A magnificent silver-gray dragon roared as it descended through the clouds, breaking through ocean waves visible even from afar. Moments later, the dragon spiraled upward, clutching a thrashing tentacled sea creature in its jaws. Flames flickered, and the creature was swallowed like a delicate morsel, its tentacles wriggling helplessly before vanishing. The dragon, seemingly uninterested in the Ratcatcher below, stretched its wings and soared toward another direction.
"A new winged horse!" Dothraki warrior Ko Droko ignored the rocking of the ship and leaned over the railing, shouting in delight. "I'll drive it back to Khal Draezell's herd!"
"Ko Droko, that dragon belongs to King Aegon," Tom replied, recognizing the dragon. He had seen it soaring over King's Landing in his youth, where it was ridden by Ser Laenor Velaryon. Though Tom did not know the dragon's name, he knew it was not wild. "In your words, it's part of King Aegon's winged horse herd, not Khal Draezell's."
"King Aegon? Is his herd larger than Khal Draezell's?" Ko Droko asked, puzzled. "Does it include winged horses like Vermithor? Oh, I remember now — King Aegon is that cub by Khal Draezell's side. His herd must be Khal Draezell's herd!"
Tom realized convincing Ko Droko was futile. He turned instead toward the watchtower and shouted, "Erin, scan the waters for any ships pursuing the dragon!"
"There is one!" Erin replied from the lookout, pointing toward a small vessel suddenly veering course to chase the dragon. The sleek ship, disguised as a simple sailboat, extended dozens of oars and swiftly outpaced another nearby merchant vessel.
"Marlda, follow that ship! Maester let the ravens go!" Tom shouted as he dashed toward the indicated direction. The petite Marlda darted to the helm, while Adam, barefoot and bare-chested, organized the crew to redirect the vessel.
The petite Marlda rushed to the rudder. "Adam, take someone to adjust the sail rope, we will catch up."
"Yes! Mother." Adam immediately brought the sailors guarding the sails and adjusted the direction of the sails. The Ratcatcher slowly turned and prepared to chase the speedboat.
The cabin door creaked open, and a young maester stumbled out, but the maester did not let the raven fly. Instead, he took out a blood-red dagger and cut the raven's neck with one knife. Strangely, not a drop of the raven's blood flowed onto the deck, but made the dagger redder and redder, and finally disappeared in the maester's hand. However, no one noticed the maester's strange behavior, they were all concentrating on adjusting the direction of the large sailing ship.
In the swift pursuit, the Ratcatcher changed course to intercept. Meanwhile, aboard the pursuing ship, its captain, tattooed with images of waves and sails, knelt nervously before Hoegon Bellerys and Ben Ulnar.
"My lords, we cannot go any faster," the captain stammered. "We're just a small ship and cannot match the speed of a hundred-and-fifty-oar or two-hundred-oar warship!"
"Idiot! There's a ship chasing us," Hoegon growled, kicking the captain over. Ben grabbed Hoegon's shoulder and addressed the captain, "Full speed ahead. Focus on the dragon. Ignore the pursuers."
"Ben, that's a Vaelarys vessel — one of the fastest in the world!" the captain protested. "It rivals the swan ships of the Summer Isles or the purple sails of Braavos. If they catch us, we're doomed!"
"We're already risking our necks," Ben said calmly. "Our goal is the dragon. As long as no dragons arrive, we'll kill anyone who tries to stop us."
Hoegon shoved Ben's hand away, straightening his collar. The ship wasn't without defenses — hidden below deck were twenty Unsullied soldiers and twenty men from the Tiger Cloaks. They had boarded the ship in secret, swimming to it near Storm's End from an isolated cove. Their supplies had been purchased from a departing Volantene vessel, allowing them to bypass port inspections entirely.
If the Vaelarys ship caught up, they would be ready to fight.
---
Dragonstone
Caraxes roared as it descended, the blood-red dragon resembling a serpent as it landed gracefully on the causeway outside the castle. Hearing the dragon's arrival, Ser Robert Quince, the acting lord of Dragonstone, stumbled out to greet it. The elderly knight, now bloated and feeble, struggled to walk the length of the path, his heavy breathing echoing as he approached the king regent.
"Your Grace, all Dragonstone ports have been sealed. No unfamiliar ships have entered," Ser Robert reported.
Daemon dismounted, removing his gloves as he walked past the knight. "I'm hungry, and so is the dragon. Prepare food."
Daemon had just completed a patrol of Blackwater Bay. Unfortunately, the pursuit of Hoegon's ship and the Ratcatcher began only after his patrol ended, leaving him unaware of the unfolding chase.
"The food is ready, Your Grace," Ser Robert said, clutching the stone railing for support as he followed the regent. "Ser Alfred and the Dragonkeepers are inspecting Dragonmont. I assure you, no dragons other than Seasmoke have taken flight today."
"What about the sheepstealer?" Daemon asked. The old dragon, though not particularly large, was notorious for its cunning and ferocity. It had preyed on flocks across Dragonstone and even ventured to the Vale, leaving charred villages and burnt-out mountain clans in its wake.
"No sign of the old dragon," Ser Robert Quince said after a moment of thought, confirming that none of the sentries posted around the island had seen any trace of Sheepstealer.
As for Grey Ghost? Almost no one had ever spotted the shy and young dragon. Only a few fishermen had witnessed it diving into the sea to hunt fat tuna, disappearing swiftly into the clouds or the mountains.
