House of dragon: new valyria

We stood before the great black doors of Mephnous. The air seemed heavier here, charged with a palpable sense of authority and expectation. The guards didn't speak or move, yet their presence was like an unspoken challenge to all who approached.

"Impressive, isn't it?" my father said, his voice low and reverent. He stood tall, his eyes fixed on the castle as though it were a reflection of his own strength.

"It is," I replied, though my gaze was drawn upwards to the dragons once more. The memory of my encounter with them was still fresh in my mind, no matter how much I tried to push it away. Their riders had been silent, their faces obscured by the same inscrutable masks they wore now. But their eyes—those eyes had seen through me, stripping away every layer of pretense and leaving me bare before their judgment.

"Come," my mother said, looping her arm through my father's. Her voice was a balm to his stoicism, softening the sharp edges of his demeanor. "Let us not keep the council waiting."

We ascended the wide marble steps, the sound of our footsteps swallowed by the sheer vastness of the entrance hall. Inside, the ceilings rose impossibly high, adorned with murals that depicted the glory of Valyria—dragons in flight, battles won, and cities conquered. It was a history written in fire and blood, and now we were part of it.

The Council of Mephnous had always been a stage for subtle power plays, veiled threats, and grandiose speeches designed more for the egos of the lords present than for resolving any real issues. Yet today, the atmosphere was different. The air was heavy, thick with unspoken tension. Beneath the surface-level disputes over trade routes and territorial disputes, something darker brewed—a sense of unease that even the bravest dared not voice.

My father, Lord Anton Veldora, sat at the head of our delegation, his mere presence enough to dominate the room. Yet it wasn't just his presence that silenced lesser lords; it was the weight of the Veldora name—a name older than the council itself, spoken in reverence and fear alike.

I sat beside him, my gaze roaming over the chamber, though my attention was drawn less to the council than to the silent figures stationed along the walls—the guardians of the Temple of Flame.

Clad in armor that shimmered faintly like molten obsidian, they stood like statues, their faces obscured by helms that bore no insignia, no ornamentation. Unlike the ornamental guards of noble houses, these warriors radiated a quiet menace, their mere presence a reminder of the temple's immense and independent power.

"They stand apart because they believe themselves untouchable," my father had once said. "But no force is truly immune to the currents of power. Even oaths can be twisted—if one knows how."

That lesson had lingered in my mind ever since. Yet looking at the guardians now, their stillness unnerving, I wondered if even my father's confidence had limits.

The council droned on, their voices a dull hum as they debated petty grievances.

"...and so it is decided," Lord Taerion declared, his tone dripping with self-importance. "The territories west of Valonia shall remain under the stewardship of House Vreyn for another five years."

A ripple of murmured approval passed through the chamber, though none dared cheer openly. My father inclined his head ever so slightly, the perfect mask of detachment.

"How... equitable," he said, his tone cold and detached.

Taerion's smile was thin, his triumph tempered by caution. "Your insight, as always, is invaluable, Lord Anton."

The silence that followed stretched, each moment an unspoken challenge. My father finally turned to me, his expression unreadable but his words cutting through the room like a blade.

"Viston, share your thoughts."

The council's murmurs ceased as every gaze fixed on me. I could see their curiosity, their skepticism. Some dismissed me as an untested heir; others were more wary, knowing my father wouldn't have spoken without purpose.

I rose slowly, letting the moment draw out. My gaze swept the room before settling on Taerion.

"My thoughts?" I said, my voice calm yet firm. "It is a waste of time."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. Lords shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"House Vreyn," I continued, "lacks the resources to develop those territories. In five years, we'll find ourselves here again, debating the same issue. If efficiency is the council's aim, it would be wiser to grant stewardship to a house capable of real growth. A house like ours."

Taerion's face darkened, his pride clearly stung. "Bold words for one so young."

I held his gaze, unflinching. "Boldness is often mistaken for wisdom," I replied. "But wisdom is knowing when boldness is necessary."

