Chapter 20: The Dragon in the City
The god's power now had a physical anchor in the mortal world. The city of Lysaro, transformed from a chaotic port into a thriving city-state, was a testament to his followers' success. Its order, its prosperity, its very existence, flowed from the channels they had created, channels that ultimately led back to him. The golden light of his domain, once confined to hidden places and secret networks, now illuminated a city, a territory, a people. But a city, he knew, was not enough. To truly shape the destiny of the Century of Blood, he needed something more. He needed faith.
The loyalty of merchants, the gratitude of refugees, the respect of soldiers—these were powerful forces, but they were not the same as the absolute, unquestioning devotion that fueled a true god. He had guided his followers to build an empire, but he had not yet taught them to build a church. He had given them power, but he had not yet given them a shared, sacred purpose beyond profit and security. It was time, he knew, to reveal himself. It was time to transform their commercial enterprise into a divine mission.
His followers had seen glimpses of his power, the whispers in their dreams, the strategic visions that had guided their every move. But they did not know his true form. They did not know the source of the voice that spoke to them in the darkness. He would show them. He would reveal himself as the dragon he truly was, the magnificent, terrifying, and awe-inspiring being that had been reborn in the ashes of Valyria. And in doing so, he would give them a new identity, a new creed, a new reason to believe.
The first step was preparation. The council, still managing the day-to-day affairs of Lysaro, were unaware of the coming revelation. They were focused on the practical matters of governance and trade. He would use their current project, the construction of a new, grand warehouse in the city's expanding port district, as the stage for his unveiling.
He guided Hesh, the master craftsman, in a series of dreams. He showed him images of Valyrian architecture, the soaring arches and impossible geometries of the Freehold's lost cities. He showed him the intricate carvings and the use of obsidian and gold to create spaces that inspired awe and reverence.
Hesh, though he did not understand the source of these visions, was inspired. He altered the plans for the new warehouse. It became more than a storage facility. It became a monument. He used the finest materials, the best artisans from Saris, and the skills of the new shipwrights to create a building that was both functional and breathtaking. Its exterior was a massive, windowless structure of black obsidian, its surface carved with subtle, serpentine patterns. Its interior was a vast, open space, its high ceiling supported by arches that seemed to defy gravity. In the centre, Hesh built a raised dais, a platform of polished gold that glowed with an inner light.
When the building was complete, it was unlike anything else in Lysaro. It was not a warehouse. It was a temple waiting for its god.
The next step was language. He needed to give his followers a way to express their devotion, a language that was both ancient and powerful. He reached into the memories he had absorbed from the fallen gods of Valyria and found it. Dovahzul, the Dragon Tongue.
He spoke to Kaelen in a dream, not with strategic whispers, but with the raw power of the Dragon Voice. He taught him the basic words: dovah (dragon), ziil (soul), fen (will), thu'um (shout, power), feim (fade), graan (devotion). He showed him how to combine these words into simple phrases of worship: Dovah ziil fen (Dragon, soul, will), Goraan fen dovah (Devotion to the will of the dragon).
Kaelen awoke with the strange, guttural syllables echoing in his mind. He did not understand their meaning, but he felt their power. He shared them with the council.
Lyra, ever the linguist, recognized their ancient origin. "This is Valyrian," she said, her voice hushed with awe. "But… different. Older. It sounds like the language of dragons."
"It is," Kaelen confirmed, his voice filled with a new, strange certainty. "It is the Dragon Tongue. It is the language of our god."
He taught them the phrases, and as they spoke the words, they felt a resonance, a power that went beyond mere meaning. They were not just words; they were the keys to a forgotten magic.
The unveiling took place on the day of the new warehouse's grand opening. The entire city was invited. The merchants, the refugees, the soldiers, the artisans—all gathered in the vast, black hall, their faces turned towards the raised, golden dais. They expected a speech about trade and prosperity. They received a revelation.
Kaelen stood on the dais, his council arrayed behind him. He began to speak, not in the common tongue, but in the guttural, powerful syllables of Dovahzul.
