House of dragon: new valyria

The oppressive heat of Valyria's volcanic heart seemed to weigh on every breath. Anton Veldora stood at the edge of the obsidian cliff, staring into the roiling lava below. The temple loomed ahead, a monolith of ancient power, its jagged spires clawing at the ash-choked sky. Behind him, the elders of House Veldora whispered anxiously.

Anton turned to face them, his voice low but commanding. "No word of this reaches the children. Viston is not ready to carry this weight—not yet."

The murmurs quieted, replaced by somber nods. The elders understood the stakes. They had all read the prophecy, felt its gravity, and now bore the burden of keeping the truth hidden.

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The family's most trusted warriors, a handful of dragonriders, and the elders set out under the veil of night. Their dragons soared silently above the jagged peaks, their scales glinting like molten gold in the faint moonlight. Anton led the way on his ancient purple scaled dragon, whose wings stretched wide enough to block out the stars, with viston right behind him with his own purple dragon.

As they neared the temple, the air grew heavier, tinged with the acrid scent of sulfur and magic. The entrance was a massive stone gate, inscribed with glowing Valyrian glyphs that pulsed faintly, as if alive. The group dismounted, their dragons curling protectively around the perimeter.

One of the elders, Lady Serida, stepped forward. Her voice trembled as she read the inscription aloud:

"Only those who carry the flame of sacrifice shall enter. The unworthy shall burn."

Viston exchanged a glance with Serida before placing his hand on the gate. The glyphs flared brighter, and with a grinding rumble, the gate began to open.

The interior of the temple was vast and cavernous, illuminated by rivers of molten lava running through channels in the floor. Statues of dragons and gods loomed over them, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.

Anton felt the weight of the gods' gaze. His thoughts turned to Viston—not his heir, but his son. Viston's laughter echoed in his memory, followed by the faintest trace of guilt. He deserves a life free of this burden. But he will never have it.

The group pressed on until they reached the central chamber, where an altar of obsidian and gold stood, surrounded by three paths. The air crackled with magic, and a voice resonated from the walls:

"To claim the truth, you must first face the trials of the gods. Faith, Courage, Unity. Choose who shall endure."

Viston stepped forward without hesitation. "This is my responsibility," he said, silencing the protests of the others.

The air shimmered, and viston found himself alone in a vision. He stood amidst ruins—Valyria's great towers crumbled, its skies darkened by ash and fire. In the distance, he saw his family, broken and lifeless, their bodies strewn across the molten ground.

A figure emerged from the smoke, a twisted version of himself, holding a blade dripping with blood. The vision spoke with a voice like thunder:

"Your faith in the gods has led you here. But what if it leads to their doom? Will you still obey?"

Viston clenched his fists. "My faith is not for myself. It is for them."

The vision shifted, the ruins fading into light. Viston fell to his knees, his breath ragged, but the glyphs on the altar glowed brighter.

Viston's Pov

---

The moment I stepped into the chamber, something felt wrong. A cold chill settled in the air, and the stone walls loomed overhead, far too high and too ancient to feel comforting. It wasn't just the size of the room that made me uneasy, but the stillness. The oppressive silence that wrapped itself around me, squeezing out every breath I tried to take. Every step echoed unnervingly, like it was counting down to something. Something I didn't want to face.

I took a breath, steadying myself, but it didn't help. Nothing helped. The air felt thick, like it was pressing in on me from all sides. I wasn't sure what I had expected, but this wasn't it.

Then I saw it.

A massive mirror. Shimmering with an eerie glow, its surface rippled like liquid, as though it wasn't a reflection at all, but something… otherworldly. There was a quiet hum around it, a vibration that I could feel deep in my chest. It wasn't just a mirror. It was a portal into something I wasn't ready to face.

"Step forward, Viston," a voice said, low and rumbling. It echoed through the chamber, reverberating in my bones. I didn't recognize it, but it sounded ancient, like the voice of the gods themselves. "Only by confronting the truth within you will you find the strength to move forward."

The words made my pulse quicken. Confront the truth? What truth? I wasn't even sure I was ready to know. But I didn't have a choice. Something in the pit of my stomach twisted, urging me to move, to prove that I was worthy of whatever this trial held.

So, I stepped forward. My feet felt heavy on the stone floor, but I forced myself to walk, my gaze fixed on the mirror.

And then... I saw it.

