Chapter 3 – The Cliffs of Dragonstone
Dragonstone was a castle built for dragons.
Its towers twisted toward the sky like claws, its halls carved from black volcanic stone that seemed to drink in the light from torches. Gargoyles shaped like winged beasts watched from the rooftops, and stairways curved like the spines of serpents.
For most people, the castle was intimidating.
For Aeryn Targaryen, it was a playground.
By the time he turned six, he had memorized nearly every corridor, stairwell, and balcony in the fortress. He knew which doors creaked. Which steps were loose. Which guards walked which routes.
Old habits from the life of Edward Kenway never truly disappeared.
Observation.
Planning.
Movement.
An assassin survived by knowing the world around him better than anyone else.
Even if that assassin now happened to be trapped inside the body of a young Targaryen prince.
The Night Training
Aeryn preferred the castle at night.
During the day, Dragonstone was full of people.
Knights.
Servants.
Maesters.
Messengers.
But once the torches burned low and the corridors emptied, the castle transformed into something else.
A silent labyrinth.
Perfect for training.
That night the moon hung high above the island, casting pale light across the black stone towers.
Aeryn crouched on the roof of a tower overlooking the inner courtyard.
The wind tugged at his cloak.
Below him, two guards stood near a gate, speaking quietly.
"…heard something again last night."
"What?"
"Footsteps."
"Probably rats."
"Rats don't run across rooftops."
Aeryn smiled slightly.
Not rats, he thought.
He slowly stood and moved across the roof.
Every step was careful.
Silent.
Years ago, Edward Kenway had learned how to move across the rigging of ships without making a sound. The skills translated surprisingly well to rooftops.
He reached the edge of the tower and studied the distance to the next building.
Four meters.
Not far.
But if he missed the jump…
He looked down.
The drop would probably kill him.
A bit risky.
He stepped back.
Breathed slowly.
Then ran forward.
For a brief moment he was airborne.
Wind rushed past him.
Then—
His hands caught the stone edge.
He pulled himself up with a quiet grunt.
Success.
Aeryn lay there for a moment, staring at the stars.
Still rusty, he thought.
But improving.
He stood again and continued across the rooftops.
Jump.
Climb.
Balance.
Each movement grew smoother.
More natural.
The castle slowly became his training ground.
The Hidden Blade
But movement alone was not enough.
An assassin needed a weapon.
Edward Kenway's hidden blade had once been his most trusted tool.
A weapon designed for stealth.
Quick.
Silent.
Deadly.
Of course, Aeryn didn't have access to proper assassin equipment anymore.
So he improvised.
Earlier that week, he had stolen a few small items from the castle smithy.
A thin steel shard.
Leather straps.
A small hinge.
Nothing valuable enough for anyone to notice missing.
Tonight he sat on a quiet balcony, assembling them carefully.
The moonlight helped him see.
His hands were small, but his memories guided the work.
Piece by piece, the crude mechanism took shape.
A narrow blade mounted along the inside of his forearm.
A small trigger system activated by flexing his wrist.
It wasn't perfect.
Not even close.
But when he tested it—
Click.
The blade slid forward from beneath his sleeve.
Aeryn grinned.
"Still works."
His voice was barely a whisper.
He tested it again.
Click.
Blade out.
Click.
Blade back.
Not bad for a six-year-old prince.
Of course, he had no intention of actually killing anyone anytime soon.
But practice was important.
Because the world he now lived in was dangerous.
Kings died.
Princes died.
Assassins existed even in Westeros.
If war came—and Aeryn knew it eventually would—being prepared might mean the difference between survival and death.
The Ghost of Dragonstone
Unfortunately for the servants…
Aeryn's nightly training had begun causing problems.
Rumors.
The first whispers started among the castle staff.
"I heard footsteps on the roof."
"I saw something moving near the towers."
"A shadow jumped across the courtyard."
Within weeks the stories grew more dramatic.
"A ghost walks the castle walls."
"Something climbs the towers at night."
"The spirit of a dragon lord haunts Dragonstone."
One old servant swore she saw glowing eyes staring down from a rooftop.
In reality…
That had just been Aeryn watching the courtyard.
But the rumors kept spreading.
Soon even some of the guards believed the castle might be haunted.
One evening, Aeryn sat quietly above the main hall roof while listening to two guards argue.
"I'm telling you, something is up there!"
"You're drunk."
"I heard it running!"
"Probably a cat."
"Cats don't jump between towers!"
Aeryn covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing.
A Dangerous Fall
Of course…
Rumors weren't the only danger.
Training carried risks.
And tonight, Aeryn nearly paid the price.
He was practicing balance on one of the outer walls when a strong gust of wind suddenly hit him.
His foot slipped.
For a brief second—
He lost his balance.
His body tilted toward the abyss.
The cliffs of Dragonstone waited far below.
Even with assassin reflexes, there was nothing graceful about the desperate movement that followed.
He dropped instantly, grabbing the edge of the wall with both hands.
His heart hammered.
The cold stone dug into his fingers as he hung there.
The drop beneath him stretched endlessly toward the crashing waves.
For the first time since his rebirth…
Fear struck him.
Not the quick excitement of risk.
But real fear.
That was stupid, he thought.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself back onto the wall.
Then sat there breathing heavily.
Edward Kenway had taken risks before.
But that had been as a grown man with a strong body.
Now?
He was still a child.
His limits were very real.
Aeryn stared out across the dark ocean.
The wind howled across Dragonstone.
Far away, near the volcanic mountain of the island…
A massive shadow moved.
A dragon.
Even from this distance he could hear its deep roar echo across the cliffs.
Aeryn watched the creature circle the mountain.
One day…
One day he would ride one.
But until then, he needed to survive long enough to reach that future.
Which meant training smarter.
Not just harder.
He stood slowly.
The castle lights flickered below.
Somewhere inside those walls, servants were probably whispering about ghosts again.
Aeryn smirked slightly.
Ghost Prince.
Not a bad nickname.
But one day…
When he rode a dragon through the skies of Westeros…
No one would mistake him for a ghost.
They would see him for what he truly was.
A prince of House Targaryen.
A warrior trained by the memories of a pirate assassin.
And perhaps…
Something far more dangerous.