A sharp silence followed, broken only by the faint rustle of robes as lords shifted uncomfortably. My father's lips twitched in what might have been the faintest hint of approval.

Taerion leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. "You presume much, boy. The council does not take kindly to—"

The sound of heavy footsteps cut him off.

Every head turned as a figure entered the chamber, his presence casting a shadow that seemed to stretch far beyond his physical form. A High Guardian of the Temple of Flame.

Clad in the same blackened armor as his counterparts but with a golden flame etched into his breastplate, he moved with a measured, almost predatory grace. When he stopped at the center of the room, silence fell like a shroud.

"The temple summons Lord Anton Veldora and his heir," the guardian said, his voice a deep, resonant growl that seemed to reverberate in the bones. "Immediately."

The council froze. A summons from the temple was not an invitation—it was a command, one that even the mightiest of houses could not ignore.

My father rose smoothly, his expression betraying nothing. "Then we shall not keep the temple waiting."

He turned to me, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Come, Viston."

I rose and followed, acutely aware of the weight of the council's stares. The guardians fell into step around us, their silent presence a wall of authority. As we exited the chamber, the murmurs began to rise behind us, speculation running rampant.

The High Guardian led us through the winding halls of Mephnous, his steps steady, purposeful. Neither he nor my father spoke, and the silence only heightened the tension.

As we stepped into the open air, the towering spires of the Temple of Flame came into view, their blackened peaks cutting into the sky like blades.

"Father," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know why they've summoned us?"

He didn't look at me, his gaze fixed on the temple ahead. "The temple does nothing without purpose, Viston. Whatever awaits us, we must be prepared."

Prepared for what, I did not know. But as the temple gates loomed closer, their runes glowing faintly with ancient power, a sense of foreboding settled over me.

________________________________________

The gates of the Temple of Flame groaned open, their ancient iron hinges creaking in protest. The sound hung in the air for a moment, as if the temple itself was exhaling a long-held breath. I couldn't help but shudder as the massive doors parted, revealing the dark, imposing sanctum beyond. The air was thick with heat, heavy with the oppressive presence of centuries-old power.

I followed my father through the threshold, his footsteps calm, calculated, as always. His posture was perfect—an image of strength and unyielding resolve. But beneath it, I knew him too well to miss the subtle tightness in his jaw, the faint crease between his brows. The temple had always been a place of uncomfortable reverence for him. Despite its influence, despite its claim on Valyria's history, he never quite trusted it. He called it a relic, a monument to the past, stubbornly refusing to evolve with the times. And yet, here we were, walking into the heart of that very relic, seeking its favor.

I let my father lead, giving him space to assert the power of our name. But as we moved deeper into the chamber, I felt the familiar sting of impatience. This was my moment, not his. The temple had called for us, but it was I who would decide what that call meant.

The space around us was vast, stretching higher than any structure I'd ever seen. The stone walls were dark, almost black, etched with the ancient markings of dragons, their fiery forms entwined in eternal dance. It was beautiful, in its own way—majestic even—but it carried the weight of a thousand years of tradition, of power held in a vice grip. Power that, soon, I would need to wield.

At the far end of the chamber stood the High Keepers. Three figures, shadowed and still, sitting high on a raised dais. The heat from the braziers at their sides shimmered in the air like distant flames on a hot horizon. The High Keepers were not mere priests—they were the guardians of something far greater: the flame that had guided Valyria for centuries. The very flame that could shape, destroy, or sustain the future of this empire.

Their golden eyes flickered as we approached. They studied us with the same quiet intensity, as though they could peer into the very depths of our souls. They had no need to speak first—their presence alone commanded attention.

Father's voice broke the silence. "The Veldora family has answered your summons, as always," he said, his tone measured, but there was a coolness to it. He wasn't here to beg. He wasn't here to grovel. He was making a statement, even in his respect.

The center Keeper, whose face was obscured by the glow of the flames behind them, leaned forward slightly. "Lord Anton Veldora. And your heir, Viston. We acknowledge your presence."

