Aerys Aurelyon's mother had died when he was only ten. The Emperor had sent the healer Baelus to watch over her, but he had arrived too late. Later, Aerys learned the truth: she had been poisoned. A subtle, hidden venom, undetectable until death came.
Aerys himself had tasted it. He survived only because he ate sparingly and the healer secretly administered elixirs. After that, it was Ighoras, the loyal guard, who prepared every meal and watched over him.
Every morning, Ighoras rose before dawn to train before tending to Aerys. At first, Aerys had watched in secret. Eventually, it became routine. Though spying on another's training was forbidden, Ighoras said nothing. He had too much compassion for the boy denied even the chance to learn.
That morning, Ighoras was still sharpening his sword techniques.
Aerys watched him, a weight settling in his chest.
Soon… the Academy. Once I enter, I will lose this shadow of protection.
A doubt passed through him.
If only I had learned even a fraction of his arts…
Then the Ancient Voice stirred in his mind.
— "Do you want me to imprint his movements upon you?"
Aerys froze.
— "You… you can read his motions?"
— "Essence flows through every gesture. What the eye observes, I can mark in symbols and inscribe upon your breath."
His heart raced.
— "You mean… I could wield the sword?"
— "If you accept it, yes. I can gift you the echo of his techniques."
Time pressed. In mere hours, he would cross the Academy's gates. To survive, he had to choose.
— "Do it."
The Voice resonated stronger.
— "Watch. Let your eyes feast upon his movements."
Aerys studied Ighoras for long minutes. Each wrist rotation, each dagger flick, each synchronized breath burned itself into his mind. Silhouettes of light formed, like a thousand spectral Ighorases dancing within him.
Finally, the Voice spoke:
— "The echo is ready. Will you engrave it within yourself?"
A searing bolt struck his mind. Aerys staggered, vertigo consuming him. And suddenly, clarity: he knew the guard's stance, the fluidity of the wrist, the rhythm of the footwork.
He closed the window, positioned himself in the center of his chamber, and mimicked the gestures. His arms moved with the ease of Ighoras himself, twenty years of training surging through his body as if they had always been there.
He stopped, gasping, amber eyes wide with wonder.
— "I… I did it…"
Then pain ripped through him. Muscles screamed as if torn by invisible chains.
— "Your body is not yet forged to bear this knowledge. You imitate the river without having carved its bed."
Aerys fell to his knees, breath ragged.
— "Then… what must I do?"
— "Your body must follow your mind, Let me shape it, twist and strengthen it to bear the weight of these motions. But know this… it will come with pain."
Aerys clenched his fists.
— "If that is the price… I accept it."
A thunder rumbled through his body. Muscles tensed as if glowing red-hot; bones vibrated under the pressure. He tried to scream, but only a strangled gasp emerged. Flaming runes danced in his mind, hammering at his being.
The Voice softened.
— "Endure, child of Aurelyon. If the pain consumes you, I will plunge you into sleep."
The world blurred. His eyes rolled, his body contorted in unbearable agony… then darkness engulfed him, dragging him into deep silence