[5] Waking the Dragon
Chapter 5: Waking the Dragon
—
We rode in silence. The only sound that accompanied us was the rhythmic drumming of hooves against the cracked, unforgiving soil of old Valyria.
The air was heavy with the stench of decay, a sour tang that clung to the back of my throat and refused to let go. It was annoying. It seemed as if this land had forgotten what life felt like, choosing instead to stew in its own rot and misery.
Mantarys was a city known for its corruption and twisted tales of horror, where the Doom of Valyria danced in the breath of wind. We weren't heading toward the city. We were simply passing by it, closer than earlier, and yet, the dread in the air was pressing down like a suffocating blanket.
Kinvara rode beside me, her crimson robes fluttering gently, contrasting with the ashen landscape. We made small talk as we walked. The old witch, Yarra Vesh Duul, rode just beyond her, muttering quiet prayers to gods I didn’t care to know.
My mind spun with thoughts of the ritual to come. It wasn’t fear that stirred within me but anticipation. I was impatient. After all, this incident, if successful, would create history.
[Quest: Waking the Dragon.]
The awakening of a dragon. The system pushed me towards it. After all, what was the point of a Dragon System without a Dragon?
Still, it was a dangerous quest. If I succeeded, I would claim power that had been dead for centuries. But failure? It would turn me into ash.
So I guess I was kind of nervous too.
My fingers flexed around the reins, eyes narrowing at the thought. The Targaryen family line. Fire and blood. That was how a dragon could be awakened. They've tried to do that before, many times so, and failed regardless. I didn't plan to fail.
The ritual wanted blood. My blood. If the preparation wasn't perfect, I could die.
The idea sent a shiver up my spine, an odd mix of exhilaration and dread. Was I ready to endure the flames to prove that the dragon blood in my veins was not false? …A thin smile tugged at my lips. Of course, I was ready.
What was life without the risk of losing it?
“Prince?”
A laugh broke through my thoughts. The guttural noise cut through the call of Kinvana, who looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I glanced up to see her, and she nudged her chin forward.
“We have company,” she said. “Stone men.”
“Ah.” I glanced ahead and frowned. I saw deformed men slinking out from the shadows between jagged rocks, their twisted figures glistening with sweat and grime. All of their skin, a large part of it not all, were turned to stone. That wasn't the only thing mutated about them.
They didn't look like normal people. Population of Mantarys, I believe. Bandits. Some had limbs that bent the wrong way, eyes that bulged too far out of their sockets, or ears where no ear should ever be. Mantarys’ famed mutations were not just stories told to frighten children, it seemed.
The person leading them, a man with a third eye perched grotesquely on his cheekbone, grinned, showing a mouth full of broken teeth. It was gross. Half the skin in his body had turned to stone.
“Oh, ho, good lord,” he said, his gaze leering at Kinvara with hunger. “A red priestess. Haven’t had one of your kind in some time.”
“But boss, it’s a red priestess...” one of the bandits muttered, a glimmer of doubt on his face.
The leader spat, a thick glob that landed near his feet. “Oh, you newbie. So what if she's a red priestess? She got a cunt just like any other woman,” he barked, and a chorus of laughter followed. It was an ugly and eager sound.
I shook my head, my face still, though my muscles tightened with barely contained disdain. “I was wondering how people in Mantarys survived without trade or merchants,” I said, raising my voice enough for Kinvara to hear over the laughter. My gaze never left the approaching figures.
“Well, this is how,” Kinvara replied, a sigh threading her words. “Plundering and robbing travelers.”
Beside us, the old witch’s muttering grew louder, prayers turning feverish as the bandits encircled us. Fourteen. I counted quickly, my eyes flicking from one twisted face to another.
They outnumbered us, and they were confident, circling their prey with the arrogance of men who’d done this many times before. “Dismount from your horses!” the leader shouted, wielding a rusted sword. The others mimicked him, grins full of yellow teeth and broken promises.
I glanced at Kinvara, and she looked back. We exchanged silent glances. We slid off our horses, boots meeting the ground with a thud. The bandits jeered, yanking our horses away and closing in on us, their stench seeping into the air like a disease.
Gross bastards.
“Should we kill the man, boss?” one of the lackeys asked, his voice too high-pitched and eager.
The leader shook his head, chuckling. “Nah. He got a pretty face. Some pig in the slave cities will pay good coin for him.”
The laughter that followed pushed me to the edge of my ever-growing annoyance. They're dead already.
I scoffed, turning to Kinvana as I spoke out loud. “Can you start the ritual now, if I make fire?” I asked her, turning my eyes to the men as they exchanged confused glances.
Kinvara blinked, confusion and surprise flickering across her face before she nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.
I turned my attention back to the bandits, a smile forming. “Do any of you know blood magic?” I asked.
