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Time outside hadn't moved much, but within the Dragon Tamer's simulation, Viserys had endured round after round of brutal combat.
Inside the mirror, a world unfolded, and years seemed to pass unnoticed.
Viserys had never witnessed such opulent and massive dragon warfare. Perhaps only the Targaryens before Aegon's Conquest had seen such things. All fear, ultimately, stems from a lack of firepower.
The Dance of the Dragons involved maybe twenty dragons, tops. And they padded the numbers with horse-sized hatchlings like Stormcloud, Moondancer, and Morning, or half-grown beasts like Vermax and Tessarion.
Ordinary dragons didn't grow as fast as those touched by the Red Comet.
But the Great Conquest Wars of Valyria that Viserys witnessed? Those involved dozens, sometimes hundreds, of fully grown dragons. There were no runts in those skies.
Valyria didn't lack for adult dragons, so they didn't send hatchlings to die.
The power of a hundred dragons mobilized at once was incomparable.
Combat! Pure adrenaline!
Viserys felt it was the epitome of violent aesthetics. The essence of war was overwhelming firepower. Crush them. Crush them all.
The dragons roared and spewed fire continuously. The earth shook.
This demonstrated the sheer magical depth of Valyria at its peak. No other nation could field hundreds of sorcerers to counter them. The dragon was an unrivaled war machine.
Even the water wizards of the Rhoynar, for all their power, lacked the sheer destructive aggression of dragons, fire mages, and blood mages.
The Valyrians were arrogant and cruel; rebels were usually wiped out, their cities along with their armies.
In the final war against the Ghiscari Empire, the enraged Dragonlords crushed the Ghiscari legions and burned their pyramids to dust. After Ghis fell, the Valyrians sowed the land with salt, sulfur, and skulls to ensure no one could ever return.
What left the deepest impression on Viserys were the pivotal battles.
The five great wars where the Valyrians utterly defeated the Ghiscari Empire at the dawn of history. The battle outside Norvos where a hundred dragons incinerated the army of the Andal warlord Qarlon the Great. The battle on the Rhoyne where three hundred dragons broke the watery might of Prince Garin's alliance.
Viserys witnessed powerful armies annihilated by dragonfire on the plains of Ghis, in the mountains of Norvos, and along the banks of the Rhoyne. Ancient kingdoms crumbled to ash.
He saw the lockstep discipline of the Ghiscari legions, their black shields forming an iron wall—the precursors to the Unsullied, a style the New Ghis was now trying to replicate with their Iron Legions.
He saw the heavy Andal knights and infantry, clad in full plate, fanatical under their seven-pointed stars, steaming in their armor as they boiled alive.
He saw the slender, agile Rhoynar princes and princesses in their silver-scale armor and fish-helmets, wielding spears and turtle-shell shields, their long hair flowing in the wind alongside their proud, devout water wizards.
The dragon became the ultimate measuring stick for a nation's strength: the more dragons deployed, the stronger the enemy. But in the end, they all died the same.
Judging by the scale of the battles, the Ghiscari, Andals, and Rhoynar were all formidable foes.
Viserys studied the dragons' combat tactics, the enemy's formations, and the Valyrian counter-strategies.
These dragon battles vastly expanded his horizons. He learned how to dive for an attack, how to defend during low-altitude strafing runs, how to utilize his own fire magic, and how to position himself against different military formations.
Ultimately, Valyrian victory came from superior firepower, magical dominance, and top-tier equipment. They were just too ferocious.
The banks of the Rhoyne, the plains of Ghis, the mountains of Norvos, deserts, oceans—dragons adapted to almost every battlefield.
Except the Heart of Winter. That was the one place dragons refused to go.
Beyond war, Viserys experienced hunting and dragon-on-dragon duels.
The hunts were diverse. He flew over the Fourteen Flames of Valyria, killing massive firewyrms that occasionally breached the surface. He rode over Sothoryos, roaring as his dragon tore apart wyverns and giant snakes. He soared over the vast ocean, hunting whales and the occasional surfacing kraken.
Viserys noted that almost none of the hunting scenes took place in Westeros, save for Dragonstone.
It seemed Westeros was a forbidden land back then, a place the Dragonlords had studied and deemed "The Land Where Gods Dwell," not to be disturbed. Otherwise, the Lannisters' famous gold mines would have been plundered long ago.
Then there were the duels. Influenced by the Ghiscari, the Valyrians adopted slavery and a love for the arena.
