Chapter 13: The Obsidian King's Ascent and the Eve of Fire
The final decade dawned upon Valyria not with a bang, but with a sickening, protracted groan. The very air felt thin, stretched taut over a chasm of impending annihilation. Aerion Vaelaros, at twenty-nine years of age, Lord of a house that now existed only in name and memory, moved through these dying days like a phantom, his true existence unfolding in realms of magic and foresight far beyond the comprehension of his doomed kin. Eleven years remained, a timeframe that felt both agonizingly long and terrifyingly short.
His primary focus, beyond the ever-present hum of the primed spiritual accumulator, was the astonishing development of Erebus. The obsidian hatchling, scion of Balerion's ancient bloodline, was a creature of myth made manifest. He grew with a speed that defied all known draconic biology, his black scales absorbing not just light but, Aerion suspected, ambient magical energy, fueling his prodigious development. By the end of his first year, Erebus was already the size of a five-year-old Veridian, his intelligence piercing, his will a palpable force that brooked no challenge save Aerion's own.
Their bond was not the gentle understanding Aerion shared with Veridian, nor the controlled command he exerted over others. It was a pact forged in the crucible of immense, primordial power, a constant, silent negotiation between two apex predators. Erebus did not simply obey; he agreed, his molten gold eyes reflecting a terrifying understanding of Aerion's intent. His fire was a concentrated beam of pure destruction, capable of melting Umbral Steel with sustained effort, and his shadow-affinity was so profound he could seemingly step between dimensions for brief moments, reappearing elsewhere in the vast lair with disconcerting ease. He was, without doubt, the Obsidian King, destined to be the crown jewel of Aerion's draconic council.
The other ten dragons, now ranging from formidable young adults (Nox, Lumen, Kratos, Marina) to majestic prime specimens (Ignis Regis, Caelus, Glacies, Terrax), and the ever-regal Veridian and stoic Umbrax, instinctively acknowledged Erebus's nascent supremacy. A subtle hierarchy had formed, with Veridian as the respected matriarch, Aerion as the undisputed Alpha, and Erebus as the heir apparent, his very presence commanding a primal awe. Training them together now involved complex, multi-objective scenarios, often simulating large-scale defensive formations for Winterspire or coordinated, stealthy extraction maneuvers, preparing them for the chaos of the Doom and the long watch that would follow.
Winterspire, Aerion's Skagosi ark, reached a state of near-perfect readiness. The Great Library, its core texts on Valyrian history, magic, dragonlore, Flamel's alchemy, Voldemort's dark arts, and Aerion's own burgeoning theories on soul mechanics and elemental fusion all meticulously transcribed onto indestructible Umbral Steel plates, was magically sealed, its atmosphere controlled to preserve even the most fragile of replicated mundane scrolls he had also included. He activated the next generation of Winterspire's servitors: not mere golems, but sophisticated Umbral Steel constructs animated by bound air and shadow elementals, their forms sleek and efficient, capable of maintaining the fortress's complex systems, assisting in laboratories, and even mounting a formidable defense. They were extensions of his will, loyal, tireless, and utterly devoid of the unpredictable ambitions of sentient beings.
Within Winterspire's deepest research vaults, he initiated long-term projects for his future descendants. Drawing on the discovery of the 'Heart of Winter' and the fragmented Volantys texts, he established a cryomantic research division, tasking his elemental servitors with slowly and safely drawing minute quantities of energy from the great ice crystal, studying its properties, and attempting to infuse it into defensive wards and potential weaponry. The goal was to understand and harness the antithesis of Valyrian fire, preparing for the icy threat of the Long Night.
Aerion also undertook a critical experiment related to this distant future: a prototype "Frozen Fire" enchantment. In a specially shielded chamber within Winterspire, remotely observed via the Animus Well and controlled through his Animus Umbra (which was becoming an almost permanent extension of his consciousness on Skagos), he attempted to fuse the opposing elemental energies. A specially constructed Umbral Steel conduit channeled a controlled stream of Ignis Regis's purest dragonflame from one end, while another, linked to a capacitor charged with energy from the 'Heart of Winter' via Glacies's amplifying presence, projected a beam of intense cold. Where the two energies met within an enchanted crystal matrix, a terrifying phenomenon occurred: a swirling vortex of blackish-purple energy, radiating both searing heat and bone-chilling cold simultaneously, a tear in the fabric of normal elemental physics. It was incredibly unstable, lasting only moments before the crystal shattered, but it was proof of concept. "Frozen Fire" was possible. Mastering it would be the work of generations, his generations.
