The azure sea was unusually calm.
Under the endless sky, the flagship Storm cut steadily through the waves while everyone aboard stood silently on deck, staring upward.
Three dragons circled high above the fleet.
Gendry Baratheon stood at the front of the ship beside Daenerys Targaryen. Nearby were Stannis Baratheon, Melisandre the Red Priestess, Ser Barristan Selmy, Maester Qyburn, Anguy, Dacey Mormont, Moros of Myr, and the massive armored giant known as Jon Strong.
Jon Snow remained ashore. Though his meeting with Catelyn Stark had been awkward, most Northerners still treated him kindly. Bastards were not uncommon in the North, but Eddard Stark—a man famous for honor and rigidity—having one was still shocking to many.
Golden banners snapped proudly in the sea wind.
The sailors and warriors of the Twin Cities fleet gazed at the dragons overhead with growing admiration. At first, the creatures had inspired fear and uncertainty. But now, pride had replaced fear.
These were the dragons of the Stormborn Queen and the Liberator.
From captains and soldiers to cooks and cabin boys, everyone loved watching the three dragons soar through the sky.
Gendry glanced around the deck.
Among everyone present, only Stannis, Moros, and Daenerys possessed extensive experience at sea.
Stannis Baratheon was a master naval commander, respected for both discipline and strategy. Moros, meanwhile, had survived years as a notorious smuggler captain from Myr.
As for Daenerys Stormborn—
She had practically been born from storms themselves.
On the night of her birth at Dragonstone, the greatest storm in living memory smashed against the island. Gargoyles shattered from the castle walls, and King Aerys's fleet was utterly destroyed.
Her entire childhood had been spent crossing the Narrow Sea, fleeing from one Free City to another like an exile with nowhere to belong.
No one understood storms better than Daenerys Targaryen.
"I can see them clearly," Stannis said quietly as he stared into the sky.
His usually stern eyes widened slightly.
"Yes, my lord," Ser Barristan replied.
"The dragons have returned."
The salty sea breeze drifted across the deck. Far below, dolphins occasionally leapt through the waves like silver spears, while flying fish skimmed across the water.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Even Stannis seemed unsettled.
"I once believed dragons were nothing more than legends," he admitted.
"Throughout history, countless fools tried to revive them and failed."
He spoke calmly, as if reciting forgotten history.
"Nine warlocks crossed the sea hoping to hatch the dragon eggs left behind by Aegon III, the Dragonbane. Baelor the Blessed prayed over dragon eggs for months. Aegon IV constructed wooden dragons from iron and timber. Aerion Brightflame even drank wildfire, believing it would transform him into a dragon."
His expression darkened.
"The warlocks failed. Baelor's prayers went unanswered. The wooden dragons burned. And Aerion died screaming."
Melisandre lowered her gaze.
"The Lord of Light does not lie," she whispered.
"The ancient prophecies spoke of bleeding stars, dragons waking from stone, and the return of the chosen king."
Her voice carried unmistakable frustration.
"I believed Stannis was destined to awaken dragons and claim the Seven Kingdoms…"
"But he has already bent the knee."
For perhaps the first time, the Red Priestess looked shaken.
Everything she had once believed was changing before her eyes.
She had sacrificed so much trying to bring forth miracles through Stannis Baratheon.
Yet Gendry and Daenerys had achieved the impossible naturally.
Real dragons.
Living dragons.
Not prophecy. Not illusion.
Reality.
Melisandre could not help questioning herself.
Did destiny favor talent more than sacrifice?
Did fate itself now belong to House Baratheon and House Targaryen?
Above the fleet, the dragons continued their wild dance.
Viserion's scales gleamed creamy white beneath the sunlight, while golden horns and wing bones shimmered like polished metal.
Vhagar was emerald green mixed with bronze, beautiful and fierce all at once.
But the black dragon towered above them both.
Balerion.
His scales were black as midnight, streaked with crimson patterns that glowed beneath the sunlight like burning embers. His eyes resembled pools of molten fire.
The massive dragon soared higher than the others before diving suddenly through the clouds.
