Shadow of the Dragon
ARC 1 – The Hidden Prince
Chapter 1 – Rebirth in Dragonstone
Storm clouds gathered above the jagged towers of Dragonstone.
The ancient fortress stood like a black crown upon the volcanic island, its twisted towers carved in the shape of dragons, wings spread and mouths open as if ready to breathe fire upon the sea. Waves crashed violently against the cliffs far below, and the wind howled through the stone corridors like a living thing.
Inside the castle, torches flickered along the walls, casting long shadows across the stone.
A woman screamed.
"Push!" the midwife urged.
Another cry filled the chamber as thunder rolled across the sky.
In the dim candlelight, several servants and maids waited anxiously near the bed. The woman lying there was pale, drenched in sweat, her silver hair sticking to her forehead.
Outside the room, guards stood watch. Even here, deep inside the castle, tension hung thick in the air.
After all, this was no ordinary birth.
This was the birth of a Targaryen prince.
Another scream tore through the room.
Then suddenly—
A baby's cry echoed.
The midwife lifted the newborn into the candlelight.
Silver hair.
Pale skin.
Violet eyes slowly opening.
"A boy," she said.
Relief spread across the room.
"A strong one too."
The child cried loudly for several seconds before suddenly growing quiet.
Too quiet.
The midwife frowned slightly.
The infant's violet eyes moved slowly around the room, focusing on the candles… the shadows… the people.
Watching.
Not like a newborn.
Like someone… observing.
Like someone thinking.
But the midwife quickly pushed the strange thought aside and wrapped the child in a blanket.
"The prince is healthy," she announced.
The door opened behind her.
A tall man entered the chamber.
His long silver hair rested against dark clothing, and his expression carried the quiet dignity of someone raised in royal blood.
This was
Aemon Targaryen.
His sharp violet eyes softened slightly when he saw the child.
"My son," he said quietly.
The midwife handed the baby to him.
Aemon held the child carefully, studying his face.
The boy stared back.
Not crying.
Not squirming.
Just watching him.
For a long moment, father and son simply looked at each other.
Then Aemon gave a small smile.
"He has the eyes of a dragon," he said softly.
The midwife nodded nervously.
"Yes, my prince."
Thunder cracked outside.
Aemon walked toward the window overlooking the stormy sea.
"This storm," he murmured. "A powerful omen."
One of the maids whispered nervously.
"Storm-born princes are said to bring great change."
Aemon chuckled slightly.
"Or great trouble."
He looked back down at the child.
"What shall we name him?"
The room fell silent.
Aemon thought for a moment before speaking.
"Aeryn."
The name echoed softly through the chamber.
"Aeryn Targaryen."
The maids bowed their heads.
"Long may he live."
But the child barely heard them.
Because inside his mind—
Something impossible was happening.
Darkness.
Endless darkness.
Then suddenly—
Light.
Sound.
Cold air against skin.
The boy blinked slowly.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
He couldn't move properly.
His limbs felt small.
Weak.
His body… tiny.
Confusion flooded his mind.
What… happened?
Memories flickered like lightning across his thoughts.
Cannons firing.
Ships battling in stormy seas.
A pirate flag snapping in the wind.
A hidden blade sliding from beneath a sleeve.
A man standing proudly on the deck of a ship.
A man with blond hair and confident eyes.
That man was him.
Or at least…
He used to be.
Edward Kenway.
Captain.
Pirate.
Assassin.
The memories came in flashes.
Sword fights.
Treasure.
Friends lost.
Enemies defeated.
The Caribbean Sea stretching endlessly beneath the sun.
And then—
Darkness.
Death.
And now…
This.
The boy stared up at the man holding him.
Silver hair.
Purple eyes.
Clothes of nobility.
The room itself looked ancient… medieval even.
Stone walls.
Candles instead of lamps.
Servants instead of sailors.
This isn't right.
The realization struck him slowly.
I've been reborn.
The thought should have terrified him.
Instead… he felt strangely calm.
After everything Edward Kenway had lived through—pirates, assassins, war, betrayal—death had never been something he feared.
But rebirth?
That was new.
His gaze slowly shifted around the room.
Every detail mattered.
That was an old assassin habit.
Observe first.
Act later.
The architecture was unfamiliar.
But the silver hair…
The violet eyes…
The dragon-shaped carvings on the walls…
Somewhere deep in his memories, another set of stories stirred.
Stories he had read in another life.
Books.
Shows.
Legends.
One name slowly formed in his mind.
Targaryen.
His eyes widened slightly.
No way…
If he was right, then this wasn't just another world.
This was the world of dragons.
The world of House Targaryen.
The world that would one day descend into the devastating civil war known as the
Dance of the Dragons.
And if that was true…
Then the man holding him must be—
Aemon Targaryen.
His new father.
Edward Kenway—no, Aeryn Targaryen—stared up at him.
Well…
His mind worked quickly.
A dragon riding noble family.
A brutal medieval world.
Political intrigue everywhere.
And somewhere out there…
Actual dragons.
A slow smile formed on the baby's tiny face.
One of the maids gasped.
"Did you see that?"
The midwife blinked.
"See what?"
"The baby…"
"He just smiled."
Aemon looked down at his son again.
The infant's violet eyes met his.
For a brief moment, Aemon felt something strange.
A feeling he couldn't quite explain.
The feeling that this child…
Would one day become something extraordinary.
Outside, lightning struck the sea.
Thunder shook the castle.
And in the cradle of Dragonstone…
A prince was reborn.
A prince with the mind of a pirate.
The instincts of an assassin.
And the blood of the dragon.