Viserys sat silently in the high-backed chair of his estate within the Ember Ward.
A lot had happened since he arrived in this world.
Too much, really. Day by day, the memories and identities of two men—Matthew, the disillusioned soul from Earth, and Viserys Targaryen, the exiled prince—began to blend and twist into one. Now, he was both. And somehow… more.
Matthew was Viserys.
And Viserys was Matthew.
The so-called goddess who brought him here was likely the same one who killed him back on Earth. No doubt it was all just a cruel game to her—snuffing out one life, only to toss him into another for her amusement.
He didn't care.
If anything, she had given him a second chance. A better life. One with fire in his veins and power within his grasp.
But pride was a heavy thing. Even as he accepted this new world, part of him refused to forget what was stolen. One day, he would make her regret playing with him.
But not today.
Today, he had more mortal matters to deal with.
⸻
He had sent Jorah to Westeros, tasked with escorting Talisa to her rightful place. In the original timeline, she eventually became Queen in the North. If fate repeated itself, she would owe him a debt—and in the future, that debt could be called upon, a crucial alliance when the time came to reclaim Westeros.
Jorah carried with him more than just a sword.
He carried a letter. One written to Varys, the Spider.
Varys had been a Targaryen loyalist once. Or at least, he played the part. But Viserys wasn't foolish. He remembered clearly what Varys had said: "I don't serve the king or the queen. I serve the realm."
A traitor's words.
He had conspired to kill Daenerys the moment he believed someone better had come along. In his defense, Daenerys did burn King's Landing to ash. But war was war. Fire and blood were never clean.
And Viserys?
He planned to be far worse than Daenerys could ever dream.
This city would be the beginning of it all.
He stood and stepped out onto the marble balcony, staring out at the darkened city bathed in the glow of a thousand lanterns. But his eyes fixed on one place in particular.
The Great Red Temple—The Temple of the Lord of Light.
⸻
The structure dominated the skyline. Pillars, steps, towers, domes, and buttresses flowed into one another as if carved from a single mountain of fire-colored stone. Crimson, gold, orange, and deep maroon hues danced along its walls, and a brazier burned eternally at its peak.
It was said to be three times the size of the Great Sept of Baelor.
It was guarded by its own army—the Fiery Hand, slave-soldiers pledged to R'hllor.
Many distrusted the Red God, even though He was the only one to prove Himself time and time again. That meant nothing to Viserys.
What mattered was power.
The Red Priests could perform blood magic—dark, ancient, and sacred. Some among them could raise the dead. If they could do that… could they not also bring back dragons?
Viserys intended to find out.
⸻
The Next Morning
Viserys stood before the Temple of the Lord of Light.
He was clad in a high-collared black coat lined with Valyrian silk, red thread woven within like flickering fire. A silver clasp in the shape of the three-headed dragon marked his shoulder. His dragonhide boots gleamed in the morning sun, and the sword Blackfyre hung at his side, regal and silent.
The Red Temple loomed above him—massive, unyielding, crowned by the eternal flame.
This was where the fire had burned since the Doom of Valyria.
And here Viserys walked, flanked by two Praetorian guards in masked helms and crimson half-cloaks.
Jorah was already gone.
Illyrio remained at the estate.
Daenerys… kept under heavy guard.
The doors groaned open.
Inside, crimson and gold firelight cast dancing shadows along the ancient stone walls. Incense swirled like phantom spirits. Dozens of devotees knelt before sacred flames, humming in low chants that echoed like the temple's own heartbeat.
And there—before one of the altars—stood a woman.
She had dark, flowing hair and fine, elegant features. He recognized her instantly: Kinvara, the High Priestess who once helped Tyrion keep peace in Meereen. She had believed Daenerys to be Azor Ahai reborn.
He approached her. She turned, her eyes sharp and curious.
"High Priestess Kinvara," Viserys said with a respectful nod. "Forgive me for interrupting your sacred prayers. I—"
"I know who you are," she interrupted calmly. "It would be difficult not to. You wear your house like armor—Viserys of House Targaryen. What is it you seek from me?"
She stepped closer. Much closer than most would dare.
Viserys towered above her—nearly 6'7. The priestess had to crane her neck to meet his gaze.
"Since my arrival in this city, I've heard many things about your Lord of Light."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Good things? Or bad?"
"Both," he replied. "But I've also heard of the miracles… the blood magic your order wields."
Kinvara replied smoothly, "We do not perform miracles. The Lord of Light does."
"Whether it's the Lord Himself or one of His priests is of no concern to me," Viserys said. "What matters is the magic itself. Ancient Valyrians used blood magic to create dragons. In my own family's legends, it is said the first Targaryens used it to bond dragons to their blood."
"They may be legends," he continued, "but I believe there's truth in them. I know blood magic is real. So, High Priestess… I have a request."
She raised an eyebrow. "And what is it?"
"Help me bring dragons back into the world."
She laughed—a low, amused sound.
"You're not the first of your line to make such a request," she said. "I remember your great-grandfather. He invited a Red Priest to witness his egg-hatching ritual at Summerhall. I'm sure you know how that ended."
"Yes," Viserys replied coldly. "They all died. A tragedy for House Targaryen. But I am not them. They weren't dragons. I am. I've seen it. Visions. Flames. Power. Some god—yours or another—granted me this life. I can feel it. They want me to bring forth a new age. An age of dragons."
Kinvara's expression darkened. "You say you've seen visions? And that you were… granted power?"
Viserys nodded. Then he snapped his fingers.
In less than a second, three guards appeared out of thin air.
Kinvara's eyes widened. The doubt in her face vanished instantly, replaced by awe.
"H-How…?"
"I can show you more," he said, stepping forward. "But first, swear to help me."
There was a pause. Then slowly, Kinvara nodded.
"…Very well. Yes. I will help you."
A chime echoed in his mind.
A translucent blue panel appeared before his eyes, unseen by anyone else.
⸻
=== Quest Received ===
Heir of the Flames
Objective: Awaken the dormant dragon eggs and restore the legacy of House Targaryen by bringing true dragons into the world.
Details:
You, Viserys Targaryen, have embarked on a quest that few would dare dream of. To awaken the dragon eggs in your possession, you must perform a ritual of fire and blood—an ancient Valyrian rite steeped in power, sacrifice, and faith.
Ritual Requirements:
• Ritual Site: Sacred or power-infused location.
• Blood Glyphs: Painted around the pyre in enchanted blood.
• Blood Sacrifice: A powerful soul (or many lesser ones).
• Chanting: Led by a Red Priest.
• Pyre Ignition: Egg placed in the center, flames kindled with sacred oils.
• Flame Endurance: You must step into the fire and survive. Embrace the egg. Offer your strength. Sacrifice a number of your dragon points to awaken the dragon within.
Rewards:
• Dragon Hatchlings ×3 – Loyal to you as their parent.
• Title – Dragon King – Enhanced reputation, fire resistance, ???.
• 35,000 Dragons Points
• New Stat Unlocked: Mana
Penalties for Failure:
• Severe injury or death.
• Loss of dragon eggs.
• Kinvara, Jorah, and Illyrio's support revoked.
• Title Gained: False Heir – Reputation penalty. Harder to gain allies.
⸻
Viserys smiled.
The age of dragons will rise again.