The Restorer, Viserys, had earned his title not just by reclaiming the Iron Throne but by achieving the unthinkable—restoring Valyria itself. The ancient, once-mighty Valyria had been annihilated in a catastrophic failure of the magic that contained the Fourteen Flames, leaving it a desolate wasteland of fire and ash. For centuries, it was regarded as a cursed, uninhabitable realm.
Yet during his reign, Viserys began the monumental task of reclaiming Valyria's ruins. By the time his son Willemrys assumed the throne, new Valyria was rising from the ashes, but its foundation had been laid by Viserys himself.
This achievement came after his legendary victory over the Night King. Leading the living to triumph in that ultimate battle, Viserys gained another, chilling epithet: the Night Eater. To ensure the Night King could never rise again, Viserys consumed his body through an extraordinary act of magic. The process irrevocably altered the Targaryen constitution, tying their line more closely to fire and magic.
Viserion revered Viserys as a figure beyond mortal comprehension—a god among men. When the painted visage of Viserys stirred and his voice filled the hall, both Viserion and Dany instinctively bowed low.
"Your Grace," they said in unison, their voices trembling with awe.
The glowing figure of Viserys gazed down at them. His presence, even as a projection of magic, carried an overwhelming weight. Daenerys in the painting spoke first, recounting Dany's plight and Viserion's actions. The tension in the hall was palpable, every word heavy with judgment.
The Restorer Emperor was a legend not only for his wartime feats but for his transformation of the world. After the Long Night and the victory at King's Landing, Viserys rebuilt Westeros from the ground up. The feudal system, riddled with inefficiency, was replaced by the county system, unleashing the full potential of the continent. Within seventy years, the population soared from a mere ten million to over eighty million. Even the frigid Land of Always Winter, warmed by the changing climate, became habitable, giving rise to new towns and cities.
Meanwhile, Viserys devoted his later years to excavating Valyria's ruins. The Doom's remnants yielded ancient magical knowledge and technological marvels, fueling the Golden Age. This labor of restoration consumed much of Viserys and Daenerys' lives and continued under Willemrys, their son, who carried the torch of their legacy.
Under the Targaryens, the empire extended its reach far beyond Westeros and the Free Cities. Slaver's Bay fell swiftly, followed by the submission of Qarth. When the empire's gaze turned to Yi Ti, the Pureborn nobility knelt without resistance, their complete capitulation smooth and unopposed.
Yet, this triumph planted the seeds of trouble.
The YiTish, crafty and ambitious, ingratiated themselves with the Dragonlords, becoming indispensable advisors and middlemen. Over two centuries, they married into the Targaryen bloodline, producing dozens of Dragon Knights and embedding themselves within Valyria's ruling class.
Their influence extended so far that they controlled the Jade Sea trade and held sway over the Targaryen court itself. By the time of the 27th emperor, their power was so entrenched that they nearly claimed the title of co-emperor.
It was to this group that Viserion sought to marry Dany. Not because the YiTish had blackmailed him, but because he was cornered by another Targaryen—a rival with both power and pure bloodline.
Lacking sufficient allies, Viserion believed aligning with the YiTish was his only chance to secure his position and protect both himself and his sister.
As Dany relayed this explanation, her voice steady yet tinged with emotion, something unprecedented occurred.
Viserys, the Restorer, stepped out of the painting.
His ethereal form emitted a faint glow, and his body seemed weightless, almost insubstantial. The sight left everyone stunned, especially Commander Brune, who had spent more than twenty years guarding the Summer Palace without ever witnessing such an event.
In the great hall of the Summer Palace, the glowing figure of Viserys the Restorer loomed, a manifestation of legend itself. Commander Brune struggled to keep his composure, his thoughts racing.
"Is this equivalent to seeing His Grace the Restorer himself?"
He had served as the commander of the Summer Palace for over two decades, meticulously studying the memoirs of his predecessors, yet none had mentioned anything like this. There were many portraits of Targaryen legends within the Summer Palace—Falia, Margaery, Shinelli, Sansa, Willemrys, Jaehaerys, and Viserys II—but none possessed this profound, lifelike intelligence, let alone the ability to step out of their frames.
