Chapter 52: Family

There was a faint sound outside the map room door, followed by an old yet gentle voice asking softly, "Aegon, what's going on?"

Fragments of memory flashed through Aegon's mind. He recalled that the voice belonged to a very old nurse from the Targaryen family. For as long as he could remember, she had been the one looking after the children on Dragonstone. Strangely, everyone simply called her "Old Nan." Aegon couldn't remember her actual name.

He called out toward the door, "It's nothing. Don't worry."

That aged voice replied again, this time with a touch of reminder, "Aegon, it's almost time for the banquet. Go on to the dining hall."

Aegon responded casually, "Got it."

At the moment, Aegon's body was just ten years old. It was the reincarnated vessel of a living saint, created with the help of a special item. This body was his own, but the consciousness from his past life had only just awakened.

Aegon closed his eyes slightly, murmured silently to himself, and a translucent screen appeared before his eyes as his attribute panel opened.

[Aegon Targaryen:

Basic Attributes (Growing): Politics: 83; Strategy: 91; Military Strategy: 95; Mental Strength: 79; Vitality: 67/93.

Talents: [S-Class - Alien Chip], [True Dragonblood - Dragonlord], [C-Class - Outer Tyrant, Inner King], [C-Class - Apocalypse Dreamtrace].

Skills: …

Destiny Points: 0.

Items: …]

Aegon's eyes slowly swept over his stats, silently assessing them.

"These attributes are downright magnificent.

Martial prowess at 93—astonishing. Even in this ten-year-old body, my vitality's already at 67, far beyond an average adult. Mental strength at 79 isn't the highest, but still impressive. The rest of the stats are equally outstanding."

Aegon focused and mentally opened the details of his talents.

[S-Class - Alien Chip]: Its power was self-evident—remarkable analytical and deductive abilities, and the capacity to probe all things.

[True Dragonblood - Dragonlord]: Allows Aegon to tame multiple dragons. Currently, one taming slot is taken by Tiamat. With his current mental strength, he likely has room for only one more.

[C-Class - Apocalypse Dreamtrace]: The dream scar on your forehead allows you to receive random visions of the future through Apocalypse. The likelihood of these visions is influenced by your mental state.

[C-Class - Outer Tyrant, Inner King]: You can freely switch between the "Tyrannical" and "Royal" states.

Tyrannical state: Vitality instantly increases by 25%, and you gain the secondary talent [Tyrant's Body].

Royal state: Mental strength increases by 25%, and you gain the secondary talent [Royal Might].

[Tyrant's Body]: Greatly enhances physical resilience by 200%. Resilience reduces the effects of negative status effects such as slowness, knockback, and stun.

[Royal Might]: A unique biological magnetic field forms around you, subtly improving the friendliness of nearby creatures toward you. The field's range and influence depend on both parties' mental strength.

The effects of [Outer Tyrant, Inner King] were undeniably powerful and dazzling, like a talent tailor-made for a natural-born faction leader.

With a soft click, the door creaked open.

Old Nan stood with her hands on her hips and her cheeks puffed out, shaking her head gently at Aegon with a trace of playful reproach in her eyes.

Seeing this, Aegon gave a helpless shrug and smiled in a placating way. "All right, all right, I just dozed off a little. Let's head to the hall together."

Old Nan seemed to think he was moving too slowly. She strode over in a flash, and with one arm behind his back and the other under his knees, she easily lifted Aegon off the ground.

"No, no, no... Old Nan, I'm already ten, I can walk on my own… huh?!"

Just as Aegon began to struggle, his body suddenly froze. His eyes widened as he stared intently at Old Nan's deeply wrinkled face.

The moment she touched him, Aegon had instinctively used the chip to scan her physical data. What he found stunned him.

[Illya Targaryen:

Basic Attributes: Politics: 36; Strategy: 57; Military Strategy: 27; Mental Strength: 112; Vitality: 45.

Talents:

[C-Class - Greenhand Bloodline - Elder: +150% natural affinity, lifespan extended by 50 years, and +1 base mental strength per year of age.]

[C-Class - Skinchanger - Sea Dragon: You can enter the consciousness of animals or others and control their behavior. You can form contracts with animal partners of compatible mental affinity. The number of partners depends on mental strength and compatibility. Current contracted animal partner: 1.]

