Jaehaera, diligently reciting scriptures beside her mother Helaena, glanced curiously at her, wondering what her mother was smiling about. Over the past two years, the young girl had grown, though her health remained fragile. She had fallen ill multiple times, a rare occurrence, and if not for the septons of the Great Sept of the Seven Dragons, who were somewhat skilled in healing, Jaehaera might have succumbed to a high fever a year ago. That fever nearly took the life of the once-quiet little septa. However, perhaps because of her brushes with death, Jaehaera had gradually become more cheerful, no longer as shy and timid as she had been in her childhood. Unfortunately, Helaena's health had been declining day by day. Yet, she persisted in her duties as a septa, reciting scriptures daily beneath the statue of the Mother, praying for those who had died in the war and for her children.
Helaena gently stroked her daughter's silver hair and said with a soft smile, "The greatest nightmare of our lives has finally left us behind." The former queen, now the "Septa Princess", sighed deeply. "I hope you and your brother will never have to know or remember these things." Helaena's already slightly hunched back bent even further as she continued to turn her prayer beads, reciting the Seven-Pointed Star over and over.
Maelor had been sent away a year ago. The young Maelor Sunfyre, under the care of several servants sent by House Vaelarys, had sailed to the Sunfyre family's fiefdom, a tower called the "God's Hidden Tower" on the edge of Ghaston Grey. There, Draezell's appointed castellan, a Dornishman named Hurd Cobber, awaited Maelor, who was nominally a lord but in reality a prisoner. The young former prince would spend the rest of his days there—if he behaved. Of course, Helaena and Jaehaera, who had confined themselves to the Great Sept of the Seven Dragons, hoped that their submissive behavior would convince Draezell to truly spare Maelor, who had already lost everything.
---
Dragonstone, Training Grounds Beneath the Dragoncrystal Tower
Draezell looked at the five nervous youngsters and couldn't help but laugh. "Don't be afraid. It's just a sparring match. Juchi, don't worry about your braid and bells. I didn't make Argo cut his, so I won't make you cut yours either." Draezell called out to the trembling Juchi, signaling that he had nothing to fear. The young Dothraki warrior took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then quickly walked to the edge of the training ground and drew a new long curved sword. Juchi didn't care for the traditional arakh of the Dothraki, finding it too short. Instead, he preferred a longer, more curved blade, which he believed would deliver more satisfying kills from horseback. This long curved sword was also made of bloodsteel, a material resulting from his father, Claelorius's, attempts to recreate Valyrian steel. Though the endeavor ultimately failed, it produced bloodsteel, a metal far superior to ordinary steel, adorned with intricate and beautiful patterns. Weapons forged from it, while not as formidable as Valyrian steel, still far surpassed common arms.
"Your Grace, but our weapons..." York Waters rasped, spreading his hands to show that his weapon was broken and unusable. Joffrey Cafferen and Revil Haydon, whose weapons were also damaged, nodded frantically in agreement.
"Ha, I thought it was something serious," Draezell said, his mood still light. He had anticipated that these young men's weapons would be ruined after their fight with Hoffa, so he had come prepared. He opened the armory, and Sebastian Flameheart, looking somewhat pained, nodded at the entrance of the Dragoncrystal Tower and stepped aside. Two tall, burly servants emerged, carrying a massive bronze chest between them, huffing and puffing.
Draezell walked over to the bronze chest with a mysterious smile and lightly tapped the dragon on its surface. "If you can last long enough against me, I'll lend you what's inside this chest—until your terms of service end."
Before the others could react, Draezell lifted the lid of the bronze chest. Inside lay Amos Fezer's Valyrian steel greatsword, Steelflame, resting quietly at the bottom. Beside it were three other Valyrian steel blades: one with a slightly curved blade, resembling a long saber more than a traditional sword; another covered in intricate, eerie patterns, its entire body pitch black except for a single blue gem embedded in the hilt that glowed faintly; and the last, a plain sword with almost no adornments, yet its blade bore wave-like patterns that gave it an air of mystery.
The four young men who had never wielded Valyrian steel weapons were stunned. They hadn't expected Draezell to be willing to lend them four Valyrian steel blades, let alone actually produce them. Only Arthor remained calm, as House Celtigar had already decided to cling tightly to House Vaelarys through Leyla's connections. They didn't want to end up like House Velaryon, which, after losing its privileged position through marriage, struggled even to preserve its bloodline.
"Stop staring. They're real," Draezell chuckled. "Go ahead and pick one. But remember, these are symbols of your bond as my blood-sworn brothers. Once you've chosen, sworn your oaths, and proven yourselves, these weapons will be yours until your service ends."