Viserys the Restorer approached the siblings, his ethereal presence commanding absolute silence. His glowing form radiated authority as he leaned toward Viserion, his voice calm yet piercing.
"So, do you want to be the emperor? Or how badly do you want to be the emperor?"
The question hung heavily in the air. Viserion's mind churned with conflicting thoughts, yet his instincts told him to answer truthfully. Finally, with his head bowed, he replied:
"Your Grace, I want to be the emperor."
Viserys's response cracked through the hall like a thunderclap.
"Then destroy the Yi Ti!"
His words echoed with the force of an ancient decree, reverberating in the silence.
"I will give you the name Viserion Julius Targaryen. Go and proclaim it to all the Targaryens—tell them that the past is forgotten. Take your dragons and your armies, and wipe out the Yi Ti."
According to Little Dany, the Shadow of the Lysene has loomed over successive generations of kings for countless years. The time has come to wash away the blood and start anew with a clean slate.
He turned sharply toward Brune, who stood behind the siblings. At the sound of his name, Brune momentarily froze, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed. Only after two seconds did he drop to his knees.
"You, Brune, will accompany Prince Viserion to deliver my orders. A Dragonlord must act openly and with honor. Conspirators accomplish nothing of worth. Have you not learned from the folly of that fool Illyrio?"
Brune bowed lower, his voice trembling. "Yes, Your Grace."
...
Meanwhile, in Yi Ti.
The grand palace of Iti stood as a monument to the kingdom's aspirations. Having allied with the Dragonlords generations ago, the Yi Ti monarchy expanded their palace repeatedly.
Now, it rivaled even Valyria's greatest structures, save for the Dragon's Nest itself. The palace sprawled both above ground and below, with secret chambers and hidden passageways illuminated by Valyrian magic and alchemical ingenuity.
Within one of the palace's richly adorned chambers, a middle-aged man with dark, polished goatee sat in quiet contemplation. His long fingers traced the lines of his beard as he spoke, his square face emanating an air of deep cunning and experience.
"This Dany," he mused, his tone measured, "is a direct descendant of Viserys II. At just fourteen years old, she could bring several Dragon Knights into our dynasty."
Across from him sat a younger man, his face bearing a clear resemblance to his father but marred by impatience and immaturity.
"The Targaryens already have more than two thousand Dragon Knights," the younger man said, his frustration evident. "When will we have even half that number?"
The elder man leaned back, his expression calm. "This is a long-term endeavor. Once we embarked on this path—when our dragons first landed in this palace—there was no turning back. We must play our cards carefully."
What the elder man did not reveal, however, was that Yi Ti. had made significant strides in the shadows.
Though officially boasting only one hundred Dragon Knights, they secretly nurtured an equal number of "prospective Dragon Knights" who had already tamed wild dragons. This was a calculated move to prevent the Targaryens from perceiving them as a direct threat.
More than a thousand wild dragons remained in the known world, and Valyria's legendary Dragon Keepers still held sway over many of them. But Yi Ti had infiltrated their ranks, quietly replacing them with their own operatives. Over the years, they had amassed over three hundred dragon eggs, carefully hidden from prying eyes.
As the father and son discussed their plans, a dragon's roar echoed through the palace.
"Is it Jaro returning?" the younger man asked, standing quickly.
Jaro was one of the rare Dragon Knights loyal to Yi Ti, and even the crown prince afforded him respect.
The elder man began to rise, but before either could leave, the chamber doors were flung open with a thunderous crash.
A tall knight stepped through, his silver hair and purple eyes unmistakable.
At first, the father and son were alarmed, fearing an extraordinary incident. But as they recognized the identity of the intruder, their alarm turned to derision.
The contempt was clear in their expressions as they regarded Viserion Targaryen.
In the vast and ornate hall of Yi Ti's palace, tension crackled like a storm as Viserion faced the father and son who had mocked him moments earlier. The middle-aged Jia Jin, outwardly composed, addressed him with feigned politeness, though his tone betrayed a lack of respect.
"Lord Viserion, I wonder where we have offended you?"
