Failed Extraction.

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Aeron stood still in the heart of the dungeon, the musty air thick with the weight of centuries. The stone walls of the Red Keep seemed to close in around him, the distant sounds of the castle muffled by the oppressive silence of the underground chamber. The torchlight flickered, casting long shadows that danced like forgotten ghosts.

The dragon skulls loomed before him, different sizes and imposing, their hollow eyes staring out like silent witnesses to the passage of time. Each skull told a story. A tale of power, destruction, and the bloodied hands that had shaped Westeros.

Aeron's footsteps echoed in the eerie silence as he stepped closer to the first skull, his eyes glowing faintly, a reflection of the weight of what he was about to do. His fingers brushed lightly against the first bone, and he began to speak, his voice soft, reverberating in the vast chamber.

"Meleys..." he whispered, his gaze tracing the outline of the first skull. "The beast who lived for war. Killed with honor, burned with fury."

He stepped forward again, his eyes scanning the next skull, a sense of reverence in his voice. "Meraxes... The beauty of the Targaryen dynasty. Her wings brought light and fire. But even she couldn't escape the passing of time."

His eyes burned brighter now, the weight of the knowledge he carried—the deep, eternal knowledge—pulling him closer. He moved onward, each skull more impressive than the last.

Finally, he stopped in front of the skull that seemed to dwarf all others, even the shadows seemed to cower before it. It was Balerion the Dread. The skull was massive, jagged, and ancient, every piece of bone still radiating a dark, eerie energy a testament to the power that had once ruled the skies and kingdoms.

Aeron's breath caught for a moment as he looked up into the empty sockets of Balerion's skull. His fingers trembled slightly as they hovered near the skull, but he did not touch it.

His eyes burned brighter, now a fiery glow that could pierce even the darkness of the chamber. He stood before the remains of the greatest dragon to ever live, and for the first time in a long while since he woke up in this world, he felt something other than just power. It was reverence, a kind of awe that filled him and caused his chest to tighten.

He leaned forward slightly, speaking to the skull as if Balerion could hear him, his voice low and filled with an almost primal respect.

"Balerion the Dread..." Aeron's voice was almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of ages. "The dragon that died of old age because no one could kill it..." He paused, his eyes glowing fiercely now, as if challenging the very essence of the dragon that had once conquered the skies.

Aeron stood before the massive skull of Balerion, his breath steady and his pulse quickening. The weight of the dragon's legacy felt heavier now that he was so close.

He extended his hands, fingers splayed, his palms facing the skull of the dead dragon. A low murmur of command rumbled from his lips, more like a growl than a word—"Arise."

For a moment, nothing happened. The chamber remained still, the flickering torchlight casting shadows that danced on the walls. But then, as if some ancient power had stirred, the skull of Balerion seemed to tremble, a soft, almost imperceptible shake. The air around Aeron grew thick with dark energy.

Then—it happened.

The air hummed. The shadows in the room seemed to distort, rippling with a violent force. A howl, guttural and raw, echoed from the very bones of the skull, a sound that should not have been possible—a dragon's cry, filled with pain and rage. It was as if the dragon's spirit still lingered, straining to break free from the shackles of death.

But despite the howl, the skull remained silent. The tremors in the air slowed, then stilled, as the shadows that had risen quickly dissipated back into the air, leaving only the cold, lifeless remains of the dragon.

Aeron's face hardened. He stood frozen for a moment, staring at the skull. The shadow extraction had failed. He had felt the power course through him, the energy that should have brought this ancient beast back to life. Yet, despite his best efforts, Balerion remained as it was—dead.

His eyes glowed fiercely again, the intensity of his focus mounting as his fingers curled, his voice now a low, dangerous growl. "Arise."

The second attempt was even more violent. The skull trembled again, the shadows swirling around it, the air humming with energy. The ground beneath Aeron seemed to vibrate, the essence of life tugging at the remains. He could almost feel it. The dragon was coming back.