"Have there been new dragon eggs hatched on Dragonmont?" Daemon suddenly stopped, fixing Robert Quince with a serious look. This was a crucial question, one that had only struck him after learning about the hatching of Silverwing's and Vermithor's eggs. Daemon clearly remembered that during his youth, the Targaryen family had no shortage of dragons.
To be precise, from the time of Aegon the Conqueror's unification of the Six Kingdoms to King Viserys's reign, the Targaryens had often possessed far more dragons than the current meager few. During the Maegor's youth, when he still had no dragon of his own, King Aegon I and Queen Visenya had arranged twelve dragons from Dragonmont for him to choose from. These twelve were only the healthiest and most aggressive among those hatched in Dragonmont.
During King Jaehaerys's reign, Dreamfyre, Queen Rhaena's dragon, almost never ceased producing eggs. While residing on Dragonstone for several years, it was said that eggs hatched almost every month. The dragon nurseries on Dragonstone became so overcrowded that many young dragons escaped, nesting in various parts of Dragonmont and becoming wild dragons.
Yet the Targaryens seemed to pay little attention to the dragons hatched on Dragonmont. Aside from those tamed and ridden by family members, the rest were left to fight, survive, or perish on their own. By the time Viserys I ascended to the throne, Dragonmont was almost devoid of young hatchlings. Even if any were born, they were either devoured by predators or killed by other dragons.
It was only now that Daemon realized this could not continue. Every dragon egg and every newly hatched dragon was a treasure. These true weapons of power and kin of the Targaryens must be firmly held in their hands.
Ser Robert Quince paused, visibly caught off guard by the question. Though old, the knight's memory was still sharp. He suddenly recalled a report from the dragonkeepers. "Yes, I remember now. On Dragonmont, a dragon egg has hatched. During patrols, the dragonkeepers reported hearing cries distinct from Seasmoke, Sheepstealer, or Grey Ghost."
"Take me there at once," Daemon exclaimed with delight. This was fantastic news, even better than the hatching of Aegarax and Zarafax. A dragon hatched within Targaryen territory, especially during a time shadowed by rumors of dragon theft, was proof that the Targaryen destiny still burned strong.
"Your Grace, will you not eat first?" Ser Robert, close to tears, attempted to dissuade the prince. Daemon, not yet fifty, could endure the exertion. But the same could not be said for the aged and overweight knight, who felt half-dead after leaving the castle to escort Daemon. And now, Dragonmont? He couldn't refuse. Resolute, Ser Robert swore silently to follow his master until death claimed him.
"I'll eat when we return. For now, let's go. Besides, Caraxes will need to feed soon. Lead the way."
"As you command, Your Grace."
---
Dragon's Nest.
Aegon dropped his wooden sword and, battered with bruises, slumped onto the ground beside the training yard of the Dragoncrystal Tower. He grabbed a water skin nearby and drank deeply.
In the yard, Ser Aslan Rondel struck a clean blow that disarmed Revil Haydon. With a quick flick, his blade smacked the young squire's back, sending him sprawling. "Your stance is unstable. You lack resilience. Even King Jacaerys at nine years old was stronger than this," Aslan remarked sternly.
Hearing his older brother's name, Aegon drank again, a shadow crossing his face. Meanwhile, Rhaegor's training session had concluded. The boy's regimen was much less grueling, as he wasn't required to spar.
"Rhaegor, do you think I can ever match my brother?" Aegon asked, watching as another boy was struck down by Ser Aslan only to rise again for another round.
"King Jacaerys was King Jacaerys, and you are Aegon," Rhaegor replied, adopting an air of wisdom beyond his years. He patted the young king on the shoulder. "Truthfully, I heard from my uncle that even Jacaerys couldn't defeat Ser Aslan in the end."
Rhaegor didn't know Jacaerys well. His memories of the dark-haired, handsome older brother were vague at best — a brother who often played with him and had long conversations with their father. Still, Rhaegor knew Jacaerys had been a good man.
Hearing that even Jacaerys hadn't bested Aslan, Aegon smiled faintly. Just then, a deafening roar echoed from beneath Dragonstone, shaking the fortress to its very foundations.
"Vermithor has taken flight?" Aegon shot to his feet, rushing to the training yard's edge, which overlooked the dragonpit below.
The immense Vermithor soared into the sky, its wings blotting out the sun. Aegon could clearly see Draezell, clad in Valyrian steel armor, astride the mighty beast.
"What's happening?" Aegon demanded.
"Looks like they've found the dragon thieves. I saw Prince Draezell hand Maester Arthur a red dagger just before this. They said something I couldn't hear, but it must have been important. Damn thieves — imagine daring to steal a dragon," Revil muttered, gossiping with Quentyn.
"What dragon thieves?" Aegon asked, rushing over.
"Your Grace, didn't you know? A few days ago, a group of thieves from Volantis tried to steal Vermax. One was burned alive by the dragon, and the rest escaped," Revil explained, surprised that Aegon hadn't heard about this.
Without hesitation, Aegon stood and sprinted toward the dragonpit, not even bothering to change out of his soiled training clothes.
"Aegon, where are you going?" Rhaegor called, scrambling after him on shorter legs.
"I need to see this for myself," Aegon growled, his jaw clenched. "Who dares to steal my brother's dragon?"
---
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