[D-Class - Chaste: +5 mental strength for remaining pure before marriage; +10 mental strength for loyalty to a spouse after marriage.]

[True Dragonblood - Dragonseed: …]

Skills: …]

Aegon had never expected that the unremarkable old nurse from Dragonstone was actually his wife from his previous life.

He quietly reflected, [C-Class - Greenhand Bloodline - Elder] did indeed extend one's lifespan—no wonder she had survived the Bloody Age.

He remembered clearly that Illya's talent had once been [D-Class - Greenhand Bloodline - Maiden]. Could it be that her base mental strength exceeded 100, which triggered an upgrade in the bloodline? Aegon wasn't sure.

Illya had been very young when she left the Valyria Peninsula. At the time, Aegon had refrained from letting her conceive to safeguard her health.

But who would've thought that, a century later, they'd meet again like this?

Time passed in the blink of an eye. The world had changed, and Illya had gone from a charming young girl to this wrinkled old nurse.

Cradling Aegon, Illya walked briskly, light on her feet.

It was obvious—even at such an age, her body remained strong. She could still carry a growing boy and move like the wind.

Just like that, the two of them made their way straight to the dining hall...

In the elegantly furnished dining hall, the members of House Targaryen were already seated in order of seniority.

Aegon strolled in, his gaze slowly sweeping over those at the table. The first faces he saw were his kind, gentle parents. At the head of the table sat his grandfather, Daemion.

Looking further down the table, his eyes fell on two striking young women—the family's radiant jewels—Visenya and Rhaenys.

Both sisters had inherited the hallmark silver-gold hair of Valyrian lineage, shimmering brilliantly under the soft light of the dining room.

Rhaenys's silky silver hair hung loosely behind her. The moment she spotted Aegon entering, a mischievous gleam flickered in her eyes as she playfully winked her left eye at him.

Aegon raised his left eyebrow in response.

In his memories, Rhaenys had always been this lively and playful. It was one of the reasons the two siblings had always gotten along so well.

Beside her sat Visenya, who had styled her long golden hair into two neat braids that rested gently over her chest. Her fuller curves gave her a more mature and alluring presence compared to her younger sister. She wore a fitted outfit embroidered with dragons and flames, the tailored design perfectly accentuating her graceful figure.

When Visenya glanced up and saw Aegon, she subtly straightened her posture, then seemingly without intention, arched her proud chest forward. From the corner of her eye, she stole a quiet glance at him.

Noticing Aegon's gaze lingering on her chest, the corners of her delicate lips curled into a faint, triumphant smile.

At that moment, Grandfather Daemion raised his hand slightly, gesturing for Aegon to come sit beside him.

Now in his seventies, Daemion's hair had turned gray at the temples, but he still sat tall and proud. The weight of years had only deepened his commanding presence. He was the current dragon tamer of Balerion and the only remaining magical dragon knight of the family.

The meal began. In keeping with Targaryen custom, they ate in relative silence, without much conversation.

Yet Aegon keenly noticed the distant look in his father Aerion's eyes—a shadow of worry that seemed hard to dispel.

After the meal, Daemion gracefully picked up a handkerchief and gently wiped his hands.

"Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys—you three are grown now. It's time to begin contributing to the house and taking on responsibility. Come with me to the study."

Daemion's voice was serious. As he finished speaking, he turned and walked away.

The rest of the family said nothing, quietly following him into the nearby study.

The room carried a faint scent of whale oil and ink. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting patches of light and shadow across the floor.

Daemion leaned close to Old Nan and spoke a few soft words. She gave a slight bow, then turned to a bookshelf in the corner. After searching for a moment, she returned slowly with a scroll cradled in both hands.

Daemion took it and laid it gently on the table, then slowly unrolled it. A finely detailed map of the continent of Essos spread out before them. The lines were clear and precise, the markings vivid with color, and the layout of various forces meticulously illustrated.

"Look here," Daemion said, pointing to a section of the map. His voice was calm and low. "This is the city-state of Volantis. It has grown rapidly in recent years, and its power is surging.

Most notably, the Dragon Party that dominates the city-state is led by the Valentine family, who hold a deep grudge against our house.

Their ancestors clashed with ours long ago. To this day, they still uphold the ancestral oath: they will not rest until House Targaryen is destroyed.