But as quickly as the shadows had risen, they began to break apart. The howl, fiercer this time, echoed again—but it was not enough. The skull cracked, the shadows collapsed inward like an implosion. The energy returned to nothing, and the room fell into a stifling silence. Balerion was still just a skull in a dungeon.

Aeron felt his chest tighten with frustration. His eyes flickered, glowing brighter as a system notification flashed in his vision. He clenched his jaw, reading it over.

[System Notification]

Target has been dead for too long. Shadow Extraction Level is too low. Attempt failed.

2/3 attempts used.

His hands fell to his sides, fists clenched, as the realization hit him.

With a sharp exhale, he lowered his hands, and his eyes dimmed slightly as he considered the system's words. "Shadow Extraction Level too low… So it means there is a chance i can do it once i master it ?"

Aeron lifted his head, his eyes burning again with purpose.

"No matter," he muttered softly. "I will find a way in the future. Even Balerion's shadow will fall to me. I have plenty of time."

Aeron turned away from the skull of Balerion, his mind still racing, trying to piece together the failure. his feet began to carry him towards the exit of the dungeons. The air around him felt heavy, filled with the echoes of long-dead dragons.

Yet,it still gnawed at him—the taste of failure, and the fact that he hadn't yet mastered this particular form of power.

His thoughts were so consumed by the pull of those dragons and the weight of the moment that he didn't realize he had failed to secure his surroundings.

The sudden voice, cold and sharp, broke through his concentration.

"Who are you?"

Aeron's head snapped up, his eyes glowing, a defensive stance flickering through his body. He was ready to summon shadows, ready to fight off whoever dared to intrude on him in this moment. But what he found instead was a familiar figure—Tyrion Lannister standing just a few feet away, holding a torch high, the flickering light casting eerie shadows across his face.

Aeron's lips curled into a small, amused smile, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Oh, if it isn't the golden dwarf," he said with an edge to his voice, his tone laced with amusement. His eyes scanned Tyrion for a moment, taking in the way the torchlight danced on the man's features.

Tyrion blinked, his lips curling into a smirk as he took a step closer, the torch held steady in his hand, its flame casting a golden hue around his face.

"Well, that's a new title. I've been called worse," Tyrion said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as always. He glanced Aeron up and down with a sharp gaze, clearly sizing him up. "What are you? Some sort of assassin if so i think you are a little bit late for the party, or are you just a very tall man with a fancy sense of fashion?" He waved the torch at Aeron's form, trying to assess the stranger's intentions.

Aeron raised an eyebrow at the dwarf's words. His amusement never faltered. "You think I'm an assassin , then?" He crossed his arms, his stance shifting slightly.

Tyrion scoffed, rolling his eyes, and took another step forward, his hand still clutching the torch. "Assassin, wanderer, trespasser—pick your poison. Who are you, really?" He wasn't afraid. It was clear that Tyrion Lannister, despite his size and the situation, was the type of man who wouldn't be intimidated easily. His intelligence was sharper than his physical stature.

Aeron's eyes glowed fiercely as he faced Tyrion Lannister in the dim light of the Red Keep's dungeons. His voice was laced with menace.

"Joffrey is dead, isn't he?" Aeron's tone was low, almost as if savoring the words. There was no mistaking the cold satisfaction in his voice, and Tyrion froze for a moment, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across his face. His fingers tightened around the torch, and the air between them seemed to hum with tension.

"And as for who I am... I suppose you can already tell, since you received my letter." Aeron's lips curled into a small, sharp smile, his eyes never leaving Tyrion.

For a long moment, Tyrion stood still, his sharp mind working rapidly to connect the dots. His eyes widened ever so slightly, a glint of recognition flashing in the depth of them as realization hit him like a sudden gust of cold wind.

"You're the... Shadow Monarch..." Tyrion's voice was a mix of disbelief and cautious understanding, as though he was only just starting to grasp the magnitude of the situation.