Year 283 AC, Braavos
The sea was calm that morning when the ship carrying the last Targaryens reached Braavos.
Salt wind swept across the deck, carrying the faint cries of gulls and the smell of the Titan's shadow.
Queen Rhaella Targaryen stood wrapped in a worn cloak, pale and trembling, her silver hair dull under the weak sun.
Beside her were three children — her eldest, Viserys, barely eight; the twins, Daemon and Daenerys, still swaddled in thin blankets.
Rhaella looked down at them, her tired eyes softening. "My dragons," she whispered, voice hoarse from sickness and sleepless nights.
She had lost a kingdom, a husband, a crown — but not them. They were her last reason to live.
Behind her, Ser Willem Darry, loyal even in exile, bowed his head to her.
"Your Grace, we'll be safe here. The Braavosi owe me some old debts," he said, though his tone lacked conviction.
Rhaella only nodded. Safety was an illusion she no longer believed in.
---
Year 285 AC, Braavos
The twins grew quickly.
Daemon ran barefoot through narrow alleys, chasing the stray cats of the dockyards.
He laughed often — a sound that reminded Rhaella of another Daemon, the Rogue Prince, whose name she had given her son to honor and perhaps defy fate.
He was strong for his age — frighteningly so.
Once, when a Braavosi boy tried to steal his sister's toy, Daemon pushed him back with one hand, sending the boy sprawling into the mud.
The boy's nose broke, blood flowing freely.
Rhaella scolded him for it, but later, when no one saw, she held him tight. "My brave boy," she murmured.
Viserys, meanwhile, had begun to change.
He looked at their small rented house and saw only failure.
He spoke of the Iron Throne, of their birthright, of how "Robert the Usurper" had stolen everything from them.
Daemon listened in silence, not understanding the words but feeling the bitterness in his brother's voice.
Even as a child, he sensed that Viserys's anger hid fear.
---
Year 287 AC, Braavos
Ser Willem Darry's coughing grew worse.
By midyear, he could no longer stand. His hands shook, his voice weakened, but he refused to stop protecting them.
When he died that winter, it was quiet — no fanfare, no banners.
Rhaella wept silently as she wrapped his body in linen.
Afterward, the Braavosi men who once owed Darry favors turned away.
Without him, the Targaryens were just beggars with silver hair.
They left Braavos soon after, moving from one Free City to another — Myr, Tyrosh, Volantis — always fleeing whispers of Robert's assassins, always one step ahead of poverty.
---
Years 288–294 AC, Across Essos
The children learned to live without comfort.
Daemon grew tall and strong despite the hunger. His shoulders hardened, his hands became rough from labor.
He protected his sister from the eyes of cruel men and crueler merchants.
Daenerys grew into a shy, gentle girl, clinging to her twin whenever fear struck.
To her, Daemon was not just a brother — he was warmth in a cold world.
Viserys became something else entirely.
He spoke of dragons and crowns, but his hands trembled when danger came close.
He struck Daenerys once, calling her "the dragon's whore," when she questioned him.
Daemon had stepped between them, his eyes cold, his small fists clenched — and for a brief moment, Viserys backed away.
Queen Rhaella saw it all but lacked the strength to stop it.
Her illness worsened with each passing year. The nights were filled with coughing fits and fever dreams.
She would wake calling for Aerys, then cry softly when she remembered where she was.
Still, she tried to smile for her children.
At times, she would sit by the fire and tell Daenerys stories of Old Valyria — of dragons that ruled the skies and kings who never feared fire.
Daemon would sit beside her, listening quietly, feeling something stir deep within his chest — something ancient and familiar, though he could not name it.
---
Year 295 AC, Pentos
The house they rented was small, the air thick with sickness.
Rhaella lay on her bed, her breath shallow, her skin cold and damp.
Daemon sat beside her, holding her frail hand.
She smiled weakly at him. "My brave boy… do not weep for me."
"I'm not crying," he said, though tears burned in his eyes.
"You were always strong," she whispered. "You and your sister… you are my light in the dark."
She coughed, the sound tearing through her thin frame. "You must look after her. Promise me."
"I promise," Daemon whispered.
Viserys stood in the corner, pacing restlessly. "We can't stay here. The usurper's men might come. We need ships, gold—"
"Enough," Rhaella rasped, cutting him off. "You are a Targaryen. Act like one."
He fell silent, ashamed — though the shame quickly turned to bitterness.
Moments later, she turned her gaze back to Daemon.
"You were named for a dragon — fierce and proud. But even dragons must learn pain before they fly."
Her hand slipped from his.
Her eyes, still open, lost their light.
Daemon froze. For a long time, he didn't move.
The room was silent except for the soft crackle of the fire.
Then the tears came — heavy, uncontrollable, endless.
Daenerys wept too, clinging to him, her sobs shaking her small frame.
Viserys left the room without a word.
---
That night, Daemon sat alone beside the bed.
His mother's body was cold, her silver hair spread like moonlight across the pillow.
Something inside him broke — not just grief, but a sense of loss far greater than one life could explain.
And then… a voice, not heard but felt, whispered through his mind.
A flood of memories crashed over him — flashes of another life.
Concrete streets.
The sound of cars.
A small apartment filled with the smell of cheap food and rain.
An office, bright and cruel, where he worked like a slave.
The blinding lights of a truck.
The pain of dying — and the regret that came with it.
He gasped. His hands trembled.
No… this isn't possible.
But it was.
He remembered everything. His name. His death. His past.
He remembered wishing for another life — and here it was.
In that moment, the air around him grew still. The firelight flickered, shadows dancing across his face.
And then, in the silence of his mind, words appeared — clear and cold.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZED]
[User: Daemon Targaryen II]
[Bloodline: Valyrian Royal Line – Pure]
[Abilities Unlocked:]
- Enhanced Valyrian Physique
- Fire Immunity
- Dragon Domination
- Soul Immortality
[New Feature: Loyalty Scan]
He stared at the invisible text, feeling his heart race.
It faded after a few seconds, but the truth remained — he was no longer just a child.
Daemon wiped his tears. His grief burned away, leaving something sharper behind.
The boy who wept for his mother was gone.
In his place sat a dragon — reborn in flesh and memory.
He whispered softly, his voice steady now, eyes reflecting the dying firelight.
"Thank you, Mother. I'll never be weak again."