Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

After looting the family sword Blackfyre, Aemon carefully returned it to its rightful place.

The conditions for an item to possess magic were simple: it had to be ancient, inherently magical, or altered by some unusual phenomenon.

Valyrian steel, a treasured relic of Old Valyria, naturally carried magic.

Even the Royce family had a Valyrian steel sword named Lamentation, but his mother, Lady Rhea Royce, treasured it deeply and wouldn't let Aemon near it.

"Let's see what else is lying around."

Aemon rummaged through the room, searching for the Valyrian steel crown worn by Aegon the Conqueror during his coronation.

This crown, encrusted with brilliant rubies, was an iconic symbol of House Targaryen's glory.

However, the current crown, made of gold, had belonged to his great-grandfather. The Valyrian steel crown had been retired as a collectible.

"Nope. Not here. Still not here."

As the sun dipped lower, sweat beaded on Aemon's brow.

He sighed in defeat, abandoning the search for the crown. "It's probably stored somewhere else."

Pausing to catch his breath, Aemon wiped his forehead. "Time to move on to the next spot."

Just as he turned to leave, his gaze landed on the round table in the center of the room, adorned with stone sculptures.

He stopped in his tracks.

Leaving the room without taking anything would seem too suspicious.

His eyes glimmered with mischief as he approached the table, picking up a stone dragon figurine.

Viserys had a penchant for collecting stone carvings, aiming to recreate the majesty of Old Valyria through sculpture.

In modern terms, his uncle was a certified collector of action figures.

"I won't take much—just one as a souvenir," Aemon murmured, apologizing to his uncle in his heart as he slipped the figurine into his embroidered satchel.

If anyone saw me enter the room, they'd figure it out eventually anyway.

Taking this "action figure" would serve as the perfect cover for his true objective.

After ensuring everything was back in order, Aemon dashed out, heading to the next destination.

The Red Keep was vast, and there was no time to waste.

The Red Keep: The Royal Crypts.

Yes, Aemon was that kind of kid—a grave-digger at heart.

Click!

Lighting a white tallow candle fixed to the wall, the dim and spacious crypt gradually illuminated.

Aemon glanced around, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

The so-called crypt was more akin to a royal treasury, restricted to outsiders.

But its most distinctive feature was the jet-black dragon remains housed within.

At the crypt's center stood a semi-circular altar about as tall as Aemon himself.

Upon it rested a massive dragon skull, black as night, its jagged contours exuding both menace and majesty.

White candles surrounded the skull in concentric circles, their flickering flames casting an ethereal glow on the ancient relic.

Aemon stared in awe, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he whispered, "The remains of Balerion the Black Dread!"

Only a creature as legendary as the fearsome Black Dread, a dragon that once defined an era, could be honored with such reverence.

This was a true, fully grown dragon, one capable of swallowing a mammoth whole.

At its peak, Balerion's fire was said to be so hot it could melt armor and stone, turning sand to glass.

To this day, no other dragon of House Targaryen had come close to matching its power.

"Balerion, bless me! Don't let me leave empty-handed," Aemon prayed, clasping his hands earnestly.

He climbed up the altar with some difficulty and placed his small hand on the still-warm surface of the dragon skull.

"Discovered remains imbued with unique magic. Acquired one unit of searing fire magic."

A shiver ran down Aemon's spine as he felt heat radiating from the skull.

A faint red glow floated out, swirling like a wisp in the air before plunging into his chest.

"Ah!" Aemon's eyes widened as a warm sensation coursed through his body.

It felt like a thousand tiny hands were massaging him, leaving his entire frame tingling.

The sensation was short-lived but left him drenched in sweat.

"Wait... that's it?" he muttered, blinking in confusion.

Glancing at his hands, he noticed faint specks of soot on his palms.

The dragon skull, still dark and ominous, remained unchanged.

"No... the reaction was too intense for this to be nothing."

Clenching his fists, Aemon noticed a faint increase in strength.

He summoned the Magic Essence Panel and examined his stats:

[Aemon Targaryen]

Talent: Dreamer (Gold)Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (13%)Skills: High Valyrian (Proficient), History (Familiar)...Magic Cards: None.Status: "Improved physical constitution. Increased resistance to cold and heat."

"A bloodline stat? Did that unlock because of the fire magic?" Aemon speculated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

The Bloodline stat was new, having appeared only after his interaction with the dragon skull.

Balerion's magic, likely infused with his flames, had activated it.

"Even in death, dragons are generous benefactors," Aemon marveled.

The bloodline stat's implications were enormous.

It would directly influence his ability to tame dragons and his inherent resistance to extreme temperatures—key traits for a Targaryen.

Raising his Valyrian bloodline purity could unlock untold benefits.

However, now wasn't the time to dwell on the possibilities.

"Better to leave before anyone notices," Aemon decided.

Sliding down the altar, he waved a small farewell.

"Thanks for the boost, Balerion."

As he left, the shimmering golden hourglass at the bottom of his panel glowed brightly.

The Magic Essence Counter updated: 141 Essence Points.

A single unit of fire magic had added a whopping 100 essence points.

Under the fiery red sunset, Aemon emerged from the crypt, making a mental note to rest after a long day of looting.

While lost in thought, Aemon collided with something solid.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his forehead.

Looking up, he found himself face-to-face with a tall, silver-clad Kingsguard knight.

The man's strikingly handsome face showed a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Who are you? Are you hurt?" the knight asked, bending slightly to examine Aemon.

Aemon waved him off. "I'm fine. I need to go."

He attempted to sidestep, only for the knight to block him.

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

Aemon's expression soured.

The knight's black hair and piercing gaze gave away his identity: Criston Cole, the newly appointed member of the Kingsguard.

"I don't need help," Aemon said firmly, folding his arms across his chest.

"Your duty is to protect the royal family, not pester them."

Without another word, he marched off, leaving the baffled knight behind.