The great hall of Dragonstone was dimly lit, the heavy scent of incense hanging in the air. The only light came from the flickering flames of black candles, casting shadows that danced upon the stone walls. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation.

Gaemma stood before the altar, her silver-gold hair cascading down her shoulders, her violet eyes intense but hidden behind a veil only exposing her forehead and mouth Her brother, stood beside her.

A priestess, draped in dark robes with a silver serpent crest upon her chest, began chanting softly in the Old Valyrian tongue. The words were foreign and alien, yet they seemed to reverberate in the very stones beneath their feet. The priestess moved closer, holding a ceremonial knife that gleamed with a cold, deadly light.

Gaemma’s gaze never wavered from her brother’s face as the priestess stepped forward and made the first incision, slicing open her palm with precision, then her lower lip, She painted a streak of blood on her forehead. She did the same for her brother, and they reached out, their blood mingling as their hands were pressed together. A sharp sting flared in her palm, but she only squeezed his hand harder.

Gaemma said her vow while holding his hand tight, promising to continue the glory of Valyria. Her gaze on him through the fabric over her eyes. She waited for him to say his words as she felt her warm blood run down her lip down her mouth.