Fourteen columns of smoke billowed from the volcanic craters, obscuring the azure sky as if 14 eternal black clouds had been added to the heavens.
Surrounding the fourteen colossal volcanic peaks was a vast city, its buildings sprawling in every direction without walls.
This was a city so grand that only a Heavenly God could possess such a majestic realm!
*Roar—*
The towering black towers, piercing the clouds like divine fingers, pointed straight into the sky. Within the field of vision, seventy to eighty Giant Dragons circled leisurely among the colossal structures.
Red Dragons, White Dragons, Gold Dragons, Green Dragons, Black Dragons, Purple Dragons—these multicolored behemoths filled the world with every imaginable hue, as beautiful as the elves serving under the Heavenly Gods.
As the gaze descended below the clouds, one could see that even during the day, the city glowed with a crimson radiance.
This was the lava flowing in rivers down the slopes of the Fourteen Fire Peaks. Upon closer inspection, the city bore a striking resemblance to Venice, the water city.
However, instead of canals, rivers of glowing, smoking magma flowed through the districts and between the buildings.
Red light, mirroring the lava, emanated from the windows of the monolithic black stone towers, as if they were drawing light, heat, and magic power from the fiery rivers.
The streets below were deserted, and the low-rise buildings surrounding them were devoid of residents. Indeed, a thick, gray-black smog perpetually filled the lower atmosphere, making it nearly impossible for life to survive there.
Only at the highest levels of the Towers of Babel, in the sky gardens adorned with mythical stone sculptures of griffins, giant dragons, and gargoyles, did the silver-haired, handsome men and women of the Ancient Valyrian Dragonlords reside. Some sat quietly in the gardens, reading books on their laps, while others attended lively banquets, reveling in the festivities. Still others stood by the balustrades, stroking the heads of giant dragons and whispering secrets to their companions.
These were the Ancient Valyrian Dragonlords, the rulers of Sky City. They had conquered the world with their dragons, controlled volcanoes with their magic, and drawn magic power from the molten rock.
They enjoyed a level of power and wealth that would make even the gods envious.
The Towers of Babel served various purposes: some were capped with residential domes, others featured open-air gardens at their summits, and still others housed Wizard's Towers that shimmered with massive blue Magic Orbs. All were impossibly tall and utterly indestructible.
At the heart of the cluster of Towers of Babel stood a single Wizard's Tower, three hundred meters tall. On its top-floor plaza, a tall, dignified old man in resplendent robes rested his hands on the surface of a Magic Orb. Countless images flashed through his eyes.
From the top of this high tower, the Archmage reviewed real-time information from major city-states across the world.
Every afternoon at five o'clock, Wizards stationed in various cities transmitted the day's major events to the Valyrian Capital via Glass Candles.
*Screech—*
At that moment, a Gold Dragon flew in from the other side of the city. A young knight in silver silk robes leaped nimbly from the dragon's back and hurried to the venerable old man's side. After a respectful bow, he said, "Your Excellency, Ina Targaryen is selling off his assets."
The Archmage didn't turn his head, continuing to extract useful information from the Magic Orb and respond to requests. "Everything?"
"Everything, even the Tower of Babel. It's said he's doing this because his daughter, Daenys Targaryen, dreamed that Valyria would be destroyed in the near future," the dragon knight said softly.
"House Targaryen has fallen," the Archmage said, his voice tinged with mockery. "The City Court has found Ina guilty, and his appeals have all failed. The deadline for his final appeal is fast approaching.
"As a loser in the game of power, if he doesn't choose self-exile, he can only wash away his foolishness with blood and life."
"I always thought he was a brave man, but he's turned out to be such a coward, even shamelessly using his daughter's dreams as a shield. Do you know where he's headed?"
"Westeros."
"Westeros?" The old man frowned for the first time. "As the saying goes, 'The world is vast, yet all lies beneath the shadow of the Giant Dragon's wings.' But that far western land is our Dragon King's... well, it's not exactly forbidden territory, but going to war with the Old Gods over such a wretched place seems hardly worth the effort."
"We sealed R'hllor away. Why should we fear these decaying, near-dead primal gods?" the young man asked, puzzled.
The old man pondered for a moment before replying calmly, "You are the legal heir of Fifth Peak, and at such a young age, you've already tamed your own Giant Dragon. You're worthy of knowing the secrets known only to the fourteen Peak Lords."
He withdrew his withered hands from the Magic Orb and walked slowly to the balcony, gazing down at the magnificent city. "The Valyrians, in their reckless plundering of the Ley Lines to build their Sky Cities, became as revered as gods among all other peoples."
"But ultimately, we are not gods."
For millennia, the Wizards' Alliance has tirelessly strived to cultivate its own gods.
Not some trashy spirit of faith like Quaithe's, but true gods, like the Old Gods and R'hllor—real deities.
Alas, Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes—even though they were stronger than that blue-lipped creature—were still not true gods.
Everything in the world, including giant dragons and demigods, lives and dies. Only gods can achieve true immortality.
The Old Gods you scorn may indeed be decaying and corrupted, but as long as someone remembers them, they will never truly die."
"But even true gods cannot interfere in the mortal world," the Young Dragon King of Fifth Peak argued stubbornly. "A group of Old Gods is less useful than a single dragon."
