Aegon's gaze fell upon the swords resting beside the suits of armor. Even in the dim, dust-filled light, they gleamed with an otherworldly sheen, untouched by time. He reached for the larger one first.
It was a greatsword, Valyrian steel through and through, its dark surface rippling like a liquid shadow. The hilt was wrapped in deep crimson leather, aged yet pristine, fitting his hand as if forged for him alone. The crossguard stretched wide, subtle engravings of dragons curling along its length. And along the fuller, etched in flawless script, were the words:
Fire and Blood.
Aegon exhaled, turning the blade in his grip. The balance was perfect. It was heavier than a longsword but not unwieldy—designed for someone with the strength to wield it properly. He traced his fingers over the inscription, the weight of history pressing into him.
He had wielded many weapons in his time—on Earth, in his past life, and even in this one. But this was different. This sword carried a legacy, a purpose beyond mere steel and death. He could feel it.
His lips curled slightly. "I'll name you Excalibur." His voice was quiet, but firm. He let the name settle, feeling its weight in the air. "Like King Arthur's sword, you shall help me pass justice."
It was a private declaration, spoken to no one but himself and the blade in his hands. But the words lingered, unshaken by the silence of the ruins.
He glanced at the second sword—a slimmer, more elegant weapon, its design unmistakably suited for a woman's grip. It reminded him of Dark Sister, the blade once wielded by Visenya Targaryen. He lifted it briefly, testing its weight. It was sharp, light, and deadly.
Daenerys.
He had no doubt it would suit her.
Sliding Excalibur onto his back, he took the second blade in hand. When he returned to her, he would give it to her. But for now, there was still more of Valyria's secrets to uncover.
With one last glance at the thrones behind him, Aegon turned and stepped deeper into the ruins, his newly claimed sword resting against his back.
—————
The air grew heavier as Aegon descended the winding path, the cavern walls glowing with veins of molten rock. Each step carried him deeper into the heart of Valyria, where the very bones of the earth lay exposed, pulsing with heat and forgotten power.
Then he saw them.
Titanic skeletons, their ribcages vast as collapsed cathedrals, their skulls split and blackened with time. Some lay broken, shattered against the jagged rock, while others rested eerily intact, their hollow eye sockets staring into the abyss.
Dragon remains.
Aegon stopped at the graveyard's edge, his fingers brushing Excalibur's hilt. The sheer scale of it all dwarfed even his expectations. These were not mere dragons—these were the monsters of legend, the great beasts that once ruled the skies before Valyria fell.
His gaze moved across the wreckage, tracing the wounds left on their bones. Claw marks, massive and jagged, scored deep into the remains. Some skulls bore fractures as if something had struck them with immense force. Others had been torn apart, their necks snapped like twigs.
"This wasn't the Doom," Aegon murmured to himself, stepping forward. "This was a battle."
A war beneath the city.
The realization sent a chill down his spine despite the suffocating heat. He had read of the Valyrians' mastery over dragons, of their breeding pits and experiments to create larger, more fearsome beasts. But this? This was a slaughter.
What had they unleashed? What had they tried to control and failed?
His foot was knocked against something. He glanced down—a colossal fang, longer than his arm, half-buried in the scorched stone. He crouched, running a hand along its smooth, black surface. It was sharper than any steel he had ever seen.
Then, deep within the cavern, something shifted.
A low tremor, barely more than a whisper against the molten rock, yet unmistakable. Aegon stilled, his senses sharpening.
As he moved cautiously forward, the glow of the cavern flickered against something unnatural. His breath caught.
Gold.
Mountains of it.
Coins, goblets, scepters—piles of untold wealth lay untouched, shimmering beneath the red-hot light. Aegon stepped closer, his heart pounding. He reached down, letting the gold run through his fingers like sand. This was no mere treasure hoard. This was power.
With this, Daenerys could have armies. Cities could be rebuilt. The Faith he was meant to spread—this could fund it, solidify it, make it real.
His gaze swept the treasure, stopping on something else. Two crowns, gleaming atop a pedestal, crafted from Valyrian steel interwoven with gold and rubies. One bore the shape of dragon wings, fierce and regal. The other was more elegant, shaped like a flowing flame.
Aegon reached for them slowly, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. They were made for a king and queen.
Destiny was staring him in the face.
His hands curled into fists. "Not yet," he muttered. "Not until it's earned."
He left the crowns but carried their meaning with him. Instead, he turned his attention to another discovery—half-buried within the gold, nestled in obsidian cradles, were dragon eggs.
Aegon's breath hitched. Not one, not two, but several. Twelve to be exact. As if the past itself had left them for him to find.
And beyond the eggs, two strange pillars stood, dark and polished, each holding a circular mirror. He stepped closer, reading the inscriptions engraved upon them. The first bore the words:
The power to be stronger than steel.
The second held a stone tablet beneath it, detailing their function. Aegon's eyes widened as he read.
These mirrors weren't just decoration—they were a means of communication, allowing people to speak across vast distances as if standing face to face. A lost Valyrian marvel, something that could change everything.
Aegon ran a hand over one of the mirrors, his mind racing. He had come here searching for remnants of the past. Instead, he had found weapons, wealth, and knowledge that could shape the future.
He exhaled sharply, turning back toward the cavern's entrance.
He had what he came for. Now, it was time to return to Daenerys.