I didn't speak immediately, taking a moment to drink in the atmosphere, to feel the weight of their gaze on me. My father had always been the master of control in these situations, never showing a moment of weakness, always the diplomat. But this was my task, my burden to bear.

I stepped forward, my heart beating a little faster now, my breath steady. The temple was legendary for its stone-cold demeanor, its resistance to manipulation. They didn't bend easily. But that was exactly what I needed to do—make them bend without them realizing it. Not with power alone, but with vision. A vision of what Valyria could be—what the flame could be, if it chose to join me.

"The flame watches over Valyria," I said, my voice carrying through the room, but I felt no need to raise it. "But it does more than watch. It shapes, guides... it sustains."

The words were not just empty flattery. I believed them. Valyria had been built on the fire, and now, the fire had grown cold, unyielding to the needs of the people, the empire, the world beyond. The temple, for all its glory, had become stagnant. It was holding on to something ancient, something that needed to be let go of.

I could feel the unease stir in the guardians around me. I didn't need to see their expressions to know they were starting to question the path I was leading them down.

"The time has come," I continued, steadying myself against the surge of emotions rising within me. "Valyria stands on the edge of a precipice. The world is changing, and the flame is as much a part of that future as it is a part of the past."

The High Keeper to my right gave a low, almost dismissive laugh. "The future? You are young, Viston. You speak of things you do not yet understand."

I tilted my head slightly, meeting the Keeper's gaze, trying to see beneath the flames, beneath the arrogance. "Perhaps. But the truth is, the flame cannot remain unchanged. It must either grow, or it will wither. And I have no intention of seeing Valyria wither."

Silence.

The other two Keepers exchanged glances, their eyes betraying the first hint of uncertainty. They weren't used to someone speaking so openly to them, with such conviction. It was rare, almost unheard of, for anyone to address them this way. But I wasn't here to cower or beg for their allegiance. I wasn't here to be a supplicant.

I was here to reshape the future. And if they would not join me willingly, they would be swept aside.

"I see what you are doing," the central Keeper finally spoke, their voice low but heavy with warning. "You want to drag the flame into your vision. You want us to follow your lead. But this flame does not bow to men. It cannot."

"No," I said, taking a step closer, feeling the heat of their words clash against my own. "It does not bow to men. But it can burn with them. For them. The flame is not a weapon. It is a guide, a beacon. And I believe it can light the path to a new Valyria. A Valyria reborn, one that can stand against the coming storm."

The High Keeper stood slowly, rising from the dais. The heat around us seemed to increase, the air heavy with an almost palpable pressure. I held my ground, feeling the weight of their gaze searing into me.

"You speak of a new Valyria," they said, their voice tinged with disbelief. "But you cannot simply will it into being. The flame has its own will."

"And the flame," I replied, "has its own future. But it must choose—follow the old ways and be forgotten, or blaze a trail into the future."

I let the silence stretch for a moment, and then added softly, "The flame does not need to be confined to the past. We can change it. But I cannot do that alone. I need the temple's power. I need your strength, your influence, and your wisdom."

The chamber was still for a long moment, the tension thick in the air. My heart beat in my chest like a drum, but I knew this moment was pivotal. They would either bend, or they would break. There was no middle ground.

Finally, the Keeper spoke again, their voice softer, but no less commanding. "You have spirit, Viston Veldora. The flame does not easily choose sides. But your words carry weight. We will... consider your request. But understand this—if you wish to walk this path, you will be tested. The flame does not serve those who do not prove their worth."

I felt a spark of triumph, but I knew better than to show it. "I'll be ready."

As we turned to leave, my father placed a hand on my shoulder, his gaze steady, though I caught a flicker of approval in his eyes. We had made it through the temple's scrutiny. But the real test was just beginning.

The flame would burn for Valyria. But whether it would burn with us, that remained to be seen.

________________________________________

Word count 2530

I'd be using author's thoughts for anything thing about the book that can't be writing within the chapter so be checking that out.