They stared, confusion warping their faces before one broke into a hoarse laugh. “Hah, this dumb motherfucker thinks we’re wizards!” another hooted. “We won't be raping people like you if we were!”
“Pity,” I muttered and slipped a hand into my pocket. The leader snapped to attention, raising his weapon.
“Hands out, or I’ll cut them off!” he snarled, swinging his blade.
I obliged, slowly lifting my hand, palm open. I guess I had no other choice. I wanted to keep it a secret from Kinvana for a bit longer, but whatever.
One moment my palm was empty, and then a glass filled with strange liquid shimmered into existence, cool and weighty in my grasp. The sudden appearance caught their laughter and died in their throats. Before they could react, I tossed the liquid onto the leader. He flinched back, some of the liquid splattering across his face and chest.
His brows furrowed, confusion turning to rage. “What was that, you—”
A burning torch appeared in my hand next, summoned from my Inventory as if I’d always carried it in my hand. “It is called Naphtha,” I said as I threw the fire at him, the flames roaring to life. He tried to shout, but the flames consumed him and leaped to the men closest to him.
Their screams shredded the silence, a song of agony as fire crawled over them, skin blistering and blackening.
“Now,” I snapped at Kinvara.
“How?!” She looked momentarily stunned at what I had done. Even she couldn't bring things out of thin air. Yet she managed to move her hands through her surprise, making gestures with the practiced precision of a sorceress. Her hands weaved the flames outward and guided them into the throng of bandits, who shrieked and fell like burning dolls.
The smell of charred flesh thickened the air.
“Y-you bastards!” One man who was untouched by the flames rushed at me with a roar, eyes wide and white with fury.
“Fool,” I said. He should have known that I might have more in my space. I kept a lot of things in my inventory, things I had asked Kinvara to provide me before we left Volantis.
A spear formed in my hand—a better choice than a sword for a newbie such as myself. I thrust it forward, steel meeting resistance as it plunged through his chest.
It wasn’t very smooth, but it did its work. His charge faltered, breath rattling out as blood trickled from his gaping mouth.
I pulled the spear free, and he collapsed, lifeless.
[You’ve killed a Stone Man.]
[You’ve earned experience points.]
[You’ve leveled up!]
[You’ve reached Level 6!]
“Oh,” I whispered, the notification catching me off guard.
That was my… first kill in this world. I had gained three levels in the last week, working out with my body weight every chance I got, which basically meant every minute I wasn’t riding the horse. All that hard work, and I had only gained three levels.
But now?
I killed a man and gained a level in a second. A tremor of power ran through me. The System rewarded me for killing…
The rest of the bandits writhed, still engulfed by flames, their screams reaching a fever pitch. I frowned. It was unclear if I’d get Experience Points from their deaths as they were burning in the fire of ritual, spread by Kinvana, even if it was me who started the fire first. The urge to finish them off surged through me.
A disgusting scent of burning flesh filled the air, mixing with heat. I could feel the flames pressing in, ready to consume everything, including me. I decided and then moved quickly, spear stabbing down into faces and hearts, silencing each scream with a conclusiveness that resonated in my chest.
The notifications from the System blurred my vision, rapid-fire confirmations of each kill and experience points.
[You've killed a Stone Man.]
[You've earned experience points.]
[You've killed a Stone Man.]
[You've earned experience points.]
[You’ve leveled up!]
[You've killed a Stone Man.]
[You've earned experience points.]
[You've killed a Stone Man.]
[You've earned experience points.]
[You’ve leveled up!]
[You've...]
…
[You’ve leveled up!]
[You’ve reached Level 9!]
“Prince! Let’s step out of that place!” Kinvara’s sharp and frantic voice cut through the inferno. She stood at the edge of the flames, her face flushed from the heat, her eyes filled with urgency. “It's dangerous!”
I looked at her, the world around me reduced to the roar of flames and the thrum of blood in my ears.
I wondered for a moment and then pulled something from the system. A hovering hologram in the corner of my vision gleamed with an ethereal blue light.
===
Quest: Waking the Dragon
Objective: Awaken the dormant dragon egg and restore the legacy of House Targaryen by bringing a true dragon into the world.
Details: You, Viserys Targaryen, have embarked on a quest that few would dare to dream of. To awaken the dragon egg in his possession, you must perform a ritual of fire and blood magic, a process steeped in ancient Valyrian tradition and arcane knowledge. This ritual is perilous, requiring precision, sacrifice, and the true fire of the old gods.
Ritual Site: Conducted in a sacred or ancient power-infused place.
Rewards:
Penalties for Failure:
===
I took a deep breath, my pulse hammering like a war drum.
“No,” I replied, leaving her staring at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“Prince! This is madness!” Her voice wavered, split between urgency and something else. Worry? No, I told myself. High Priestesses didn't worry—they plotted.
“Is it?”