"Dragons prefer attacking from above," Maester Qyburn explained calmly.
"Just as Aegon the Conqueror did at Harrenhal."
The white and green dragons folded their wings and plunged toward the sea, shrieking loudly.
Moments later, Balerion descended from even greater heights.
The three dragons collided midair in a storm of claws, wings, and snapping jaws.
They tumbled through the sky together before separating again.
The black dragon always won.
He was larger, fiercer, and far more aggressive than the other two.
Some sailors had already begun calling him the rebirth of Balerion the Black Dread.
"Won't they hurt each other?" Melisandre asked softly.
The Red Priestess looked strangely youthful beneath the sunlight. Her copper-red hair shimmered brightly, and her crimson eyes reflected the dragons overhead.
"They're only playing," Gendry replied.
"At first, I worried too. But dragons are naturally aggressive creatures. These fights are just instinct."
The dragons crashed toward the ocean surface before pulling upward again, steam exploding around them as seawater evaporated beneath dragonfire.
"You're fortunate today," Daenerys said with a faint smile.
"The black dragon didn't disappear too far this time."
"Is he the largest?" Stannis asked.
"And the wildest," Anguy answered immediately.
"He was the first to fly over open water. The first to soar through storms. The first to vanish into the clouds."
"And the first to start hunting."
Gendry silently watched Balerion.
Deep within himself, he could somehow sense the dragon's position.
It was a strange bond.
A connection beyond words.
Balerion would always return to him.
Perhaps dragons saw humans the same way humans saw fire—dangerous, beautiful, and alive.
Historically, the Targaryens had always produced the greatest Dragon Riders. Men especially often formed stronger bonds with dragons than women.
Warriors shaped fierce dragons.
Comfort and luxury softened them.
Dragon Riders and dragons influenced one another deeply.
A dragon could even sense the emotions, danger, or death of its rider.
When Helaena Targaryen leapt to her death from Maegor's Holdfast generations ago, her dragon Dreamfyre had gone mad within the Dragonpit, shattering chains in grief.
"Does the black dragon obey your command?" Stannis asked suddenly.
But he was not looking at Daenerys.
He was looking at Gendry.
The last few years had been madness.
Robert's death.
The War of the Five Kings.
The Red Comet.
The rise of prophecy.
And now—
Dragons.
If Robert Baratheon had lived long enough to see this moment, he would have laughed in disbelief.
"The dragons are our children," Daenerys answered quietly.
"When they hatched, we were the first faces they saw."
Gendry nodded in agreement.
Stannis looked genuinely stunned.
This meant the miracle went beyond mere dragon hatching.
They had bonded with the dragons.
Controlled them.
House Baratheon had intermarried with House Targaryen in the past, but no Baratheon had ever become a Dragon Rider.
Until now.
"How did you accomplish this?" Stannis finally asked.
Melisandre answered before anyone else could.
"Only death can pay for life."
Her thoughts drifted toward Viserys and Khal Drogo.
Perhaps their deaths had been necessary sacrifices.
But Qyburn shook his head slightly.
"Death alone is not enough," he explained.
"Magic itself must first return to the world before dragons can be born again."
Stannis frowned thoughtfully.
"But Baratheon blood can truly ride dragons?"
Melisandre looked toward Gendry.
"The Baratheons possess traces of dragon blood through ancient marriages. But they also carry older powers."
"The power of storms."
"Storm's End itself is protected by ancient magic."
Her red eyes narrowed.
"And Lord Gendry stood beside the dragons at the moment of their birth."
Everyone listened carefully.
Her explanation sounded reasonable enough.
Regardless of the truth, one thing was certain:
A new dragon dynasty had begun.
Gendry now possessed the greatest power in the world.
"You truly are chosen by the storm," Stannis said quietly.
"There is no shame in entrusting responsibility to you."
"I still need you, Uncle," Gendry answered firmly.
"The Long Winter is coming."
"We must stand united."
Stannis nodded slowly.
That was the duty of kings.
Not glory.
Responsibility.
"You believe in the Long Night as well?" Melisandre asked immediately.
"Every kingdom has received ravens warning of winter," Qyburn replied.