"Lysaro fen dovah ziil!" (Lysaro, will of the dragon's soul!)
The crowd was silent, confused. Then, Lyra stepped forward and translated.
"People of Lysaro," she said, her voice ringing through the hall. "For too long, you have lived in chaos and fear. You have sought order and found only lies. We, the Serpent Trading Company, have brought you security, prosperity, and a new hope. But our power is not our own. It comes from a source beyond this world. We are the servants of a god."
A ripple of unease spread through the crowd. Gods were dangerous things, beings to be feared and placated.
Jorah stepped forward, his voice booming with the authority of a general. "Our god is not a jealous tyrant who demands sacrifice and obedience. Our god is the source of our strength, the architect of our success. He is the reason we stand here today, the reason this city thrives."
He paused, and then spoke the Dragon Tongue words, his voice filled with a fierce devotion. "Goraan fen dovah!" (Devotion to the will of the dragon!)
Elara stepped forward, her gentle voice filled with a quiet certainty. "Our god is the healer of the wounded, the protector of the weak, the bringer of light to the darkness. He has guided us to build a city where all can prosper."
She spoke the words of power, her voice filled with a profound gratitude. "Dovah ziil fen!" (Dragon, soul, will!)
Hesh stepped forward, his craftsman's hands spread wide. "Our god is the inspiration for our art, the source of our skill, the reason we can create beauty and strength from the ashes of the world."
He spoke the words, his voice filled with a craftsman's pride. "Thu'um fen dovah!" (Power of the dragon's voice!)
Finally, Kaelen stepped forward again. He raised his hands, and the crowd fell silent.
"We have shown you our power," he said, his voice resonating with a divine authority. "Now, we will show you our god."
He closed his eyes and spoke the words of power, not as a prayer, but as a command.
"Feim zeymah!" (Fade, reveal!)
As the words left his lips, the raised dais began to glow with an intense, golden light. The light grew brighter and brighter, filling the hall, until the crowd could no longer see. Then, with a sound like the grinding of mountains, the light exploded outwards, revealing the source of its power.
Standing on the dais, bathed in golden light, was a dragon.
It was a creature of impossible majesty. Its scales were the colour of burnished gold, its eyes like molten stars. Its wings, folded at its sides, were vast and powerful. Its head was crowned with horns of black obsidian, and its teeth were like daggers. It was a creature of terror and beauty, a symbol of power and wisdom. It was the god made flesh.
The crowd gasped. Some screamed. Some fell to their knees. Some simply stared in stunned silence. They had expected a god. They had not expected this.
The dragon did not speak in the common tongue. It spoke in Dovahzul, its voice a thunderous roar that shook the very foundations of the building.
"Zu'u hin dovahkiin, fen kos nahlot!" (I am the dragon-born, with the will to conquer!)
Kaelen translated, his voice filled with a divine ecstasy. "I am your god, and I have chosen you to build my empire!"
The dragon spread its wings, and the golden light intensified, bathing the entire hall in its divine glow.
"Goraan fen mii!" the dragon roared. (Devotion to me!)
And the crowd, their fear and awe overcome by the sheer, undeniable power of the being before them, roared back in unison.
"Goraan fen dovah!" (Devotion to the will of the dragon!)
The Church of the Whispering Wyrm was born. The dragon, no longer silent, was now their living god, his will made manifest in the form of the Serpent Trading Company. The five, his first followers, were now his prophets, his apostles, his voice in the mortal world. Lysaro was no longer just their city; it was their holy capital, the first stone in a new empire built on faith and fire.
The god felt the surge of devotion from his followers, the pure, untainted belief in his power and his purpose. It was a faith unlike any he had felt before, a faith born not of desperation or fear, but of awe and inspiration. It was the faith of dragon-worshippers, the faith of conquerors.
His domain responded. The golden light intensified, pushing back the darkness even further. The Great Tree at the heart of his power shed its final, mortal form, transforming into a pure, radiant being of golden energy, a living embodiment of his will. The age of whispers was over. The age of the dragon had begun.