The Red Dragon
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29. The First Creation
🕑 Added 2025-06-04 18:07:59 +0000 UTCBloodstone, Stepstones
“Well, don’t keep me waiting, boy. Say something—did it work? Did you succeed?” Daemon asked impatiently.
His father, on the other hand, was gazing at the dragonglass with fascination, wonder, and growing interest.
“Do you not see the color of the dragonglass is different than when I brought it in? Have you not noticed that it was black before?” Laenor replied incredulously. Perhaps Daemon had slept through the ritual—any man who watched it happen wouldn’t be asking such questions. One glance at the ashes of the three bodies, with no scorch marks or stench of burning flesh in the enclosed cave, should have told any sane man that something unnatural had occurred here.
“If the changing color of things is proof of magic, then am I to presume sorcerers have been living in Flea Bottom right under my nose? Maybe I should return to King’s Landing and enlighten my brother the king. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to meet these spellcasters,” Daemon whispered with a dramatic flair, his tone shifting to mock surprise and indignation.
Laenor caught the twitch at the corner of his father’s mouth—he was amused.
“Very well, Prince Daemon. It seems you want to hear it from my own lips. Yes, it worked,” Laenor said. “Do you see the color change? That alone isn’t magic—not until it happens without dye or brush, from a distance, while watching three men turn to ash without fire. Not a single bone remains. That’s not something even a grown dragon could do—dragonfire leaves bones unless you command it to burn over and over again.
“And the blood—did you see it vanish into the dragonglass, like a dying man in a desert finding water after days without drink? All of this—the blood absorption, the clean, complete disintegration of flesh without flame, the untouched earth, and the dragonglass now glowing crimson-black with power—these are all signs of a successful blood sacrifice.
“And the fact that the dragonglass is intact and humming with energy means that we, Prince Daemon, you, I, and my lord father, have taken the first step toward reviving the dying flame that is magic.”
Laenor finished with a proud grin and an amused gleam in his eyes, watching Daemon closely.
“You could’ve spared me your explanation and just said ‘It was,’” Daemon muttered, his voice low, expression unreadable. “I’ve killed men for less. Patience is not a virtue I claim.”
“Aye, you might have. But those were lesser men,” Laenor replied with a smirk. “And I am not one of them.”
“That, they were. Andals,” Daemon said with a scoff. He looked at the dragonglass, then at Laenor, then back again. A wide grin broke across his face, and with a few long strides, he pulled Laenor into a hug, lifting him clean off the ground.
Daemon was taller, but Laenor was growing, and he felt sure he would surpass the Prince one day.
“But you and I—we’re not like them,” Daemon whispered in the embrace, his voice thick with emotion. “And you proved that today. You brought back something I thought we had lost forever, something I feared would never return.”
“Sentimental Prince Daemon… and here I thought I’d seen it all,” Laenor’s father murmured with a small smile.
Daemon released him with a smirk and strode toward the dragonglass, ignoring the jibe.
“Magnificent,” he breathed. “It looks like an active black volcano, breathing rivers of crimson fire. And they call this art dark? Say magic is evil? Fools of lesser stock. They’ll never see or feel what we do. I’d wager ten gold dragons that even the grey rats of Oldtown, in all their ‘wisdom’, couldn’t deny how awe-inspiring this is.”
His tone was reverent, like a man standing before a holy relic. Daemon didn’t care for the division of magic into “light” or “dark.” Like Laenor, he adored the raw power—the ability to bend reality.
Laenor shared the same thrill. It wasn’t their fault they were born in a world where magic demanded blood or the souls of men. Because Laenor doesn’t know which of them tames this chaotic magic around them, yet. But maybe with this war providing him with resources whenever he would need to experiment with, Laenor would gain further insight into why only blood magic and dragon eggs could interact with magic without destroying themselves..
“How much time would you need,” Daemon asked, turning from the dragonglass, “to make the thing that can test if someone’s blood contains magic?”
“I can make it here and now,” Laenor replied, “but I’ll need your help cutting this dragonglass, cleanly—from here…” He pointed, “…to here. Use Dark Sister, Prince. Make it clean.”
Laenor stepped back as Daemon unsheathed the Valyrian steel blade. With practiced ease, Daemon sliced through the dragonglass like a hot knife through butter.
He looked at Laenor, and Laenor gave an approving nod.
Moving to the newly cut piece, Laenor took out his own Valyrian steel dagger and began carving, his hand as precise and delicate as a jeweler’s. He became so absorbed in his work, he didn’t even notice when Daemon and his father quietly left the cave.
The device took the shape of an egg sliced in half. Its flat surface—where Daemon had made the clean cut—was glass-smooth. Laenor carefully bored a hole the size of a small inkpot into it—this was where the blood would be poured.
The runic array he etched had a simple purpose: it would absorb seven drops of blood, extract any latent magic, and channel that into a second, simpler array whose only function was to ignite flame.
