Chapter 1 – Reborn into Flame
"You only understand the flame once you've burned in it."– Valyrian proverb
It began in pain.
An agony so raw it tore across every nerve, as if his very blood was being smelted in molten gold. Fire coursed through his bones, not metaphorically—but real, searing fire. It chewed his flesh from the inside out, and yet his body remained intact, bound to the torment.
Then… stillness.
He awoke in the pitch dark, not the void of death, but the suffocating velvet black of a real chamber. Air hung thick and humid, tainted with ash and the coppery tang of blood. The ceiling above was stone—carved in twisting spiral runes, some glowing faintly red like embers cooling from a long-dead forge.
And there was a sound—something rhythmic.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
His own heartbeat. Strong. Alive. Real.
He wasn't dead.
He was reborn.
But this wasn't Earth. Not by the stars carved into the walls. Not by the weight of ancient power in the air. Not by the voice whispering to him, not in words, but in intent.
"Valyria."
The name echoed in his skull, and with it, centuries of stories, myths, and fear rushed back from memory—Game of Thrones, Fire & Blood, House Targaryen… and the Doom. He had read it all, obsessed over it. But this place—it wasn't just fiction now. It was real.
And he wasn't a bystander.
[System Initialization Complete.]Welcome, Vaeron Vórenyx.Status: Age – 6 | Class – Initiate | Lineage – DragonlordSpecial Trait Activated: Reincarnated MindSkill Tree Available: Master-at-Arms, Smithing, Dragonlore, Assassin's Art, Shadowbinding
His breath caught.
The interface was translucent, faded into the corners of his vision, Assassin's Creed Odyssey-style. It responded to thoughts. He could minimize, call it up, highlight categories. All real. All usable.
But before he could celebrate, the heavy obsidian door of the chamber groaned open.
"Vaeron," a voice rasped like stone dragged across steel. "It is time."
The man who stepped in was armored not in gold, but in living shadow. His black robes shimmered with runes, his crimson eyes burning from under a crown of dark horns. Not ornament—actual fused dragon bone, shaped into his skull like a crown.
Lord Xalor Vórenyx. His father.
Vaeron's breath hitched—not out of awe, but because the man was radiating a coldness that burned worse than fire.
"You survived the Soul-Bath," Xalor said, voice devoid of pride. "Some do not. That is good. The blood of Vórenyx should not die so easily."
The Soul-Bath… that explained the pain. A magical ritual forced upon highborn children, designed to "awaken" their Valyrian heritage. Many died screaming. It was forbidden in half the empire. In House Vórenyx, it was tradition.
"Come. Your brother awaits. The Trial begins today."
Vaeron wanted to ask a thousand questions—Where was he? What year was it? How long had he been in this body? But he said nothing.
He stood up instead, legs wobbly but stable, and followed.
They walked through the halls of Volnyr Hold, the family's ancestral fortress built above an active lava lake. The walls were obsidian carved into sharp, angled columns that bent light strangely. Lava tubes lit the corridors in pulses of red-orange glow, like breathing veins of the world itself.
Guards stood silently as they passed—tall, masked, and holding glaives tipped with darksteel. Every one of them radiated killing intent. Not slaves. Not mercenaries. Bloodbound guardians, bound by oath and soul-ink to serve the family until death.
Vaeron passed by a mirror and finally saw himself.
Pale gray hair fell past his shoulders in thin locks. His eyes were molten silver, like twin moons dipped in fire. His frame was still young—barely six years old—but already lean and toned from training, with faint rune-scars across his shoulders.
His appearance screamed Valyrian aristocracy.
Yet unlike his siblings, he had a secret no one else did—his Earth-born mind. He remembered steel. Electricity. Psychology. Military tactics. Economics. Computer science. He had knowledge they could never hope to match.
That would be his true weapon.
They descended into the Trial Pit, a hollowed-out caldera beneath the keep. Lava pooled in slow, glowing rivers, illuminating rows of black stone seats filled with members of House Vórenyx.
At the center stood two boys.
Vaelarion Vórenyx, the eldest, tall and lean, wearing a crimson cloak embroidered with a wyvern devouring the sun. Beside him, their bastard brother Cazmyr, silver-blond and serpentine, with a dagger already in hand.
"Ah," Vaelarion said, a smile as warm as winter. "The little one lives. I almost bet against you, brother. My coin would have mourned."
"Don't waste your breath," Cazmyr muttered. "If he's too weak, the pit will silence him."
Vaeron said nothing. He stepped down into the circle.
[Quest Activated: Trial of Blood Flame]Survive or conquer. Reward: +2 Dragon Affinity, +1 Combat Instinct, +1 IntelligencePenalty: Death.
From the lava pool, a chunk of stone slowly rose—an obsidian platform bearing three carved dragon masks.
"Choose," Xalor said. "Each mask holds a blessing. And a curse."
Vaeron approached.
—The first mask had runes for Fury. Fire magic, pain resistance, rage.—The second, Sight Beyond. Precognition, danger sense, stealth.—The third, Binding Fang. Command, loyalty, summoning beasts.
He reached for the second.
As he lifted it to his face, the mask fused into his skin—screaming magic shredding into his nerves. The world tilted.
[Skill Gained: Farsight][Skill Gained: Ambush Sense][Shadow Magic Unlocked – Tier I]
A blade slashed toward his neck.
Vaeron ducked, his body moving before thought—instinct from Farsight, like seeing half a second into the future.
Cazmyr was already lunging again, this time feinting high.
Vaeron rolled low, grabbed ash from the floor, flung it in Cazmyr's eyes, and elbowed him in the gut. The bastard coughed, stumbled.
[Skill Use: Improvised Combat +2 XP]
Vaelarion struck next—too fast, too trained. His sword was Valyrian steel, light and deadly. Vaeron barely managed to block with a polearm thrown to him.
Steel met steel. Sparks. Vaeron's hands went numb.
He couldn't win in brute force. But he could outthink them.
He used the system.
—Swept Cazmyr's leg.—Dodged into the lava mist to blind Vaelarion.—Used Ambush Sense to parry before being struck.—And struck Vaelarion with the blunt end—just enough to draw blood.
The crowd roared. Even Lord Xalor looked… interested.
[Trial Completed: Partial Victory]Rewards Granted. Stats Increased.New Title: Cinderborn
As Vaeron knelt, bloodied but breathing, Xalor stepped forward.
"Perhaps," he muttered, "you are not as useless as I feared."
Then he walked away.
Vaelarion seethed. Cazmyr cursed and limped.
And Vaeron?
He smiled for the first time in this life.
Not because he won.
But because he understood the game.
🐉 End of Chapter 1