"Roar…"
As soon as the words fell, a deep growl rumbled from the empty shadows.
Aemond widened his eyes, unwilling to miss a single moment.
The sound of scales scraping against the ground ceased, and a surge of hot, sulfuric air gushed forth.
Aemond quickly looked up, locking onto the source of the air current, and shouted loudly, "Vhagar, I'm here!"
The platform rumbled and shook as the sound of claws piercing into the rock echoed.
Aemond's face flushed with excitement, his heartbeat accelerating uncontrollably.
The next second—
"Shriek!!"
A thunderous dragon roar reverberated through the cavern, followed by a surge of golden dragonfire erupting like a volcanic explosion.
The flames burned hot and bright, illuminating the entire underground platform as if it were daylight.
Aemond let out a startled cry, throwing his cloak over his back in an attempt to shield himself from the heat.
The dragonfire roared endlessly, sweeping through the underground cave like autumn winds scattering fallen leaves, turning the space into a sea of gold.
From within the inferno, a massive dragon head emerged from the cavern, lifting its maw skyward and letting out a deafening roar.
Bronze-colored scales, a thick crown of horns, and terrifying, menacing vertical pupils…
Every fierce trait combined into one being, leaving no doubt—this was a fully grown, savage dragon!
"Vhagar…"
Aemond whispered the name, involuntarily taking a step back.
By the light of the golden flames, he could finally see the beast in its entirety.
It was even more wild and fearsome than he had imagined, like a god of fury incarnate.
Soon, the flames subsided.
Vhagar shook its massive head, and its colossal body slowly emerged from the shadows.
A long, scale-covered neck, broad brown wings, and razor-sharp claws as thick as stone pillars…
Aemond caught just a glimpse, yet he was utterly captivated by the sheer size and power of the dragon, a true war machine.
"Gulp…"
Aemond swallowed hard, his hand trembling as he reached forward, gritting his teeth. "Vhagar, let me ride your back!"
His eyes never wavered from the bronze beast before him, boldly locking onto those ruthless, vertical pupils.
"Roar…"
Vhagar's massive throat rumbled, letting out a deep growl.
It slowly rose on its feet, spreading its enormous wings wide, its armored body climbing onto the platform.
It didn't even spare the silver-haired boy before it a glance.
"Vhagar, look at me!"
Aemond, growing anxious, stomped his foot and ran in front of the dragon, shaking a torch to grab its attention.
Vhagar lowered its monstrous head, those vertical pupils fixating on the insignificant creature daring to stand in its way, bloodlust surging in its gaze.
"Vhagar!"
Aemond, oblivious to the impending danger, continued to stare ahead, filled with anticipation.
"Roar…"
Vhagar had had enough of this insolent whelp. A cruel smirk curled at the corners of its maw as golden flames churned in its throat.
It was in a terrible mood—no, an absolutely foul one.
A few days ago, a rogue dragon had trespassed upon the Dragonmount, disturbing its slumber.
After finally driving the intruder away, the dreaded cannibal dragon had returned to Dragonstone.
Even from across the entire mountain, Vhagar could still smell the stench of devoured kin.
A violent glint flickered in its eyes as it aimed its maw at the silver-haired boy, flames surging, ready to erupt.
Only now did Aemond realize the danger, crying out in panic, "No! No dragonfire!"
"Roar…"
But why would Vhagar heed his words? The dragonfire raged within its throat, moments from release.
"No, no, no!"
Aemond stumbled backward in terror, desperately trying to think.
At the last moment, he suddenly recalled the treasure his elder brother Rhaegar had given him.
Frantically, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a stone plaque, raising it high as he shouted with all his strength, "Be still!"
He spoke in High Valyrian, commanding calm and stillness.
Clatter!
At that moment, the dragonkeepers and guards rushed to the cavern entrance, their faces frozen in fear at the sight before them.
Vhagar understood the meaning behind the command, its gaze shifting to the bloodstained runes on the plaque. The raging storm in its mind momentarily subsided, granting it a fleeting sense of clarity.
But the dragonfire, once summoned, could not be undone.
In Aemond's terrified gaze, golden flames burst forth.
"Shriek!!"
At the final moment, Vhagar twisted its head, redirecting the blast toward the cavern entrance. The torrent of fire surged forward in an instant.
"Aah!!…"
The dragonkeepers barely had time to scream before they, along with the guards, were engulfed in flames, reduced to charred remains.
Boom!
Having vented its fury, Vhagar let out another thunderous roar, spreading its massive wings and moving swiftly.
It had caught the scent of the cannibal dragon's stench—it was nearby.
This was its territory. It needed to send a warning.
"No! Vhagar, don't leave!"
Watching the bronze beast crawl out of the cavern, Aemond refused to let go. Without thinking, he grabbed onto its thick tail.
The tail was covered in rough scales, and Aemond clung on desperately as Vhagar, in its rampage, carried him out of the cave.
In an instant, they vanished into the darkness.
…
The Watchtower, Underground Chamber.
Rhaegar sat in deep thought, his gaze lowered, his mind restless.
Three years ago, he and his father had quarreled many times over the matter of land grants, and in defiance, he had moved to Harrenhal.
At the time, Harrenhal was in ruins and desperately needed manpower.
He had transferred most of his loyal men from King's Landing, leaving behind only the eight hundred dragon guards stationed in the Dragonpit and a few intelligence agents from the Syrax network.
At present, Xiluo was in Volantis. His influence in King's Landing was far too weak, and he needed to strengthen it as soon as possible.
"Storm's End, Meros, Larys..."
One by one, he silently mouthed the names, his eyes flickering with thought.
Clang!
A sudden strike rang out, snapping him back from his wandering thoughts.