Back in Valyria, the atmosphere was thick with a strange, febrile energy. The Fourteen Flames grumbled incessantly, spewing plumes of ash that cast perpetual twilight over the peninsula. Minor quakes were a daily occurrence. Yet, the Dragonlords, in their terminal arrogance, largely went about their decadent routines, their petty feuds, their endless pursuit of pleasure and power, as if the ground beneath them wasn't about to swallow them whole. Some whispered of ancient prophecies, of the gods' displeasure, but most simply poured another cup of sweetened wine and boasted of their lineage.
Aerion, secluded within his heavily warded Vaelaros estate (now more a fortress than a home), observed this societal unraveling with the detachment of a naturalist watching a diseased colony collapse. His public appearances had ceased entirely. Lord Aerion Vaelaros was presumed by the few who cared to be a recluse, perhaps mad with grief after his father's death, or simply another eccentric Dragonlord lost in his arcane pursuits. This suited Aerion perfectly. His agents, now fewer but more deeply embedded and magically controlled, continued to feed him information about the city's death throes.
The spiritual accumulator stood ready. The runic anchors were silent sentinels, the focusing array a masterpiece of dark alchemy and arcane engineering, the Philosopher's Stone at its heart pulsing with a soft, steady light, almost eager. Aerion now focused on his own mental and spiritual fortitude. He spent hours each day in deep meditation, not merely shielding his mind with Occlumency, but actively expanding his consciousness, preparing it to become a conduit for the unimaginable psychic energies of the Doom. He practiced techniques learned from Flamel's alchemical meditations and Voldemort's methods of will projection, forging his spirit into an instrument of diamond-hard resilience. He had to be able to absorb, channel, and control the torrent without being consumed by the grief, terror, and raw life force of millions of dying souls. It was a terrifying prospect, but the potential reward – a Philosopher's Stone of near-divine power – was a lure too potent to ignore.
His personal escape plan was reviewed and rehearsed countless times in his mind and through magical simulations. The sequence was critical:
* The first undeniable tremors of the true Doom (his greensight would confirm it beyond any precursor event).
* Immediate activation of Winterspire's final global lockdown and isolation wards via a long-distance magical trigger.
* Launching the four youngest dragons (Nox, Lumen, Kratos, Marina) in their stasis chests, carried by Veridian and Ignis Regis, towards the pre-designated rendezvous point – the shielded mountain peak overlooking Valyria. Umbrax and Caelus would fly escort.
* He, Glacies, Terrax, and the colossal Erebus would follow, forming the rearguard. Erebus, even young, was already a terrifying deterrent.
* Simultaneously, he would trigger the spiritual accumulator, aligning its absorption field with the epicenters of destruction.
* From the rendezvous peak, he would manage the accumulator, drawing the soul-energy into the Philosopher's Stone, while his dragons stood guard. This would be the most dangerous phase for his own soul.
* Once the primary energy release subsided and the Stone was charged, he would trigger the complete obliteration of his Valyrian lair and all its contents via pre-planted Umbral Steel devices infused with corrosive magic, leaving no trace.
* Finally, using a master portkey keyed to his entire dragon contingent and himself, they would transport directly to Winterspire.
He would take nothing from Valyria but what was essential or irreplaceable: the Hallows (soul-bound, always with him in his trunk), the now vastly empowered Philosopher's Stone, his eleven dragons, and the knowledge contained within his own mind. Animus, his Umbral Steel blade, would be at his side. All other material possessions were dross.
The Elder Wand was his constant companion in these final years, its power flowing through him as he wove the final enchantments on his escape apparatus and the accumulator's trigger mechanism. The Cloak of Invisibility lay ready, though his final departure would likely be amidst too much chaos for stealth to be a primary concern beyond initial movements.
The Resurrection Stone. He found himself contemplating it more often, not with temptation, but with a grim understanding. He was about to witness death on a scale that dwarfed any battlefield. He would become a shepherd of sorts, guiding the released essence of an entire civilization into a new vessel. He wondered if the Stone offered any insight into the nature of such mass spiritual release, if it could somehow shield him from the worst of the psychic trauma, or if it would merely amplify the chorus of the damned. He did not touch it. He would face this ordeal with his own strength, his own wards, his own carefully constructed detachment. The Hallows were powerful, but reliance on them was a weakness his Voldemort aspect scorned and his Flamel aspect deemed unwise.
As the eleventh year before the Doom bled into the tenth, a profound, unnatural quiet sometimes fell over Valyria between its paroxysms of geological unrest and societal madness. It was the quiet of a held breath, of a world poised on the very lip of oblivion. Aerion Vaelaros, the last true sorcerer of a dying age, stood within his silent fortress, a nexus of unimaginable hidden power. His dragons, restless with contained energy, paced their vast subterranean domains. His mind was a calm ocean, beneath which swirled the complex currents of his monumental plans. He was ready. The alchemist, the survivor, the reluctant guardian of a frozen future, awaited the fire that would signal the true beginning of his eternal reign. The final decade had begun. The performance was about to commence.