Time passed by, minute by minute.
Dusk had arrived.
On the hillside, Rhaegar lay flat on the soft grass, his hands resting beneath his head.
Beside him stood Devourer, its front claws planted firmly on the ground, wings folded. The dragon stretched its long neck skyward, closing its vertical pupils.
Both rider and dragon were conserving their energy.
*Whoosh!*
A breeze blew through, ruffling Rhaegar's hair. He shook his head slightly, his eyes gleaming brightly.
He gazed at the fiery clouds in the sky and the setting sun on the horizon.
He was waiting.
Waiting for the sun to fully set.
Waiting for Bracken to spend its last moments in peace and fear.
When the time came, he would ride Devourer and recreate the scene of Aegon the Conqueror burning Harrenhal.
No fortress, no matter how impenetrable, could withstand dragonfire.
---
Below the hill, the army stood fully prepared, weapons sharpened and glinting ominously.
Syrax and Dreamfyre crouched at the foot of the hill, warily observing Devourer from afar.
The massive dragon radiated an overwhelming and fearsome presence.
Dragonfire churned ominously in its chest.
"Sister, the sun is setting," Helaena said, pointing at the descending sun with her wide eyes.
Rhaenyra held her little chubby hand, also gazing at the sunset.
Rhaegar's proclamation had already spread throughout the army.
Everyone knew that Bracken's end would come at sunset.
Receiving no response from her sister, Helaena tugged her hand and furrowed her small brows. "Brother is unhappy. We need to help him."
Rhaenyra was surprised by her perceptiveness. After a brief pause, she responded earnestly, "Rhaegar can handle it on his own."
"Oh, okay then," Helaena said with a pout, kicking at the grass beneath her feet.
---
**Stone Hedge**
In the godswood, green flames burned fiercely.
Amidst the blaze, faint screams and the crackling sound of flesh burning could still be heard.
On the outskirts of the forest, Tryst stood trembling in terror.
Seizing the moment when no one was watching, he sneaked back into the castle.
The interior of the castle was in utter chaos.
Soldiers were hauling barrels of wildfire toward the walls.
Halfway through the task, they encountered a problem.
A commanding officer shouted, "Get those peasants moving and sifting sand faster! We need sand to cushion the transport of the wildfire."
Wildfire was an extremely volatile and explosive substance.
Once made, it had to be stored in sealed wooden barrels.
The inner surfaces of these barrels required fine, irregular textures to improve stability.
To transport wildfire safely, the barrels had to be cushioned with soft sand to prevent jostling and explosions.
Tryst approached with hesitant steps, his small eyes flickering with nervousness, his hands fidgeting inside his sleeves.
The officer and soldiers all noticed the gray-robed ex-maester, who resembled a bear.
With a grim expression, the officer snapped, "What are you doing here? You should be in the cellar making wildfire."
"N-No... the count summoned me," Tryst stammered, fabricating a small lie after some hesitation.
The officer narrowed his eyes skeptically. "What does the count want with you?"
"I'm the one who makes the wildfire, so naturally I'm here to help ensure it's transported properly," Tryst blurted, trembling under his robe. "It doesn't matter whether you use fine or coarse sand—it all works the same."
Another lie.
Coarse sand, mixed with stones and dirt, was useless for cushioning and wouldn't prevent jolts.
But the officer and soldiers were clueless.
They were just rough military men, ignorant of the meticulous demands of alchemy. They followed orders without thinking.
Feigning contemplation, the officer quickly agreed, "Fine. Use coarse sand then. Tell the peasants to bring more of it."
In their line of work, cutting corners to save effort was routine.
Heart pounding, Tryst tiptoed away, his scheme successful.
He entered the castle and climbed to a concealed loft, where he found a secret compartment.
*Click!*
The compartment opened, revealing a letter inside.
The letter read:
> "The Bracken family has succumbed to witchcraft and forsaken their faith. They are destined for retribution."
> "I have left. There's a hidden passage in the stables..."
The letter had been left by the old Bracken family maester.
Sensing impending disaster, he had escaped early through the secret passage.
After reading the letter, Tryst crumpled it into a ball and shoved it into his mouth, swallowing it whole.
He planned to escape too.
---
At sunset.
The sky turned yellowish, with the final red hues of the sun lingering on the horizon.
On the hillside.
Devourer shook its massive body, spreading its wings wide like a dark veil over the heavens. Stretching its neck forward, its green, slit-pupiled eyes gleamed with ferocity.
"Mmmh! The sun has set!"
Rhaegar groaned slightly as he pushed himself off the grass, stretching his stiff neck.
*Roar!*
Devourer let out a low growl, instinctively crouching down to allow its rider to mount.
It was eager to burn the city to ashes.
"Good boy. You'll always be my companion," Rhaegar said, stroking the dragon's pitch-black scales with a smile as pure as when he was a child.
It was hard to imagine what House Targaryen would be without dragons.
Climbing the soft ladder and settling into the saddle, Rhaegar took a deep breath and shouted loudly:
"Devourer, fly!"
*Screech!*
The Devourer raised its head and roared, flapping its wings as it soared into the sky.
...
The sun had completely set.
The moon was hidden, and the stars were sparse. Stone Hedge was shrouded in darkness.
"Keep your eyes wide open! Don't let the enemy sneak up on us!"
A knight-clad officer patrolled along the battlements, harshly reprimanding the lower-ranked soldiers.
The soldiers, as silent as cicadas in winter, scanned the surroundings under the flickering torchlight.