My reflection. But not the one I knew. No, this version of me was different. Older, more worn, with eyes that held a deep sadness. A grief so consuming it almost felt physical. The face staring back at me wasn't just a reflection—it was a version of myself I feared becoming. The eyes... they were hollow, lost. Like they had seen too much, felt too much.

A bitter laugh echoed from the mirror, and I flinched, stepping back instinctively. The reflection smiled, a twisted, mocking grin that made my skin crawl.

"Look at you," it sneered, its voice like nails scraping against stone. "You think you're different now. You think you've found a family. But deep down, you're still just that boy. The orphan. The one nobody wanted. You haven't changed, Viston. You're still the same scared little boy pretending to be someone you're not."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I wanted to deny it, wanted to scream at the mirror that it was wrong. That I wasn't that boy anymore. But I couldn't. Because somewhere deep inside, I knew it was true. I could still feel the ache of the boy I once was. The boy who wandered the streets, searching for a place to belong. The boy who was never good enough. Never wanted.

I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. "I'm not that boy anymore," I whispered, more to myself than to the reflection. "I've changed."

The reflection laughed again, louder this time, crueler. "Changed? You think you've earned this family, this power? You think they care about you? They'll throw you away the moment they realize what you really are—a nobody. An orphan pretending to be something he's not."

"No!" My voice cracked, and I clenched my fists, desperate to hold on to the belief I'd fought so hard for. "They—Anton, the family—they believe in me. They trust me."

"Trust? Ha." The reflection's voice dripped with scorn. "Trust is fragile. And you know better than anyone that it can disappear in an instant. You think Anton loves you? You think the others care? You've seen how quickly they turn on people, how easily they abandon those who aren't useful anymore. You'll see. They'll see you for what you are. And then you'll be cast aside. Just like everyone else."

The words stung, deeper than I wanted to admit. The truth, or what felt like the truth, wrapped itself around me like a suffocating blanket. What if I wasn't enough? What if, no matter how hard I tried, I would always be that scared, unwanted boy? The fear of being alone again, of failing those who mattered to me, gripped me.

I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me, and my knees began to tremble. But I couldn't collapse. Not here. Not now.

"I'm not afraid," I said, though my voice faltered. "I've been through worse. I've fought for everything I have. I won't fail them."

The reflection tilted its head, eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. "You really think you can protect them? You think you're strong enough to shield them from what's coming? What if you fail them? What if your weaknesses tear everything apart? What will you do then, Viston?"

The questions were like daggers, each one twisting deeper. I could feel my heart racing, blood pounding in my ears. The thought of losing them—the family I had finally found—was too much to bear. I couldn't fail them. Not again. I had to be strong. I had to protect them. But… was I enough?

The reflection stepped closer, its face now mere inches from mine. "They'll never see you as one of them. You're just a tool. A weapon. They'll use you, and when they're done, they'll discard you, just like everyone else."

I shook my head violently, trying to push the thoughts away. I wasn't that boy anymore. I wasn't weak. I wasn't a tool. I was Viston. And I would never go back to being the boy who feared being alone.

"I'm not afraid," I repeated, my voice stronger now. "I'm not weak. I'm not that boy anymore. I won't let you control me. I will protect them. I'll protect this family."

The reflection's sneer faded, its form beginning to dissipate into the air. "We'll see, Viston. We'll see."

For a moment, I stood there, breathless, heart racing. But the weight of the trial was lifting. The mirror's surface began to crack, shattering with a sound like glass breaking, and the room's walls seemed to fade into light.

---

The Final Realization

I stood in the silence that followed, my body trembling but my mind clearer than it had been in years. The trial had shown me my deepest fears—the parts of me I had tried so desperately to bury. But it had also shown me something else: I wasn't defined by my past. I wasn't the boy who had been abandoned. I wasn't alone.

I had a family now. And I would fight for them. I would prove I was worthy of their trust, of their love.

I wasn't an orphan anymore. I was Viston.

And I would never let that boy resurface again.

I stood in the heart of the chamber, staring at the shattered pieces of the mirror that lay scattered at my feet. The fragments gleamed in the dim light, each one reflecting a different version of me—a version that had been distorted by fear, guilt, and doubt. I had faced so many of my demons in that moment, but there was more to come. My chest was tight, and my breaths came in shallow gasps.

The trial wasn't over.

The mirror had been the first test, a brutal confrontation with my deepest fears and the scars of my past life. But the next phase would be different. This trial was not about power or strength—it was about something far more dangerous: my mind, my choices, and the trust I had in myself.

