His skin burned the moment Cannibal flew him through the smoke of the smoking sea. Aenar had to close his eyes when they began to burn from the heat. If only he could do something similar for his body, which was feeling beyond the level of heat it could withstand. He was a Targaryen after all, fire was in his blood. Not literally of course. There was some black magic woven into it that Aenar wasn't sure about. Visenya was the one that studied blood magic and even she was confused by it.
The feel of a gentler but still warmer wand alerted Aenar that he had flown past the curtain of smoke and steam. He opened his eyes and for as long as he could see, he saw only destruction. If there ever was a forest or any trees on this land, it was completely gone now. Cannibal dropped Aenar at a stoney shore, which no doubt was once connected to the volcanoes that had sunk below the waters and boiled it. The ground was charred, stones and rocks black as coal. Dragonglass, Aenar realized. He bent over to pick one, in awe of how different the Dragonglass here were compared to the ones found at Dragonstone. He dropped it and walked to the closest thing of interest, a ship! The wood had rotted away and only the rusted iron skeleton of it remained. Something large covered a part of the ship, grey and faded. Aenar touched it and realized it was cloth. Perhaps the sail of the ship then.
Aenar drew the sword he 'borrowed' and cut the sail with ease, reeling when he discovered skeletons under it. None of the bones seemed broken, which could mean they did not die when the rotten boards fell and crushed them. That would mean they were stuck here until they died and became… well this. But why? Why would they be stuck? The size of the ship was nothing to scoff at, so it carried many men. More than the skeletons that Aenar found here. Would that mean they were hiding? If so from what and why could they not fight it?
Cannibal's rumbling tone snapped Aenar's attention to it. The Dragon had its head lowered, eyes slit and nostrils flared. It was not happy about something. Aenar followed its gaze, and he froze. Those same horned things, they were here too.
Cannibal roared and lashed out with a stream of fire. The creatures shrieked and wailed before they were reduced to ashes. But it did not sway the rest from attacking. Cannibal took to the skies and Aenar got into stance with his sword. The dragon was far from their reach, so they all rushed to the boy, easily a hundred or so of those things. There would have been more but Cannibal had burned a good portion of them.
Knowing he would be quickly overwhelmed, Aenar broke into a run away from those blasted creatures. Cannibal lashed out with streams of fire on them and Aenar ran faster to try and put more distance between them, lest he fall to Cannibal's flames. The creatures shrieked and fell but still many survived the flames, not because they were fireproof but because they were not hit in the first place. Cannibal was making sure Aenar did not get engulfed in its flames for who knows what reasons. The smell of burnt flesh made Aenar gag, but this time he did not vomit. He was too busy running.
With how loud their footsteps were, he knew some of them were close. He would be caught without mistake, and the last thing he needed was to be tackled down while they ripped his back open. So he turned, swung his sword and clipped the horn of the closest one. It had ducked last second and before Aenar could react, it had pounced.
Aenar fell back, feeling the dragonglass under him cut his clothes and his back. But he did not have time to focus on that, not when there was a creature trying to slash him apart. Aenar cut its throat with his sword, before holding another back with the same blade positioned at its throat. This one's skin was tougher like it was made of rocks. The thing snarled, vomiting black sludge all over Aenar's face. Aenar kept his mouth closed, struggling to keep the creature off him. He could feel something crawling over his skin in the gunk, clawing it his skin, burrowing inside of him.
Suddenly the creatures stopped attacking.
They all stood as if something stopped them.
Slowly they all walked away.
Aenar stood immediately, sword forgotten as he rubbed the gunk off of his face and body, feeling weird little creatures getting squished because of his hands. The skin was tender as if burst and Aenar flinched and winced. And then he threw up, much to his shock he threw up black gunk. He had eaten edible food, so why this black gunk?!
Cannibal landed behind him and Aenar struggled to his feet.
"What did you do to me!" he shouted at the dragon and noticed how his voice was sounding raspy and felt raw. He chalked it up to the vomit.
The dragon merely stared, before lowering its head once more. Furious but seeing no other option Aenar climbed the dragon and it took to the skies once more.