Rhaegar focused his gaze and saw the old blacksmith retrieving a pitch-black dragonbone from the furnace. He placed it against the quenched blade and struck it with a hammer.
The old blacksmith's craftsmanship was beyond doubt. The longsword's structure was intricately designed, and with that strike, all its parts seamlessly connected.
"My lord, your sword!"
With a solemn expression, the old blacksmith held out the newly forged Valyrian steel sword with both hands.
Rhaegar straightened his posture and carefully examined the sword.
This blade was unlike any Valyrian steel sword he had ever seen.
The entire blade was pitch-black, interwoven with fine silver ripples, resembling a star-strewn night sky.
The crossguard was forged from meteoric iron, gleaming darkly.
On either side, it mimicked the appearance of Blackfyre, sculpted into two ferocious dragon heads in the image of the Devourer, each adorned with four tiny emeralds, no larger than grains of rice, set into their eyes.
The hilt was crafted from pitch-black dragonbone, cut from the hardest leg bone of Balerion's remains.
Over a foot long, the dragonbone hilt was polished into segments like bamboo, with a carved ring in the middle to prevent it from slipping from the hand.
At the end of the hilt was a large, octagonal, crimson gemstone—the Flaming Heart—roughly the size of an infant's fist.
Its overall design bore a striking resemblance to the ancestral sword Blackfyre, featuring a dragon-head crossguard and an embedded ruby.
Even the blade of Blackfyre, scorched by Balerion's flames, shimmered with a dark luster, making the two swords appear even more alike.
Yet, in the end, they were not the same.
Blackfyre's blade was broader, its hilt shorter, and its ruby had long been removed, replaced with a six-pointed star symbolizing the Faith of the Seven.
The new sword's blade was slightly narrower, and its pure black hue was utterly unique.
Clang!
Rhaegar flicked the blade with his finger. A crisp, resonant hum echoed as the delicate ripples on the blade shimmered like flowing water.
"A fine sword!"
Rhaegar praised, gripping the dragonbone hilt with one hand.
At his touch, the rough, sanded texture exuded a faint warmth—heavy yet sharp.
Thinking of the Dragonclaw that had been taken by a wild dragon, Rhaegar gently ran his fingers along the blade and murmured, "House Targaryen already holds the symbols of kingship, guardianship, and valor. What it lacks is a sword of conquest."
The old blacksmith spoke at the perfect moment. "My lord, please give the sword a name."
Rhaegar chuckled. He had long decided on its name.
Glancing at the roaring flames of the forge, his violet eyes reflected the firelight as he whispered, "Born of blood and fire… It shall be called Trueflame."
"My lord, I have prepared a bowl of basilisk blood to anoint the sword's edge."
With hooded eyes, the old blacksmith signaled to a young apprentice, who brought forward a small basin filled with thick, greenish blood.
Rhaegar withdrew his gaze and said solemnly, "No need. Tonight, there will be no shortage of blood and fire."
With that, he raised his arm, and Trueflame traced a half-moon arc in the air.
Whoosh!
The Flaming Heart at the sword's hilt burst into a fiery glow. Flames ignited along the pitch-black blade, flickering for an instant in the darkness.
With the Flaming Heart embedded, Trueflame had already become a half-enchanted weapon, drawing upon the magic in Rhaegar's blood.
Creak.
Pushing open the wooden door, Rhaegar stepped out, sword in hand.
As he emerged from the watchtower, the night sky was shrouded in thick clouds, obscuring the moon—a perfect night for killing.
—
Dragonmount.
"Hurry inside! This is where Vermithor sleeps!"
After rushing the entire way, the sweat-drenched Viserys arrived at the mouth of the deep stone cave, his voice hoarse as he ordered the Dragonguard to enter and search.
His body was utterly weak.
After merely an hour of running, he was dizzy, his lungs felt as if they were about to burst, and the gashes covering his body made every movement agony.
Sweat poured down his body like salt on open wounds, and with each step, the pain only intensified. His white silk nightrobe was already stained crimson down the back.
The Dragonguard immediately moved, holding torches as they ventured into the cave.
Viserys collapsed onto the ground, desperately swallowing his saliva to moisten his parched throat.
Hiss—GAAAH!!
Suddenly, a thunderous dragon roar echoed from within the cave, shaking the night air. It was swiftly followed by the bloodcurdling screams of the Dragonguard.
"Damn it." Viserys paled at the sound, forcing himself to stand.
The surrounding Dragonguard quickly formed a tight defensive circle around their king, standing shoulder to shoulder in layers of protection.
Forty-seven men in total, clustered together like a blazing bonfire in the darkness.
RUMBLE!
From deep within the cave came the sound of heavy impacts—something massive was crashing its way forward.
Viserys clenched his jaw, steeling himself with the resolve of a true king, and commanded, "Fall back! There's a dragon inside!"
ROOOAR…
No sooner had he spoken than a monstrous, house-sized dragon head emerged from the cave, followed by its sinuous neck, massive wings, and titanic body.
Its bronze-hued scales gleamed like darkened gold, and under the night sky, it loomed like a mountain of metal.
At the sight of the colossal beast, Viserys' pupils contracted, and he gasped, "Vermithor!"
This was the dragon of his grandfather, King Jaehaerys I, a beast that had once won great victories for House Targaryen.
By the flickering torchlight, he could see the dragon's body bore countless scars from swords and axes—a testament to the many battles it had survived.
With a few mighty strides, Vermithor lumbered out of the cave, lifting its head proudly as its slit-like pupils scanned the people below.
Its gaze swept across the gathering, barely pausing—until it landed on one disheveled figure with silver-gold hair.
For a fleeting moment, it hesitated.
In that instant, Viserys' heart skipped a beat. Acting on instinct, he raised his hand high and bellowed with all his might:
"Vermithor! Look upon your king!!"
(End of chapter)