The strength of the flame would reveal the potency of magic in the blood.
The stronger the fire—the stronger the magic.
This was Laenor’s first magical device in this world that would last more than a few seconds, so naturally, he felt it deserved a name. Calling it “the thing to test magic” simply wouldn’t do. He considered many possibilities, but most names that came to mind were too complex—and this device, he felt, was something basic. With enough practice in runecraft, any man could create it. It needed a name, simple and fitting.
As Laenor stepped out of the cave, his brow furrowed in thought, a sudden idea struck him. Why not name it after the place it was created?
The more he considered it, the more it made sense. So, without much further thought, Laenor named the dragonglass device Bloodstone. His very first creation.
Laenor found his father and Prince Daemon sitting on a boulder near Caraxes, gazing silently at the silver-lit sea under the ethereal moonlight. The sea shimmered with ghostly beauty. Caraxes stirred the moment Laenor approached—not at the sight of the him, but at the object in his hand. The Blood Wyrm rose on his hind legs and grunted, sniffing the air with slow, deliberate intent. Laenor noticed that the dragon was not sniffing him—but the Bloodstone.
And then Caraxes purred.
Laenor raised an eyebrow at the dragon, then glanced at Prince Daemon, who merely shrugged, as if to say “don’t ask me.”
Ignoring the dragon’s interest, Laenor approached and presented the Bloodstone to his father and Daemon.
“This is Bloodstone,” Laenor said with a smile. “A magical device that detects and measures the presence and potency of magic in one’s blood.”
He explained its construction and use—how it required exactly seven drops of blood, which it would absorb, and how the absorbed magic would activate a runic array to light a small fire. The intensity of the flame would determine the strength of magic in the blood.
His father asked the first question.
“What happens if someone’s blood doesn’t contain magic? Will the blood remain on the surface, or will it be absorbed, but no fire lit?”
“If it’s absorbed and there is no fire,” Laenor answered, “then the blood contains no magic—or so little that it’s useless.”
“Corlys,” Daemon interrupted impatiently, raising his hand. “You can ask your endless questions later. I can’t wait anymore.”
He had already unsheathed a dagger and was preparing to draw blood.
“Wait, Daemon,” Corlys interjected, earning a sharp look from the prince. “I think Laenor should go first. That way, we’ll know for certain that the device is functioning as intended.”
Daemon sighed in frustration but relented, stepping back.
Without hesitation, Laenor pricked the tip of his index finger with the point of his Valyrian steel dagger. The metal bit cleanly, and blood welled up quickly. He allowed the drops to fall into the hollow on the Bloodstone’s surface.
The runes shimmered to life.
A heartbeat later, a narrow, one-foot-tall flame of blue fire erupted from the device. It burned fiercely for half a minute before fading.
Daemon, Corlys, and even Caraxes watched in awe. The fire had been clean, intense, and controlled.
Daemon strode forward, raising an eyebrow at Laenor in silent question. Laenor nodded for him to proceed.
Daemon cut his palm with his own dagger and let his blood drip into the Bloodstone. Once seven drops were absorbed, the device activated again.
This time, the fire was different.
A blood-red flame erupted—darker than Laenor’s and nearly a quarter of the size—but wild, volatile, and intense. It crackled and hissed, as if lashing out with rage and defiance. It seemed almost alive.
Laenor nearly dropped his dagger when Caraxes suddenly let out a thunderous roar beside him.
But it wasn’t the Bloodstone that had provoked the dragon—it was Daemon.
The prince was laughing. Laughing with unrestrained joy, eyes gleaming with wonder and triumph.
“Did you see that?” he exclaimed. “House Targaryen has not lost its magic. I have magic. My blood holds magic! I always knew it! Even when our dragons grew smaller, even when others doubted, I never stopped believing.”
Daemon turned to Laenor and pulled him into a tight embrace once more.
“You, boy, are a blessing from the Fourteen Flames,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “You know your mother and father are proud of you. But know this—if your grandfather, Prince Aemon, had lived, he would have been proud beyond words. The gods were cruel to House Targaryen in my grandsire’s reign… but now…”
He released Laenor, eyes burning with fire. “I thank you, Laenor. Truly. You have given me what I desired since I was a boy—magic. The power that sets us apart from the rest. For that, I, Daemon Targaryen, vow this: you will always have my support and my dragon’s. Should you ever call for me, I will come. You have my word.”
“You honor me, Prince Daemon,” Laenor replied, humbled. “But I have not given you anything. The magic was always in your blood. The Bloodstone merely revealed what was already there.”
“None of that ‘Prince’ crap,” Daemon said with a grin. “Call me Daemon. You’ve earned it. We’re family, aren’t we? No need for courtly stuff between us.”
Then, turning to Corlys, he smirked.
“Well? What are you waiting for, old man? Let’s see if the ‘Old’ in your house’s words means something more than just your age—or has all of House Velaryon’s magic found its way into your son?”