Aenar saw the hell spawns marching below him and in a fit of fury and rage he commanded Cannibal to burn them all.
Cannibal complied, raining fire on the things and burning them alive before flying forward. More ruins went under them, the extent to which if not for the formation of the rubble Aenar wouldn't have thought a town or city once existed there.
Cannibal stopped suddenly, landed and lowered its head as if the dragon wanted Aenar to get off. The Targaryen did as the dragon wanted and watched the beast fly away.
He coulnd't help but gape at its receding form.
"Gods" the boy muttered before moving in the direction the dragon had been flying before it dropped him off and flew away.
Something slammed against Aenar as he took a step forward, like a harsh gust of warm wind. He took another step and suddenly he was no longer in a place of absolute ruin. If his eyes did not deceive him… The City just over the edge was alive in a way that people still lived there, and took care to make it look in pristine condition.
The roads that Aenar walked over were far better than the ones he'd walked his whole life on back at Dragonstone, and they were created by the same magic these were created from. Nothing of the valyrian architecture came from hand, every house, topless tower, and bridge was made from magic. The Valyrians were proficient magic users, able to craft things from stone as easily as slicing an apple with a sharpened sword. Lava flowed beneath the bridges and dragons soared over the skies of the city. People stared as he passed, curious, critical but above all else excited. Aenar looked exactly like them, with perhaps a few shades here and there in terms of hair and eyes. They were Valyrians of course, and so was he.
A young girl stopped Aenar's path and the boy stared at her. She couldn't be any older than four or five. She held her hand out and Aenar took it, before rushing so he didn't fall when she broke into a run. The girl was strong, far stronger than a girl should be, let alone a girl her age. Is that what living in Valyria did? Made them far superior to others? The Doom destroyed nothing here, only broke their lands from the mainland of Essos.
The girl yanked him along to the very middle of the city, where a large obsidian and marble tower stood proudly. How the Valyrians had merged Obsidian with Marble he'd never know or understand.
"The Archon is waiting for you," the girl said in her childing voice. If Aenar was correct, the Archon was someone the Valyrians chose to represent them, the face of an entire empire. Though he couldn't settle on any matter alone, he needed the vote of every Valyrian Family before he could take any course of action, He had no power greater than the rest after all.
The girl stepped aside as the doors to the towers slowly opened. Those were Weirwood Doors, Aenar was certain of it. Where did they get Weirwood here? It grew mostly in the North and patches all over Westeros existed, but here?
His question was answered when he walked inside and found a proud Weirwood Tree at the very centre of the tower. Its bark was white as bone, the leaves crimson like blood. It had a face carving, almost demonic looking in appearance if Aenar were to be asked. The Tower itself opened itself to the heavens, a ceiling at the very top. Stairs ran around the walls, doors were present on every 'floor'. Some were larger than others, just gateways with no doors. Perhaps for dragons?
"And so you return, scion of House Targaryen" the man in front of the tree spoke. He wore a white tunic under a rich purple coat with its buttons undone and a pair of black leather pants. His feet were bare, his hair almost as white as snow, his eyes not purple or any shade of it but crimson like blood.
Aenar couldn't help the feeling of dread build in him at the look of the man. But the man was smiling.
"It would seem the sentries attacked you. Come, allow me to heal you" the man motioned.
Aenar took a tentative step forward before he was moving forward. He stopped right in front of the man and stared into his crimson eyes. The man placed a hand over the boy's head and a feeling of great comfort passed through him. But that lasted till the burns on his skin healed. Because right after his stomach churned violently and he threw up.
"Gods I apologize" Aenar muttered around the heaves of black sludge he was vomiting.
The man said nothing, a smile on his face and his hand gently going through the boy's hair.
Aenar wasn't sure how long he vomited, but once he was done he saw that the black sludge he vomited was squirming as if it was alive.
"What is that?" Aenar asked in horror.
"Never mind it" the man gently tugged Aenar forward and Aenar walked around the squirming sludge.
"I wish to show you something" the man said and Aenar stared at him. One of the man's hands held his while the other was slowly reaching for the Weirwood Tree. The moment he touched it, Aenar felt darkness swallow him.