Back then, with the vast legacy we brought from Valyria, we had the strength to begin the conquest of Westeros in my generation. But the Valentine family repeatedly attacked Dragonstone, costing us countless troops and draining the wealth and foundation of our house."

Aegon's father, Aerion, added, "Volantis now claims to be the true heir of the Freehold Empire. The Dragon Party's government is bent on world conquest and rebuilding the Freehold Empire.

Their army has taken Myr and expanded east of the Rhoyne River, reaching its upper basin.

Their navy has seized Lys and recently blockaded the Narrow Sea. Our vassals, House Velaryon, have been forced to retreat to Blackwater Bay. The situation has become extremely dangerous for us."

"Grandfather, if the Black Dread is the strongest and largest dragon, why don't we just go wipe them out?" Rhaenys asked, eyes wide with confusion.

"War isn't as simple as you think," Daemion replied with a slow shake of his head. His brow furrowed slightly, and a trace of helplessness appeared in his eyes. "The Narrow Sea is already under blockade by Volantis. If we rush to confront the Dragon Party, Dragonstone would be left unguarded, and without dragon defense, the Volantene navy would seize the opportunity to strike.

The hard truth is, our house currently has only one dragon knight.

But there is hope. You three—this generation of siblings—performed exceptionally well during Balerion's bloodline test.

Before long, I'll arrange for you to begin dragon training."

Hearing this, Aegon was quietly stunned. He hadn't realized House Targaryen's situation had become so dire...

"In that case, our primary enemy is Volantis. Once we've dealt with them, we'll move on to conquer Westeros?" Visenya looked her grandfather straight in the eye, her gaze resolute.

Daemion gave a slight nod. "I've already arranged an alliance with Argilac Durrandon, King of the Stormlands. In two months, we'll launch a joint assault on the Volantene navy and break through their blockade. So, you must be ready to tame dragons at any time during those two months."

Aegon exchanged glances with his sisters, then all three responded in unison, "Understood."

Daemion reached out and gently stroked Aegon's cheek, his eyes full of affection. "Good boy, cough cough cough…"

Before he could finish, a harsh coughing fit suddenly overtook him.

Daemion quickly covered his mouth with his hand, his body trembling slightly.

Aegon hurried forward and steadied the old man by the waist, his eyes filled with concern.

Daemion waved a hand, gasping for breath as he tried to regain control. Then, with a forced lightness, he said to the three siblings, "It's nothing. There's been heavy rain lately—I just caught a bit of a cold, nothing serious…"

Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys exchanged another glance. At Illya's gentle prompting, they slowly stepped out of the study.

Aegon couldn't help but glance back. Through the window, he saw his grandfather's silhouette wracked by another fit of coughing. The sound struck his heart like a blow, and his brow involuntarily furrowed.

The three siblings returned to their room under Illya's guidance.

Lying on his bed, Aegon began to carefully sift through the memories of his past life.

Most of his previous life's memories had already awakened, and he felt a quiet relief—those hundreds of destiny points hadn't been spent in vain.

However, the Apocalypse Dreamtrace left by Daenys seemed to have had little effect.

Aegon continued to reflect on the current situation. He knew full well how limited his strength was right now. Only after taming a dragon could he truly begin to change things. After all, he was still just a boy, unable to influence the larger picture in any meaningful way.

He slowly closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. There was no familiar pulling sensation, no entrance into Daenys' dream to enjoy joy or recover stamina. He silently regretted it in his heart.

...

The next morning, sunlight filtered gently through the cracks in the window and warmed Aegon's face. He slowly opened his eyes and woke from his slumber.

With Illya's attentive help, Aegon dressed and made his way to the dining hall, where he ate his breakfast quietly.

Afterward, Aegon and his whipping boy headed toward the training yard to practice martial skills.

On the continent of Westeros, whipping boys were part of a unique system. Because noble children held privileged status, they couldn't be subjected to corporal punishment during education and training. Thus, whipping boys were created to receive punishments on their behalf when they made mistakes. Over time, this practice became a widely accepted tradition.

Dragonstone, home of House Targaryen and located near the mainland, had adopted certain local customs—including this one.

Aegon's whipping boy was a stocky teen with a solid frame. His muscles showed faintly beneath his simple clothes, but he was quiet by nature, not one for conversation, and always followed silently behind Aegon.

Just as Aegon was about to pick up his practice sword and spar with his swordsmanship instructor...

