Game of thrones: The fire lord

After the family sword Blackfyre was looted, Aemon obediently hung it up.

The conditions for an item to contain magic generally boil down to three things: age, inherent magical properties, and mutations.

Valyrian steel is one of the last remaining treasures from ancient Valyria, and it would be strange if it didn't possess some form of magic.

The Royce family also has a Valyrian steel sword called Lamentation. However, Aemon's mother, Rhea Royce, treasures it dearly, keeping it displayed in her chambers, never allowing him the opportunity to so much as touch it.

Aemon continued his search, aiming for a different prize—a Valyrian steel crown.

That was the very crown worn by Aegon the Conqueror at his coronation, adorned with brilliant rubies. However, the current king wore a golden crown, and the ancient Valyrian steel one had long since been put away as a relic.

"No, not here either," Aemon muttered in frustration.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. With a sigh, he conceded defeat. The crown must have been stored elsewhere.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he took a deep breath. "Time to move on and keep searching."

Just as he was about to leave, his gaze fell upon a round table cluttered with stone sculptures in the bedroom.

His feet felt rooted to the ground. Walking in and leaving without taking anything felt suspicious.

His eyes darted toward the various stone figures before settling on a dragon-shaped sculpture.

His uncle, Viserys, had a habit of collecting stone sculptures, attempting to recreate the glory of ancient Valyria.

In another life, he would've been the kind of man obsessed with figurines.

"I don't want much. Just one… for myself."

Aemon whispered an apology to his uncle in his heart before slipping the dragon-shaped sculpture into his waist pouch.

If anyone saw him sneaking around, they would eventually learn what he had done anyway.

Taking a treasured "figurine" would serve as the perfect cover for his true intent—searching for magic.

Satisfied with his work, Aemon quickly moved on.

The Red Keep was vast, and time was of the essence.

Red Keep, Underground Crypt

Yes, Aemon was a gravedigger boy now.

With a click, the white tallow candles on the walls flickered to life, illuminating the dim and cavernous crypt.

Aemon looked around, unable to contain the excited smile spreading across his face.

This place was called a crypt, but it felt more like a royal treasury, an area strictly forbidden to outsiders.

The most striking feature was the massive black dragon skull resting on an altar, a remnant of a bygone era.

At the center of the crypt stood a half-height circular altar.

There, resting upon it, was a colossal dragon skull, as black as ink, its features both menacing and majestic.

A ring of half-burned white candles surrounded it, their flickering glow adding a solemn aura to the already chilling sight.

Aemon's breath hitched. His chest rose and fell as he murmured, "The remains of Balerion, the Black Dread…"

There was only one dragon so terrifying and mighty that the Targaryens deemed its remains worthy of enshrinement in the crypt.

Balerion—the fearsome dragon that once dominated an era.

A true adult dragon, capable of swallowing a mammoth whole.

Legends say that at its peak, Balerion's flames could melt armor, turn stone to slag, and transform sand into glass.

Even now, no dragon of House Targaryen could compare.

"Balerion… bless me. Don't let me down."

Aemon clasped his hands together in reverence before climbing onto the altar.

He reached out, pressing his palm against the still warm dragon skull.

[You have discovered the remains of a magical creature and obtained a portion of fire magic.]

Aemon's body trembled as an intense heat surged through him.

A reddish halo, like fireflies dancing in the night, circled in the air before diving straight into his chest.

"Hah—!"

His eyes widened as a wave of warmth flooded his veins, coursing through his entire being.

The sensation was far stronger than merely gaining +1 Constitution.

It felt as if a thousand tiny hands were kneading and massaging his muscles, sending a pleasant numbness across his body.

Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

And then… it ended.

Aemon blinked, dazed. "…That's it? It's over?"

He examined his hands, noticing bits of dust between his fingers.

His gaze shifted back to Balerion's skull, its dark metallic sheen unchanged.

"No, the reaction was intense…"

He clenched his fists, feeling a subtle increase in strength.

Summoning his [Magic Essence Panel], he expanded the personal attribute page.

[Aemon Targaryen]

Talent: Dreamer (Gold)

Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragon King (13%)

Skills: Ancient Valyrian (Proficient), History (Familiar)…

Magic Card: None

Status: Physical fitness has been improved. Less prone to illness. Higher resistance to heat.

Aemon's thoughts clicked into place.

"So that's it… The bloodline column wasn't there before. It must have been activated by the fire magic."

Before, it had been missing. Now, it was clear as day.

The system's notification said Balerion's skull contained special magic. It must have been the scorching fire magic exclusive to dragons.

"A dragon remains a dragon… Even in death, it continues to bless its descendants."

Aemon couldn't help but feel excited. Bloodline mattered.

It determined innate abilities like dragon affinity, heat resistance, and cold tolerance.

"If I can improve my bloodline purity, there could be even greater benefits…"

However, lingering here was risky.

"I should leave."

Without hesitation, Aemon turned to go.

"Thanks for the hospitality, Balerion," he whispered before disappearing into the shadows.

Even as a legendary dragon, Balerion's gift was substantial.

A direct bloodline upgrade, a slight boost in physical fitness, and—most importantly—

His Magic Essence had skyrocketed.

The golden funnel on the panel glowed brightly.

[Essence Count: 141]

One burst of fire magic had granted him 100 points of essence.

Aemon smirked. This was practically hitting the jackpot overnight.

Dusk—The Red Keep Courtyard

The sky burned a deep crimson.

Aemon emerged from the crypt, dusting himself off.

As he hurried toward his quarters, deep in thought about how to allocate his newfound essence, he suddenly crashed into something solid.

Thud!

Aemon stumbled back, rubbing his forehead.

"Who are you? Are you alright?"

A White Cloak, clad in silver armor and a flowing white cloak, peered down at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

Aemon scowled, waving him off. "I'm fine. I'm leaving."

No more phubbing while walking—lesson learned.

But the knight remained unconvinced.

"What's your name? Who are your parents?"

The man scrutinized him, noting the silver hair and purple eyes—features not commonly seen outside of the royal family.

His attire, though dust-covered, was undeniably noble.

And as far as the knight knew, there were no young Targaryen princes of this age.

Perhaps a child from House Velaryon or Celtigar, two Valyrian-descended families.

Then, with a sharp gaze, he asked, "Where did you come from just now? Do you need help?"

Aemon clenched his jaw.

Looking up, he took in the young White Cloak's black hair and sharp features.

Criston Cole.

Aemon had never liked him.

Crossing his arms, he sneered, "White Knight, your duty is to protect the royal family, not to harass them."

With that, he strode away, leaving a bewildered Criston in his wake.

(End of Chapter 12)