Viserion's face darkened, his purple eyes blazing. He spoke coldly, his voice filled with accusation:
"Jia Jin, secretly hoarding dragon eggs. Yi Ti, covertly fostering Dragon Knights. The command is clear: eradicate the clan! Obliterate the kingdom!"
The young man beside Jia Jin leapt to his feet, his face twisting with fury.
"Who do you think you are? How dare you speak like that?"
Viserion's lips curled into a sharp sneer. "Who am I? I'll tell you who I am." His voice rose, reverberating through the chamber. "I am Viserion Julius Targaryen! The Restorer bestowed this name upon me and personally commanded me to lead the expedition against Yi Ti. Is that clear enough for you?"
The words struck like thunder. Jia Jin's composure shattered as his knees gave way, and he collapsed into his chair, his face pale.
"The Restorer... gave you a name..." he whispered in disbelief, his voice barely audible.
Year 648 of the Restoration
Under the warm glow of a bedside lamp, a young girl of seven or eight nestled under thick covers, her frail body barely forming a shape beneath the quilt. Her large eyes shone with curiosity as she listened to her father, Viserion IX, recount tales from their family's storied past.
"Father," she asked, her voice soft but eager, "so the Restorer really... ate the Night King?"
Viserion IX, now in his middle years, adored these moments with his youngest daughter, Rhaela. Unlike most Targaryens, she was a rare non-burner, much like Daenerys of legend. He tucked her quilt snugly and smiled.
"Yes, my sweet one. Back then, the Night King's army had already breached King's Landing. Even Hermine Targaryen, the second head of the Royal School of Magic, had her dragon shot down."
Opening the enchanted alchemical book on his lap, Viserion showed his daughter an animated page. The illustrations moved like living memories, vibrant and detailed.
"Look here," he said, pointing to an image of the Night King astride his undead dragon, its icy flames spreading chaos across King's Landing. The defenders scattered in terror as the dragon's ice-blue fire transformed those it touched into wights.
Rhaela pressed closer, her small head leaning against her father's shoulder as the pages shifted. The next scene showed Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Restorers, riding her majestic silver dragon into battle against the Night King.
Monterys and Hali soon joined her on their dragons, but even their combined might wasn't enough. The White Walkers' dragonfire proved wickedly potent, darkening the battlefield with despair.
"Is that the Lightbringer sword?" Rhaelarion asked, pointing to the next scene, where Viserys the Restorer leapt from his bright yellow dragon to land on the green Baleris.
Viserion shook his head, smiling at her innocent curiosity. "Not exactly. Do you see the hilt? It's not like any other sword, is it?"
Rhaela squinted at the image. "It looks... like it has leaves?"
"Indeed," her father confirmed. "The hilt was formed from the body of a Greenseer who sacrificed himself for the battle. This made the sword unique—imbued with magic, but also destined to burn out after its purpose was fulfilled."
In the next animated scene, Viserys wielded the radiant sword with ferocity, plunging it through the Night King's chest. The undead ruler dissolved into dust, and with him, the sword disintegrated as well. The scene darkened further as the Night King's ashes scattered in the winds stirred by his dragon.
But the battle was far from over. Icebone Towers, enchanted structures that served as the Night King's anchor to immortality, began drawing the scattered remains toward their frozen cores. The Targaryens fought valiantly to block the Towers, their dragons plugging one opening after another. Monterys, Hali, and others gave everything they had, but the sheer number of Towers overwhelmed them.
The book's illustrations grew increasingly frantic. Rhaela clung to her father's arm as the final scene unfolded.
"And then?" she whispered.
Viserion turned the page, showing Viserys devouring the Night King's remains. He tore apart icy fragments with his hands and teeth, swallowing them piece by piece. The animated sun, long absent from the sky, began to rise as he consumed the Night King's blue, pulsating heart.
"Isn't he afraid he'll die from eating that?" Rhaela asked, wide-eyed.
Viserion stroked her silver hair gently. "I don't know. But what I do know is that Viserys the Restorer cared more about the safety of his family and his people than his own life."
As the sun rose fully in the book's final scene, Viserys's glowing form seemed to shine brighter than ever, banishing the Long Night and bringing light back to the world.