Though young, he had been groomed his entire life to become the next Lord of Fifth Peak and was an apprentice to the Archmage. He knew far more secrets than peripheral nobles like the Targaryens.
The old man nodded. "True. Gods cannot directly intervene in the mortal world. R'hllor, though hailed as the God of Fire, cannot spontaneously set a withered leaf ablaze."
The gods need not act directly; they can alter the entire world through their followers.
Take me, for example. As the Archmage of the Valyrian Freehold, I haven't left the Wizard's Tower in thirty years, yet the world remains under my dominion. The very heavens and earth shift with my anger.
Ordinary folk cannot comprehend my methods, nor should we ever underestimate the power of the gods.
"Archmage, I am enlightened!" the youth replied with genuine sincerity and utmost deference.
Finally, he added, "The Targaryens haven't entered Westeros directly. They plan to settle on Dragonstone, the fortress guarding Valyria's western border. In a way, they'll be defending the empire's frontier."
"Hmm," the old man nodded indifferently.
"What's this?"
The Archmage's expression suddenly changed as he glanced at the sky. He strode to the Celestial Globe—a blue orb the size of a celestial model—and placed his hands upon it again.
"Who dares spy on Valyria? Hmm, whose child are you?" The old man's initial reprimand softened into wary curiosity.
"What happened?" the youth asked urgently.
"Someone's been eavesdropping on us," the old man said, his voice calm but his brow furrowing with suspicion.
"Who dares to do such a thing?" the young man exclaimed, a mixture of anger and shock on his face.
"It's no outsider. A Little Dragon King, with exceptional talent, but..." the old man continued, a hint of surprise and confusion in his voice, "she doesn't even know basic spells and can't communicate with me."
"Even the great noble houses of Valyria wouldn't dare spy on a Wizard's Tower. Haven't her parents and mentors taught her anything?" the young man demanded, his voice hot with indignation.
"I sense the aura of House Belaerys," the old man said uncertainly.
"First Peak... Belaerys?" The young man's expression shifted, his voice filled with awe and solemnity.
As the old man's magic power resonated with the Magic Orb of the Wizard's Tower, strange runes flashed across his eyes. He managed to say, "Perhaps. Go to First Peak later and inquire. I've sent her the '108 Standard Pronunciations of the Valyrian Alphabet'. If I'm wrong, you can ask her directly next time we meet—Ah?"
"Little girl!" the old man shouted toward the sky, his voice urgent with concern and fury. "Your life force is draining rapidly! What happened? Can you hear me? You've likely been possessed by an evil spirit! Where's your dragon? If it's not nearby, immediately enter Dragon Spirit State!"
"Which Blood Mage dares to scheme against the Valyrian True Dragon Bloodline?!"
"Archmage, you say she can achieve the legendary 'Dragon Spirit'?"
Compared to someone daring to attack the Valyrian True Dragon Bloodline, the Dragon Spirit itself was far more shocking to him.
Sensing the consciousness retreat and faintly detecting her dragon aura, the old man breathed a sigh of relief before turning to the youth. "As I said, the young one has remarkable talent."
"But Balerion, Vhagar..."
Daenerys couldn't hear the rest, her consciousness already withdrawing from the River of Time.
When she sought suitable wizard knowledge from the Immortals, a brilliant azure screen materialized from the darkness, followed by countless images flashing before her eyes.
Guided by mysterious forces, Daenerys saw Valyria before the Cataclysm. She effortlessly switched perspectives, as if changing channels on a television, to the most mysterious—and perhaps not the tallest—Wizard's Tower.
The colossal Magic Orb left Daenerys awestruck. Later, she witnessed the Black Stone High Tower drawing power from rivers of lava, the old wizard managing the entire world with the Magic Orb, and secrets of the gods.
For the first time, she truly felt the power and advancement of Valyrian civilization.
Yet what terrified Daenerys most was how the figures in these "TV images" could see the viewers in the audience, even communicate with them, and sense dangers that Daenerys herself hadn't noticed.
*Am I seeing the past, or has my consciousness traveled to that point in time?*
With these thoughts swirling in her mind, Daenerys entered the Dragon Spirit State.
The soul of a true dragon now resided within her!
She felt the essence of her life—her vital energy and spiritual essence—surge outward like a breached dam. When she opened her "eyes," the Immortals who had been standing motionless rose from their seats beside the stone table. Like a fishing net, they surrounded her, their icy blue figures chanting sharp incantations as they tore strands of golden life essence from her body.
This was the perspective of a Giant Dragon.
When Daenerys opened her own eyes, the scene transformed into something utterly terrifying:
A horde of blue, zombie-like corpses, their eyes glowing with insatiable greed, swarmed around her. Their cold, withered hands tugged, caressed, and dragged at her clothes, touching her body and tangling in her hair.
Yet Daenerys was paralyzed, as if trapped in a nightmare. All strength vanished from her limbs, leaving her motionless. Even her heart seemed to have stopped beating.
She felt a hand gouge out her amethyst eyes and shove them into her mouth. Sharp teeth pressed against her soft throat.
"Ah—!" Daenerys roared in fury. "You're all asking for death!"
-----------------------
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