Aurion I

23rd day of the first moon, 299 AC

Aurions' eyes fluttered open as he gasped, his hands moving to his bare chest, tracing a jagged scar across his chest. He ran his fingers over the rough skin as he gathered the courage to look down.

How am I back? It was in my heart, he thought.

There was no bleeding wound, no sword impaled in his heart. Only a dark crimson scar. Aurion slowly climbed onto his feet, groaning as he felt his head spinning.

He noted his surroundings were… different. He was undoubtedly in the same place, the vaults under his family's estate where… something had happened. But Aurion could not remember anything besides the cold taking him. The blackstone walls carried the same dusty smell and utter silence that had always put him on edge. But this chamber, the public section of the vault, looked as though it had been looted and stripped of many of its treasures. He turned his head and came face to face with a skeleton.

He yelped and fell back, his somehow-intact heart skipping a beat. The skeleton seemed familiar, but Aurion could not place where it was from. He climbed to his feet, and arranged in a circle around the room were more scattered bones, even children. With every skeleton he saw he could feel his heart thumping.

Aelyx, Haela, Aegor, Aelora, his own half-brothers and sisters. The large skeleton had to be his father Aerys, as his Uncle Daemion was not as tall as the skeleton. He saw another beside his father that had to be his mother, Rhaena.

Aurion could not get the sight of the skeletons out of his mind. He cleared the wide entrance, lined by two massive bronze doors, pushed in from the outside. He fell to his knees, feeling his stomach recoil as he emptied its liquid contents, the warm bile spilling out his throat.

Why could he not remember why he was here? The last thing he could remember was sailing from the port of Volantis, whilst he sent two of his five legions south of the Painted Mountains, to march down the peninsula.

He had heard the rumors of the Doom. The other dragonlords in Lys, Tyrosh, Myr, and even Volantis… all were overwhelmed and killed by mobs. He and Jaenara Belaerys could barely secure Volantis long enough to set sail, even with his legions from Qohor.

The Qohorik remained loyal to the Freehold. To Jae, whom the senate had called upon to defend Qohor, and Aurion. He supposed it was a karmic reward for fending off a Sarnor invasion. The Sarnor had led a brutal campaign, razing most of Essaria, and were marching on Qohor. Aurion had mounted his Aegarax, Jae had mounted her Terrax "the Terrible," and they had sent the Tall Men running all the way back to Sarnath.

After he had secured Volantis, Jae advised him to unite the remnants of Valyria around himself as Emperor. Though Terrax was far larger and more fearsome than Aegarax, and Jaenarys more experienced than Aurion, Jae was always a free spirit and did not wish to rule. After Aurion's protests, Jae argued that the Varezys name was the most prestigious of the Freehold, with his father, being elected as Primarch just two years prior.

So it was in Qohor that he named himself the First Emperor of Valyria. The only others of the Forty Families that could oppose him were Jae, who swore her fealty, and the absent Targaryens hiding off the coast of Westeros.

Yet his memories stopped after he had left the port of Volantis, with a fleet of nearly a hundred ships transporting three legions of eighteen thousand men. A force that any army of lesser men would tremble before. But that could not stop the thought that crept into Aurion's mind… where were his men?

After sitting on the cold black floor, Aurion crawled off his knees, refusing to look back at the vault. Refusing to acknowledge that his family was truly gone. He slapped his own face, the sting dispelling his inner monologue for the time being. He continued through the long, dark hallways, where he picked up a stray black cloak, using it to at least cover himself up from the soft breeze.

Eventually, he stepped out of the lower vaults and into the open air. The last time he had been here was before he left for Qohor. Valyria was a lively city, the streets crowded with shops and citizens. Despite that, he instinctively braced himself as a vision– no, a memory flashed through his mind. Ash and fire and death. Men screaming, distant roaring, snarls, and heat and fire and cold and death, barely being able to see further than his own feet.

He moved his cloak to cover his mouth and closed his eyes, but he did not feel the hot sensation of ash. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked around. The tall black and gold towers and wide roads of the ruined city were cleared of its people. There was no one permeating the streets, nor any ash permeating the air, and he could see all the way across the street, the tall towers opposite of him blocking his view of the sky. He walked down the street until he could see the sky, where a blood-red comet soared through the white clouds.