"Autumn is short. Winter is the true season."
"But the dragons are still too small," Stannis pointed out.
"Not for long," Barristan answered.
"Dragons grow quickly. Give them food and freedom, and they never stop growing."
"Balerion the Black Dread lived for over two centuries."
"He became large enough to swallow an entire bull whole."
Melisandre watched the dragons intensely.
"Living dragons are miracles."
"People seeking power, hope, or salvation will flock toward them."
"The warlocks of Qarth already have," Gendry said.
"They invited us to the House of the Undying."
Melisandre snorted softly.
"A palace of bones and lies."
"Their interest in dragons will only grow."
Gendry nodded grimly.
"The legend of dragons will spread across the world soon enough."
Stannis looked toward the sky again.
"Three dragons alone are enough to change kingdoms."
"They are not merely creatures anymore."
"They are weapons."
For a moment, his thoughts seemed distant.
"The first dragons I ever saw were skulls beneath the Red Keep," he recalled.
"My father once brought Robert and me to court when we were children."
He gave a faint, rare smile.
"Robert still had to hold my hand."
"We thought King Aerys looked magnificent."
"But later, our father admitted the king had cut himself upon the Iron Throne that morning."
"The man who truly impressed us was Tywin Lannister."
Daenerys's expression darkened slightly at the name.
"Tywin Lannister…"
"In those days, Aerys, Tywin, and my father were close friends," Stannis continued.
"But fear turned friendship into madness."
Barristan looked deeply regretful.
"The rescue at Duskendale changed everything."
Daenerys sighed quietly.
The more she learned of her father's history, the more tragic it became.
The Mad King had not always been mad.
War, paranoia, and fear had destroyed him.
"Not apologies," Gendry said firmly.
"What matters now is building a better future."
Stannis studied both Gendry and Daenerys carefully.
"Your father was the Mad King," he told Daenerys.
"My brother Robert became a careless king."
"Renly sought glory instead of duty."
"All of them treated the crown like a toy."
His voice became colder.
"But crowns are not toys."
"They are burdens."
"The Long Night approaches."
"As long as someone wears a crown, they carry responsibility."
Gendry silently gripped the sword at his waist before taking Daenerys's hand.
Boys did not survive winter.
Only men could.
Suddenly, the dragons descended back toward the ship.
Daenerys and Gendry lifted bowls filled with salted beef into the air.
The dragons' eyes immediately locked onto the food.
"Balerion," Gendry called.
"Dracarys!"
The black dragon lunged instantly.
Flames exploded from his mouth—black, orange, and crimson fire swirling together.
The meat charred before it even fell.
Vhagar tried stealing the food midair, but Balerion swallowed it whole first.
The green dragon hissed angrily.
"Don't be greedy," Gendry laughed, stroking Vhagar's head.
"You'll get beaten up eventually."
The dragons continued snapping pieces of meat from the sky.
The black and green dragons fought constantly.
Viserion, meanwhile, remained gentler and calmer.
Stannis watched carefully.
"There are only three dragons in the world."
"But they bring both hope and danger."
He turned toward Melisandre.
"Would you serve them instead?"
"Serve my nephew and his future queen."
Melisandre hesitated briefly.
Then she knelt before Gendry and Daenerys.
"I will."
Gendry helped her rise.
Daenerys looked at the Red Priestess seriously.
"I welcome your help."
"But I expect moderation from you."
Melisandre lowered her head respectfully.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Qyburn smiled faintly.
"Welcome to our side."
Then Melisandre turned toward the massive armored giant standing nearby.
Jon Strong.
Even she seemed disturbed by him.
"There is only emptiness behind that helmet," she whispered.
"And vengeful spirits."
"How did you create such a thing?"
Qyburn's smile widened slightly.
"He is a rare specimen."
"A warrior reborn through poison, pain, and dark arts."
His eyes gleamed strangely.
"True monsters are difficult to create."
"The Mountain was suitable."
"Khal Drogo would have been as well."
A heavy silence followed his words.
Above them, the dragons continued circling beneath the setting sun.
And across the world—
The age of dragons had truly begun.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)