“Yes! Targaryens are not immune to flames! This isn’t a story, and you’re not—”
“Trust me.” The grin that stretched my lips felt foreign, forced even, but I needed her to believe it.
The flames that burned around me hurt me. I felt the heat, but it stopped hurting when the ritual began. I could tell. If this didn’t work, I’d be nothing but a charred corpse and a forgotten fool.
The author of the franchise once stated that Daenerys Targaryen's survival of the ritual fire was a one-time incident. It was because it was a ritual that she didn't get hurt. Unlike what she came to believe, she wasn't immune to flames.
My death to the molten gold also didn't mean I lacked dragon blood. I could do the exact thing she did as long as the ritual proceeded. The flames were here, so the ritual could indeed proceed. I just had to endure for a while.
I looked at her, her worried face flashing from behind the dancing flames. She could stop the flames if she tried. From the looks of it, she was just about to.
“Don’t.” I stopped her. “If I die here, then I’m no more than a fool who pretended to be a king. Not the Warrior of Light, not anything worth remembering for you, no?”
The silence that followed was heavy, and I saw her mouth press into a tight line. Good. Doubt made people easier. I nodded toward the first body, the bandit whose eyes were still frozen in that moment of disbelief. “Use that one. Fresh blood. Draw the glyphs.”
For a heartbeat, Kinvara stared at me, eyes unreadable, before her gaze hardened, becoming sharper and colder. Her fingers twitched, and with a practiced motion, she opened her hand and then closed it into a fist.
The body convulsed, a grotesque shudder, before the skin split open, and blood surged out, painting the ground in curving intricate strokes. It spread like a living map, forming symbols that seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.
I brought the Dragon Egg out of my inventory. It thrummed in my hands.
“O-ohh my!” The old witch gasped. She had been staring at me in stunned silence from the moment I took out the glass and the spear out of thin air. She was trembling. Her eyes were wide, trembling as though she were on the edge of a vision.
She seemed to have reached a realization of her own.
“Go inside,” Kinvara pushed her gently. “Ahor Ahai is waiting for you.”
“Azor… Azor Ahai...” she breathed, and I saw awe twisting her lined face into something grotesque. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
She walked into the flame, her skin churning off as she walked closer to me. The flames roared around us, fed by the dead, reaching higher as though trying to touch the sky. Heat wrapped itself around my body like a lover with sharp teeth.
I gripped the egg tighter, feeling its cool, solid weight. It was the last relic of a lineage too proud to stay buried. I stepped closer to the inferno, my boots scraping against the blood-slick ground.
The flames concentrated around me while the witch touched her forehead on the ground. She started to chant. Kinvara's gaze flickered between me and the fire, her mouth opening as if to speak, but she said nothing. Good.
Words wouldn’t change anything now.
The heat stole my breath, pain flowering across my skin as I settled cross-legged on the ground, the egg cradled in my arms. I closed my eyes, the witch's chanting weaving through the crackling of flames, the edges of my mind fraying with each second.
Every nerve screamed, and my teeth ground together, a snarl tearing itself free as the fire wrapped around me. But somewhere in that agony, where the edges of life and death met, the egg in my arms throbbed, warm, hungry, and alive.
Minutes or hours, I couldn’t tell how long passed. The flames obscured the sky, I couldn’t even tell if the sun had set or not.
My focus was all here as the System flashed notifications before me.
[The Dragon Egg is asking for food.]
[Would you like to feed it 5 Levels?]
[Yes - No]
The choice was simple. The fire burned brighter, and Kinvara’s chanting grew louder outside. Something cracked. Until—
“Kreach! Kreach!”
A sharp cry pierced the fire, something small and fierce.
Warmth brushed my cheek, different from the searing pain. It was a rough tongue that licked at my skin, pulling me back from the abyss. My eyes cracked open to see two bright, wild eyes staring back at me as a winged golden lizard croaked on my arms.
The flames died out slowly as the sun rose in the morning sky. Kinvara walked over, eyes wide and trembling, while a crazy grin quivered on her lips. She muttered a curse, followed by a gasp of moan. “Oh, my god. It’s a Dragon. ”
It was. I had awakened it. A golden little thing… A Gold Dragon with separate arms and wings. Viserion, the dragon who'd become the strongest. The most powerful.
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Author Note: I hope you like the story so far. I was wondering which dragon to choose among the three. I was urged to go with Drogon, but in the end, I chose Viserion to allow Daenerys to keep some personal power. Plus Viserion was the dragon that was named after Viserys, it's only natural that it should be the egg he stole.
Question: Future dragon-girl or nah? Do we just keep it as a pet?
Additionally, I have a Discord to come and hang out with me and 6,000 more members. I also have a for those interested in supporting me and/or wanting to read chapters before public releases. Of course, is merely a donation service for me, so chapters will ALWAYS be coming here for free as usual, so NEVER worry about that. I think I’ll be going with a 5-chapters/weekly update. Happy reading!
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