Atop the high towers of Valyria, Dragonlords from different families would occasionally duel in the Dragonlord Arena, betting their most cherished possessions—magical gems or Valyrian steel artifacts.
Viserys found himself atop those towers, facing off against rival Dragonlords.
They competed in speed or sheer destructive power.
Some dragons had strange bodies and tails, fast as bloodworms. Others shone with golden light and breathed devastating fire.
Dragons trained with binding spells were indeed more spiritual and responsive than those broken by whips. They were on a different level entirely.
Viserys piloted his purple-gold dragon, weaving and dodging, taking on various opponents in the arena.
Finally, the glass mirror stopped rippling. The trial was over.
Viserys was no longer the same man. In those fleeting moments, he had lived through eras of blood and change.
He set the glass shard down. Outside, barely any time had passed, but inside the mirror, he had been tempered in the fires of war.
"Sunblaze may be a hatchling, but with the fragment of the Heart Spell and the experience of the Dragon Tamer, this surprise attack will be flawless."
Viserys changed into a silver tunic, strapped True Dragon to his waist, and strode out of the King's Tower.
The Dragon's Roost was still under construction, so Sunblaze was temporarily resting in a dug-out pit outside the tower. Guards were posted everywhere, openly and in the shadows, protecting the beast.
"Up you get, boy." Viserys looked at Sunblaze. The dragon had been eating well at Viserysfort; scattered cow and sheep bones littered the pit.
Sunblaze flapped his wings and rose, the sound like a crack of thunder.
His lava-like eyes fixed on Viserys, sensing a change in his rider.
Viserys sliced his finger. Red blood welled up, followed by a flame igniting at his fingertip.
"Fire, Sunblaze!" Viserys commanded.
Sunblaze sensed the intent and chose to trust his companion.
A small, intense burst of gold-red dragonfire emerged, intertwining with the golden flame from Viserys's finger.
Viserys began the ancient incantation in High Valyrian. "Blood is fire, fire is blood. With my blood, I call the dragon's blood. With my fire, I call the dragon's fire. Blood and blood, fire and fire..."
"I am Viserys Targaryen. My blood is sufficient to tame every dragon in this world. We are partners, friends, travelers... I, Viserys of House Targaryen, bind myself to my dragon, Sunblaze, in a pact of the heart. An eternal pact, a pact of the soul."
The two flames slowly fused in the air, shifting with the rhythm of the spell and his gestures.
Viserys then gathered the merged flame and absorbed it.
The pact between man and dragon, of blood and fire, was sealed.
Viserys had only mastered the basics—if the Binding Spells were a tome, he had only grasped the introductory chapter of the Heart Spell. But it was enough.
Like a chain forming, Viserys felt Sunblaze's inner mind.
Aloof, cunning, greedy, ferocious...
This was a golden wild dragon hatched in the ruins of Valyria, aided by the slow rise of magic.
In some ways, Viserys felt he and Sunblaze were kindred spirits.
Sunblaze's arena was the ruins of Valyria; Viserys's arena was the Game of Thrones. Both were bloody and cruel.
Stronger, more wicked.
Glory lies in high places, and glory is power itself.
Sunblaze's furnace-like eyes met Viserys's. They were friends now, bound by a psychic link.
"Sunblaze, soves!" Viserys called the dragon's name. The beast felt the summons instantly; their wills were aligned, moving as one.
Sunblaze launched into the sky, untethered and free.
Even a domesticated dragon needed to hunt to keep its edge.
Viserys flew with him, soaring over the vast hills of Andalos, hunting for food.
Before the war began, they needed to get used to this new bond.
---
Meanwhile, at the foot of the mountain below Viserysfort, a strange group appeared—a small company of mercenaries carrying banners.
The Tattered Prince looked up at the majestic White City. Judging by its size and population, this little king seemed to have the qualifications to negotiate.
The Tattered Prince had silver-grey hair and wore silver-grey armor, but his cloak was a ragged patchwork of many colors—blue, grey, purple, red, gold, green, magenta, vermilion, and cerulean—all faded by years of sun and wind.
Few knew his real name, only that he hailed from wealthy Pentos and had fled to escape his "destiny."
In the Windblown, even the commander didn't reveal his true name. Many of the free companies existing today were born in the bloody century following the Doom of Valyria; most formed in the morning and disbanded by dusk. The Windblown were somewhere in between.
"Not a bad place," remarked Caggo, his lieutenant and warrior-poet.
"It is not bad," the Tattered Prince said softly, his eyes sad and melancholic. "But now comes another round of bargaining. I hope my new employer offers terms that satisfy me."