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Illya running toward him in a panic. Her brow was furrowed, eyes full of urgency, and her quick footsteps stirred a faint breeze.

Seeing this, Aegon was immediately filled with confusion. He quickly set down his sword and looked at her with puzzlement, thinking to himself, What could've made her this flustered? Did the dragon party from Volantis attack?

"Aegon, come with me." Illya ran up to him, barely able to catch her breath, and spoke urgently while reaching for his hand, pulling him toward the main keep.

Dragged along, Aegon couldn't help but run with her, asking as they went, "What happened?"

"Your grandfather—he's dying." Her voice trembled as she spoke.

The words hit Aegon like a blow. His heart clenched as if seized by an invisible hand. His grandfather Daemion was the only Dragon Knight of House Targaryen—the house's pillar of Valyrian steel. If he truly was on the verge of death, it would be a devastating loss for the family.

Aegon and Illya raced through the corridors. When they arrived at the door to Daemion's bedchamber, they found a crowd had already gathered outside.

Faces were grave, and hushed whispers passed between the onlookers.

From inside came the wails of Aegon's mother, Valaena. Her anguished cries further eroded what little hope he had left.

Taking a deep breath, Aegon stepped into the room.

A heavy sorrow hung in the air. His mother, Valaena, sat by the bed, clutching Daemion's hand as she wept uncontrollably. Her shoulders shook with every sob, and her tears poured down like floodwaters, soaking the sleeves of Daemion's robe.

Grandfather Daemion lay quietly on the bed, his face pale as paper, eyes closed, chest unmoving. He was gone.

Aegon stared at his grandfather's body, frozen in place. He had failed to see him one last time.

He had always held a decent impression of Daemion—a kind elder whose patient teachings from just last night still echoed in his ears. Slowly, he walked to his mother's side and gently placed a hand on her back in silent comfort. Valaena immediately pulled him into a tight embrace.

Not long after, Visenya and Rhaenys arrived in a rush. Their eyes were red-rimmed, and their steps uneven—they had clearly run all the way. Reaching the bedside, the sisters looked at their grandfather's body and couldn't hold back their tears.

The family gathered there, overwhelmed by grief.

...

Night descended over Dragonstone like a vast curtain of black silk.

In front of the Dragonpit, Aerion directed the servants as they worked busily to construct a funeral pyre.

They had carefully built the platform right before Balerion's lair. At this moment, with no dragons currently under their control, the members of House Targaryen waited in solemn anticipation, hoping Balerion would appear of his own accord to ignite his former master's body and fulfill the ancient and sacred funeral rites of the Dragonlords of Old Valyria.

Roar! A mournful dragon cry echoed through the night.

A colossal dragon, as massive as a mountain, rose from Dragonmont. Like a moving hill, it crawled toward the pyre, its every movement causing the ground to tremble.

For the first time in a century, Aegon laid eyes on Balerion once more.

Its enormous body was even larger than he remembered, nearly matching the standard size of a Dragonlord's steed—about 150 meters long. Its body was covered in dark, iron-like scales etched with mysterious markings, glinting faintly with a cold, eerie sheen in the dim light. Its enormous wings were folded at its sides, like two great black sails.

Its head resembled a hill, with thick, curved horns like twin blades, emanating a fearsome aura.

Balerion's dark crimson eyes burned like twin flames, deep and enigmatic. Even a single glance from the beast was enough to inspire awe and fear.

Balerion slowly lowered his massive head. His huge nostrils flared as he gently sniffed at Daemion's remains. Then, lifting his head toward the sky, he let out a sorrowful roar—a sound like a tsunami crashing into the heavens, like thunder rumbling through the mountains. All of Dragonstone seemed to shake with the sound.

At once, black flame began to gather in Balerion's throat. The dark fire flowed out like living tongues, softly licking at Daemion's body before suddenly igniting into a roaring blaze. The black flames danced in the night wind, illuminating the grief-stricken faces of the Targaryens gathered around.

Visenya bit her lip, struggling to keep from sobbing, but her tears fell like broken pearls, soaking the front of her dress.

Rhaenys collapsed into Aegon's arms, wailing uncontrollably.

Aegon stood frozen, watching as Daemion's body was gradually consumed by the fire, reduced to ash. A complex tide of emotions surged in his chest.

Am I some kind of harbinger of death? I've barely arrived, and already I've lost someone so important.