But the night was too dark—beyond a certain distance, it was impossible to see clearly.
A tall soldier secretly whispered to his companion, "Do you think the dragon will burn the lord to death?"
His companion rolled his eyes in disdain. "Before the dragon burns the lord, it'll definitely roast us first."
Idiot. Worried about others when he should be worried about himself.
Whoosh—
Suddenly, the sound of wings beating echoed through the night, and a gust of wind made the torch flames flicker.
"Stay alert! The dragon is here!"
The officer shouted sharply, drawing his sword.
The soldiers tensed, gripping their weapons, pressing their backs against each other, and staring in one direction.
But the sound seemed to have appeared out of thin air—there was no sign of the dragon at all.
Drip—
A bead of cold sweat rolled down a soldier's cheek. His body trembled as he unconsciously swallowed hard.
This feeling of waiting for death… Damn, it was torture.
"Listen carefully. The sound is gone."
Suddenly, a soldier spoke up in surprise.
The others perked their ears and realized the noise had indeed vanished.
"Could the dragon have flown over the wall and ignored us?"
A soldier murmured hopefully.
His words made sense, and the soldiers subconsciously let out a sigh of relief.
At that moment, a sharp, youthful voice suddenly rang out.
"Dragonfire!!"
As soon as the words fell, the air temperature skyrocketed.
"Raaahhh—"
A deep, resonant dragon roar shook the night, followed closely by an eerie green blaze that rained down upon the battlements.
Boom—
The dragonfire descended like a torrent, instantly consuming the soldiers in its path, casting an eerie green glow across the pitch-black sky.
Only then did a colossal, shadowy figure finally emerge against the night.
Above Stone Hedge.
The Devourer circled slowly, its dark form blending into the shadows. Like mist or flowing water, its ghostly green flames poured downward.
"Aahhh!!"
"The dragon—it's here!"
"There's no time—run!"
On the city walls, the soldiers of House Bracken screamed and wailed as they rolled and writhed in the consuming flames.
High above, atop the dragon's back, a black-cloaked figure, Rhaegar, gazed down upon the carnage below.
His lips moved slightly as he uttered, "Burn it all."
His voice was cold as ice, and his heart remained utterly unmoved.
"Raaahhh—"
The Devourer roared, its wings slicing through the air as it circled above the walls, spewing dragonfire again and again.
Three miles outside the city.
Samwell and Robb waited patiently, their eyes fixed on Stone Hedge.
A green blaze erupted into the night, growing larger with each passing moment.
Samwell's eyes gleamed as he bellowed, "Charge! Surround Stone Hedge completely!"
"Charge!!"
The soldiers surged forward, sprinting toward the city.
Their mission was simple—block the gates and ensure no Bracken escaped.
...
Inside Stone Hedge.
The outer walls were engulfed in flames. The soldiers' defenses had proven useless—they were all consumed by dragonfire.
Not far away, within the inner gatehouse, Amos watched in stunned horror.
A massive, jet-black dragon prowled the night sky, its breath washing over the walls as effortlessly as a maid scrubbing dishes.
Snapping out of his daze, Amos roared in fury, "Bring out the wildfire! Aim for the dragon and launch!"
He had already anticipated that the outer city troops wouldn't be able to stop the dragon.
The wildfire had been kept in reserve, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The soldiers obeyed immediately, carefully hauling barrels of wildfire onto carts and loading them onto catapults.
"Fire!"
With the order given, a dozen catapults launched simultaneously, flinging their deadly payloads into the night sky.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
But the distance was too great. The wildfire barrels fell short, crashing onto the outer walls instead.
The eerie green wildfire mixed with the dragonfire, blending seamlessly.
This unexpected development caught Rhaegar's attention.
Through the raging flames, he spotted the catapults stationed at the inner gatehouse and understood instantly.
"Devourer, attack the inner keep!"
"Raaahhh—"
The dragonfire ceased momentarily as the Devourer flapped its wings and surged toward the gatehouse, unleashing another blast of its ghostly flames.
The dragonfire struck swiftly—far faster than the soldiers could react.
Before the wildfire barrels could even be properly launched, the intense heat detonated them mid-air.
In the next instant—
Boom!!
One explosion after another rocked Stone Hedge, as wildfire barrels ignited, sending emerald flames shooting skyward.
"Aahhh! The wildfire—it's blowing up!"
"It's too hot—run!"
The wildfire spread even faster than the dragonfire, surging uncontrollably.
Within moments, the base of the inner walls was engulfed, the flames roaring hungrily.
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow—an unexpected bonus.
Amos truly was a fool to think wildfire could counter a dragon.
That unstable alchemical fire was naturally at a disadvantage against a creature that ruled the skies.
Glancing at the scene, Rhaegar noted that both the front and rear of the gatehouse were now engulfed in wildfire.
From the screams inside, it seemed many soldiers were trapped.
It almost felt like overkill—like using a butcher's knife to slaughter a chicken.
After a brief pause, Rhaegar gave the final order.
"Devourer, fly to the castle!"
There was no doubt about wildfire's adhesive properties.
The gatehouse was completely surrounded by it—no one inside would escape unscathed.
Now, it was time to finish what he came for.
House Bracken's castle awaited.
Its bloodline—would be extinguished.
The Devourer flapped its wings, its vertical pupils flickering with disgust as it soared away from the wildfire.
What a filthy flame—it was the same color as its own but reeked of foul, putrid decay.
Absolutely revolting.
(End of Chapter)