I'd already come to terms with my abilities. The powers I carried from my past life, the ones I had spent years mastering, had become second nature. I was no longer the frightened child who had wandered the streets as an orphan, hoping for some sense of belonging. I had learned to wield the forces within me: the ethereal manipulation, the subtle shifts in reality, the control over the elements that my past self had wielded.

But those powers weren't just a tool. They were a part of me. And this trial, I understood now, was not about testing my mastery of them—it was about testing my mastery over myself.

My hand instinctively reached out to touch the remnants of the mirror. As I did, the ground beneath me trembled, and the air became heavy with anticipation. I braced myself, expecting the next challenge to be one of external force, something I could fight or control. But I was wrong.

From the darkness, a voice echoed—low, rich, and familiar. It was my voice, but not quite. It was distorted, as though my fears had taken on a life of their own.

"Do you think you're ready, Viston?" The voice mocked, dripping with a venomous sneer. "You've spent all this time running, hiding from who you really are. Hiding from what you've done. You think mastering your powers makes you worthy of anything? You're nothing. A tool. A weapon. A monster."

My gut twisted. My instincts screamed at me to ignore it, but the words resonated deep within me. They came from a place I had never fully addressed—the part of me that feared my power, the part that feared I might become the very thing I hunted.

"You think Anton would still call you son if he knew what you were capable of?" The voice continued, growing louder. "If he knew what you've done? What you could do? You're just like them. Like the beasts you hunt. A monster in a man's skin."

The ground shook again, but I stood my ground, every muscle in my body tense. The trial wasn't just testing my mastery over my powers—it was testing my mastery over my fears, my guilt, my very identity.

The air around me grew thick with pressure, as though the walls themselves were closing in. I knew this trial wasn't something I could fight with brute strength or raw power. This was something else. Something far more dangerous. This trial was testing my resolve.

"You could maybe one day control the wind. The fire. The earth. The very heart of man.But can you control your own darkness? Can you control the beast within you?" The voice mocked again, its tone a mixture of contempt and curiosity.

I clenched my fists, feeling the familiar surge of elemental energy pulse through my veins. The raw power that was mine by birthright. The power that I had spent so many years honing, shaping, refining. But none of that mattered now.

I wasn't afraid of the elements. I wasn't afraid of the power itself. I was afraid of what it could turn me into if I lost control. The voice was right in one sense—I had always been afraid of my own potential, afraid that the line between man and beast was too thin to see.

I drew a deep breath, grounding myself in the moment. The room was still. The tension thick in the air.

"I'm not like them," I muttered under my breath, my voice barely a whisper. "I won't be."

The voice fell silent, but the pressure in the air didn't lift. Instead, it intensified, a deafening hum that rattled my bones. This wasn't just a test of my power—it was a test of my conviction.

The shadows in the room began to shift, taking form before my eyes. They twisted and morphed, like living creatures made from the very darkness itself. I recognized them immediately. They were my fears, my doubts, taking shape and rising to challenge me. The fears I had buried deep inside me—the fear of losing control, of becoming a monster, of disappointing Anton and my family.

The shadows began to move toward me, and I could feel the heat rising in my chest. My powers reacted instinctively—earth began to tremble beneath my feet, fire sparked in my hands, and the wind howled in response to my rising anger.

But I held back. I couldn't let myself give in to rage. I couldn't let my emotions rule me. Not this time.

"You think you can control them?" The voice sneered again. "You think you can control yourself?"

I stepped forward, my eyes narrowing. The shadows writhed in response, slithering closer, as though they could sense my hesitation. I clenched my fists, feeling the pressure build inside me. Every ounce of doubt, every shred of fear, every regret—it all bubbled to the surface. The power within me thrummed, alive, but I was determined not to let it consume me.

I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing. Slow. Steady. In and out. My heart beat louder, stronger, pushing against the weight of my emotions.

And then I spoke, not to the shadows, not to the voice—but to myself.

"I am not my fear." The words echoed in the silence.

The shadows recoiled, as if repelled by the force of my resolve. I wasn't running anymore. I wasn't hiding. I was facing the parts of myself that I had kept buried for so long. And I wasn't afraid of them anymore.

"I am not my darkness," I said again, my voice stronger this time. "I choose who I am."

The shadows dissipated, fading into nothingness. The pressure in the air lifted. And the room, which had once felt suffocating, now felt like a place of peace.

I had passed the trial.

But more importantly, I had passed the trial within myself. I wasn't afraid of who I was becoming anymore. I was Viston, and I would define my path. Not my past. Not my fears.

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Word count 2880

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