"Thank you, Your Grace," York Waters said, stepping forward first while the others hesitated. He picked up the Valyrian steel sword with the wave-like patterns. "Your Grace, does it have a name?"
Draezell shook his head. "After you swear your oaths, you can name them yourselves."
Juchi took the saber-like Valyrian steel blade, while Joffrey Cafferen naturally gravitated toward the sword with the eerie patterns and the blue gem. Even Revil eagerly picked up Steelflame. However, the young men soon realized something was amiss. They had taken the weapons, but...
"They're still too young," Sebastian couldn't help but shake his head. Even Aslan sighed, while Hoffa remained expressionless, watching as Draezell stepped into the training ground with a smile.
The Silverblood sword slowly rose. Only York Waters reacted quickly, rolling to the ground and grabbing a shield Aslan tossed to him, blocking Draezell's casual strike. But Silverblood merely tapped the shield before darting toward the bastard sellsword behind it. York tried to parry with his newly acquired Valyrian steel blade, but Draezell effortlessly knocked it aside and pressed the tip of his sword to York's neck. "Good reflexes, but not enough," Draezell said, tapping York's head with the hilt. Hoffa, who had somehow entered the field unnoticed, grabbed the shaken sellsword and sighed. "His Grace is always like this. Let him have his fun. He's been too stressed lately and needs to unwind."
Next was Arthor. The silver-haired boy was sharp, rolling to Revil's side after York's defeat to face Draezell together. But before Revil could even lift the greatsword, Draezell struck his shoulder with the hilt, then lowered the blade to Arthor's throat. The silver-haired boy hadn't even had a chance to raise Crabtide before he was defeated.
Juchi and Joffrey Cafferen managed to hold their ground for a while, thanks to Joffrey's shield, but Draezell shattered it with a single strike, defeating them both.
"Your Grace…" Revil Haydon raised Steelflame dejectedly. The taste of being defeated by the very person he was supposed to protect was bitter. The young black-haired lord felt he didn't deserve such a magnificent weapon.
"Hahaha!" Draezell laughed heartily, patting the shoulders of the young men he had defeated with just a few strokes. "Don't be discouraged. I don't need to tell you this, but you all know that I am a born blood Wizard. Blood magic flows through my veins, granting me innate, extraordinary power. So, there's no need to feel disheartened by losing to me. I, too, am mortal. I have my own worries and a family to protect. Do you understand? That is your responsibility now. Take the weapons I've bestowed upon you and hold out your hands. Hoffa, have you taught them the oaths?" Hoffa nodded from the side. Draezell then turned to the five "recruits" who obediently extended their hands.
"Good," Draezell said with satisfaction. He sheathed Silverblood and drew a Valyrian steel dagger with a dragonbone hilt. "Bear with it. It'll be quick and won't hurt much." With a deft flick of the dagger, he made a small cut on each of their palms.
Perhaps because the Valyrian steel dagger was so sharp, none of the five young men felt any pain. They all looked in awe at the crimson lines of blood welling up in their palms. Having been in Dragon's Nest for so long, they were no strangers to the idea of Draezell's magic. In fact, when others called you a terrifying sorcerer, it was best not only to be one but also to have an invincible dragon. That way, the bards and septons wouldn't label you as a "warlock" or "servant of the devil" but as the "True Dragon blessed by the Seven", "Draezell the Chosen", or "Draezell, favored by the Old and New Gods".
Draezell then cut his own palm, letting a few drops of his silver-tinged blood fall onto the cuts on the young men's hands.
"Now, recite your oaths," Draezell said, watching as his blood mingled with theirs and flowed back into their wounds.
Juchi was the first to speak, followed by the others in unison: "I swear by my name and my bloodline that I shall bind myself to the silver blood of House Vaelarys. With my blood, I shall defend the silver blood of House Vaelarys. I will guard it with my life until my blood runs dry. This oath shall hold until the Lord of Silverblood releases me from this bond."
The blood, streaked with silver, fully merged into the bodies of the five new blood-sworn brothers, and their wounds healed instantly. Valarr, Hoffa, Aslan, Sebastian, and the late-arriving Tygara smiled as they welcomed the five new brothers.
"Welcome, my brothers," Draezell said, spreading his arms. "From this day forward, you are my arms, my strength. Protect my family and uphold your oaths."
"Your will is our command," the five new blood-sworn brothers declared in unison, pounding their chests.
Draezell looked at them with satisfaction. Just then, Tigarro approached, frowning. "Your Grace, there's news I believe you should know."
"Speak," Draezell said, lowering his arms and turning to Tygara. The silver-haired Shadowfinger spoke in a low voice: "Word from King's Landing. It seems Maelor Sunfyre's dragon egg has hatched."