Aurion continued through the remnants of the city, and the dust and gravel crunched and groaned beneath his bare feet, a sound that rang through the ruined streets. He heard the distant sounds of a man yelling, seemingly the only sign of life in this ghost city. Perhaps those were his men. Perhaps some survived

They all died. All 30,000 of your men. Stop deluding yourself. No point in worrying about them anymore, he reminded himself.

He quickened his pace, ignoring the jagged rocks and debris ripping at the soles of his feet. As he walked down the wide, ruined road, he could smell the salt as he neared the beach. Yet it was not alone, he could detect the smell of smoke and copper. He spotted a dark red galley on the water, the black sails bearing a golden kraken sigil he did not recognize. Yet it was not the ship that drew his attention, but the man on the beach, the source of the yelling.

He was facing away from Aurion, holding his steel scimitar towards a myriad of men— priests. Kneeling, bound and gagged, were men in red robes of the eastern god, white robes of the Andal faith, the ornate garbs of Qartheen warlocks, the black robes of followers of the Black Goat of Qohor, a bearded priest of Norvos, and others he could not immediately name.

More than a few had already perished, the blood and sand mixing together, staining the beach in a deep, dark red that seemed to herald death and despair like the comet that blazed overhead, which washed the air in a crimson gloom. Behind the prisoners stood men who must be the ship's crew. They stood eerily still, almost like statues.

Before the captain was a black pit with several charred corpses, seemingly the source of the smoky smell. While dragonfire reduced men to mere ashes, firewryms left many a slave looking like this in the mines. Or regular fire, Aurion supposed. They were likely sacrificed. That was common enough, with slaves frequently being immolated for magical purposes.

Aurion turned his attention back to the leader. His coat was made of black leather, the surface etched with intricate designs in silver and gold, the sleeves flaring out at the wrists like the wings of a crow. His hair was a wild and tangled mass, black as the abyss, whipping around in the wind like inky tendrils of a kraken. Aurion could make out a few words, the man was speaking the Andal language, used in the sunset continent of Westeros. He seemed to be some sort of pirate.

Aurion was no expert on Andallic, but he could understand a few words. The pirate leader leaned into the pit before him, brushing aside the charred corpse and picking up a blue dragon egg, petrified and unhatched, the reflection almost purple from the glint of the red comet. Perhaps Aurion could take that egg, he could not feel his own dragon's presence and he would need one for the future.

To Aurion's surprise, the man roared out in a rage and threw it against the ground, kicking and stomping at the egg till it shattered with a loud crack. The pirate leader slowly breathed, then turned to a spindly man with olive skin, a long, grey beard, a black pointed hat, and his wrists bound in iron chains.

"I thought you said this would wake the dragon, wizard!" the man yelled out in a cruel and mocking tone. The wizard raised his bound hands and cried out some words Aurion could not make out. The pirate ignored him as he drew his scimitar and sliced the man's stomach open. Aurion winced as the pirate continued to stare into the wizard's eyes, sheathing his scimitar and ripping out the man's entrails with his gloved hands as blood spewed out the wound.

"I do not have a year," he said coldly as the wizard gasped before collapsing. He flicked the blood from his hands onto the sand and then turned back to some of the priests. "Kill them. Spare only the red one, he's the only one who has been of use with the horn."

Without hesitation, the crew of the ship slit the throat of every priest there, blood gushing as they gurgled their last words, all but the large priest in scarlet red robes.

"Mayhaps there are still dragons on this rock… an unexpected guest…"

The pirate began to turn to face Aurion's direction, prompting him to duck back behind the ruined wall, his heart racing. He closed his eyes, praying he wasn't spotted. He had no weapon, no armor…

No dragon. Not anymore. He could not feel Aegarax.

Aurion slowly opened his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw nothing but the empty road and abandoned towers across him. He slowly leaned back to survey the beach, and his head inched past the corner.

To meet him was the grinning face of the pirate leader inches away from him, one eye covered with a black eyepatch, the other, piercing blue eye exposed, a smiling eye, thought Aurion. He was staring at him with both amusement and malice as he knelt down, stroking his trimmed black beard.

"It seems my actions have borne unexpected fruit."

Aurion leaped back, his hand instinctively going to his waist to grab a sword that wasn't there. He collided with a body behind him, and felt muscular arms wrap around his neck. He struggled against the grip as the pirate leader stared at him inquisitively before he felt something hit his head, and it all went black.