant mind cold and analytical. The man who thinks he has tamed the world with laws and roads. He built a masterpiece of a kingdom, but he forgot that dragons weren't meant to be caged by peace.
The King leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the sword-hilts of the throne. He didn't see a helpless babe. He saw a mirror.
"Look at the boy..." a lord whispered from the shadows.
"He does not cry. He does not even blink."
"It is as if he is weighing the King's very soul."
The murmurs rippled through the hall like a wind through tall grass. The Lords of Westeros looked at the infant and felt a strange, primal shiver. There was something wrong with the boy's stillness,something ancient and predatory.
"He has the gaze of a man grown," Jaehaerys finally spoke, his voice cracking like a whip through the hall. He turned his gaze to Baelon, his expression grim. "There is a stillness in this one, Baelon. A coldness. See that he is tempered well, or he may become a fire that cannot be quenched. A dragon who burns the world simply to see it glow."
Beside the King, Queen Alysanne stepped closer, her eyes softening but her hand tightening on her husband's arm. She felt it too the faint, rhythmic pulse of the Magic Tower beginning to resonate with the ancient steel of the throne.
[Alert!]
Proximity to 'The Iron Throne' (Massive Valyrian Steel Cluster) Detected.
Passive Siphoning: EXTREME.
Mana Awakening: 0.72%... 0.75%...
Daemon felt the surge of power bitter, cold, and tasting of a thousand conquered enemies. He didn't turn away. He simply watched the King, a tiny, ghost-like smile threatening to touch his lips.
The fire is already lit, Grandfather, Daemon thought. And this time, it won't just be the dragons that burn.
Suddenly, the massive stained-glass windows of the Great Hall rattled.
ROOOOOOARRRRR—
The sound was a physical blow. It was a scream of primal dominance that shook the very foundations of Aegon's High Hill. Outside, a shadow swept over the castle, turning day into a brief, terrifying twilight.
Caraxes.
The Blood Wyrm was circling above, his long, serpentine neck arching as he shrieked at the stone walls. He had sensed something. A new spark. A resonance that shouldn't exist in a two-day-old human.
Inside Daemon's mind, the Magic Tower erupted in a pillar of crimson light.
[Mana Awakening: 0.80%]
The sound wasn't just noise to Daemon anymore. It was a vibration in his marrow. He heard a whisper not in words, but in a raw, emotional tectonic shift.
Kin... Fire... Wake...
The sensation was so intense that Daemon's tiny lip curled into a smile, an expression that looked chillingly predatory on an infant's face.
That night, the Red Keep was quiet, but the air remained charged. Daemon retreated into his inner world, standing once more before the Great Obsidian Gate of Floor 1.
The runes were no longer just glowing; they were bleeding light.
[Floor 1 Progress: 0.98%]
[Condition Detected: Proximity to Dragon Soul (Caraxes/Meleys/Vhagar)]
[Bonus Reward Available: Genetic Memory Unlock]
The Tower isn't just a battery, Daemon realized, his phantom hands touching the cold stone of the gate. It's an archive. It's analyzing the dragons. It's learning how they breathe, how they fly, how they burn.
In the solar nearby, he could hear his mother's boisterous laughter. Princess Alyssa was drinking wine with Baelon, her voice full of fire.
"He didn't flinch at Caraxes' roar!" she shouted. "Did you see? My little Daemon smiled! When he's strong enough,a few more moons then I'm taking him to the Pit. I'll set him right between Meleys' horns. Let's see if the Red Queen recognizes her master."
Baelon laughed, but Daemon wasn't listening to the conversation anymore.
He was listening to the sound of the gate cracking open.
[Mana Awakening: 1.00%]
[Floor 1 — Ready to Unlock.]
Daemon closed his eyes in his cradle, the silver hair framing a face that was no longer just a child's.
The Dragonpit, he thought as the first gate of the Tower swung wide, revealing a library of glowing scrolls within. That's where the real game begins.