Night had fallen. Over Dragonstone, dark clouds began to gather.
These were no ordinary clouds. They were thunderclouds, black as ink, pressing in from the sea. The sea breeze grew sharp and cold, whipping the black four-pointed banners on the castle walls. The defenders of Dragonstone looked at the sky, cursing their mothers in their hearts. In such ghostly weather, even rats knew to hide in their holes—but they had to stand on the walls and get drenched.
Then came the lightning.
When the first bolt struck, the defenders of Dragonstone were still eating their supper. The light was so bright it blinded them; all were stunned for a moment.
When the second bolt struck, they already saw the dragon.
Vhagar.
The largest dragon in the realm emerged from the clouds. Her wings spread, covering half the castle; each beat brought a gust of wind that pressed soldiers uncertainly against the walls. The dragon's eyes blazed with tyrannical light, like two ghostly flames, coldly gazing down at the castle below from the dark clouds.
And on her back sat a man.
Aemond.
Silver hair streaming in the wind.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
No sooner had the lookout's cry sounded than it was drowned by thunder.
Vhagar dove.
She did not come to breathe fire—at least, not first. She came to crash.
The giant body slammed directly into the main tower of Dragonstone. It was the tallest building in the entire castle, standing for hundreds of years, witnessing the birth and death of countless Targaryens. Now it was falling. Before the immense force, the fire-hardened black stone began to collapse, and the tower crumbled.
Stones, wooden beams, and roof tiles rained down. Soldiers below were buried before they could even scream.
Dust rose dozens of feet high, mixing with the driving rain.
"Seven above..."
On the wall, a soldier who had narrowly escaped disaster sat staring at the scene before him, utterly stunned.
This was the symbol of Dragonstone—the seat of House Targaryen.
Now it was being destroyed.
Aemond rode on the dragon's back, silver hair streaming in the wind.
"Rhaenyra!"
His voice was drowned by the rain and thunder.
"Rhaenyra!!"
No one answered.
Only the torrential rain began to pour.
Vhagar landed on the ruins, her enormous claws crushing the remaining stone walls. The stones were like mud beneath her feet, shattering as she stepped on them.
Aemond jumped down from the dragon and walked into the ruins of the bedchamber, still smoking. He pushed aside a corpse and looked at it. Below—a crushed corpse, not Rhaenyra. He pushed aside another piece, and another—no.
He walked through ruined room after ruined room, kicking aside bodies.
There were soldiers, servants, handmaidens. Some crushed to death, some beaten to death. Their faces were twisted, their eyes still open, and they were dead.
Aemond searched.
Find that silver-haired sister.
Find the woman with the crown.
Find the woman he was meant to kill.
No.
No.
Still no.
"Rhaenyra!"
His roar echoed through Dragonstone.
In the sky, lightning illuminated his face.
On that face was only a cold, almost mad determination.
She must be here. She can only be here.
She was not in the bedchamber, not in the corridor, not in the hall.
Suddenly, he looked down toward the Dragonpit.
The Dragonpit.
He looked at Vhagar, who looked back at him and said quietly.
"Dracarys."
Vhagar inhaled, then exhaled, opening her mouth.
Green tongues of flame burst from the dragon's jaws. Not a stream—a torrent. It poured into the ruins of the destroyed Dragonstone, into every room, every corridor, every place where people might hide.
The flame seeped into the cracks, into the cellars, into the wine vaults, into every corner where people could hide.
Screams rose.
Not a few—a chorus. Soldiers, servants, handmaidens hiding in the ruins were caught in the green flame. Some ran out covered in fire, took a few steps, and fell to the ground, burned to lumps of charcoal. Some did not even have time to run; they were incinerated by the flame. Others tried to put out the fire with blankets, water, anything they could—but this was dragonfire, not ordinary fire. It could burn stone, melt steel, let alone people.
The flame raged through the ruins for several minutes.
After a few minutes, the green fire finally died out.
Vhagar was somewhat tired.
In the ruins of Dragonstone, there were no more screams.
Over a hundred? Or over two hundred?
No one could keep count.
Only that after the flames died, a sharp, cloying smell rose from the ruins.
The smell of burned flesh.
Aemond stood in the rubble, letting the rain pour down on him.
His face showed no expression.
---
At that moment, in the Dragonpit, Rhaenyra held little Aegon tightly by the hand. Little Aegon did not understand what was happening; he looked at his mother somewhat blankly. Little Viserys was held by a trembling handmaiden.
Above them, a loud crash sounded; debris fell from above and from the ceiling. The whole Dragonpit trembled, as if about to collapse.
"Your Grace!" The handmaiden beside her clutched her in panic. "Your Grace, you cannot go out!"
Rhaenyra shook off her hand and stepped forward.
Another step.
Then she stopped.
Not from fear.
Because she heard it.
Those screams.
From above came the screams of people being burned alive by dragonfire.
One. Two. Ten. A hundred.
She could not count how many.
She only knew they were her people. All because of her loyalty—people guarding this castle.
The handmaiden's voice trembled. "He is looking for you... He is looking for you..."
Rhaenyra did not answer.
She simply stood, holding her swollen belly with one hand and the stone wall with the other, listening as the screams faded.
One sound.
Another sound.
Another sound.
And then...
Silence.
Complete silence.
"That bastard killed them..." Rhaenyra murmured. "He killed everyone..."
"Your Grace!" Another servant ran to her, his face full of terror. "Above—it's Vhagar! It's Aemond the Kinslayer! He's up there! He's looking for you!"
Rhaenyra turned her head and looked at him calmly.
"I know."
The servant was stunned for a moment.
"I know he is looking for me. Let him look."
She turned and looked back.
Syrax.
The great yellow she-dragon lay on the ground, rumbling anxiously. Beside her lay several freshly laid dragon eggs—grey, orange, green. Syrax had already sensed the danger, the murderous aura of Vhagar above, but her master would not let her move.
Rhaenyra approached and gently stroked Syrax's neck.
"It's all right," she said quietly. "It's all right."
Syrax rubbed her head against her, a low rumble coming from her throat. She wanted to tell Rhaenyra: Do not be afraid. I am here.
But Rhaenyra knew something was wrong.
Aemond was here. He had come to kill her.
She should have been in her bedchamber at this hour. After supper, she would return to her chambers to rest, read a book, or sit in a daze, waiting for Daemon to return. But today, she had wanted to see Syrax. She wanted to choose a dragon egg for the child in her belly.
That small change of mind had saved her life.
If she had been in the bedchamber...
She dared not think of it.
Another loud crash came from above, followed by Vhagar's roar. The sound was so close it seemed just above—so close that even Syrax nervously raised her head and let out a threatening low growl.
"He killed many people," Rhaenyra said sadly.
The handmaiden's face went pale. "Then... what of you..."
"If I had been there," Rhaenyra sighed, "I would already be dead."
---
Aemond stood in the ruins of Dragonstone, letting the rain pour down on him. Silver hair plastered to his face, covering half of it. In the eye that appeared was a chilling light.
She was not there.
She was not in the bedchamber, not in the corridor, not where she should have been.
So where was she?
He raised his head and looked at the great stone gates beside him.
The Dragonpit.
The only possible place.
Vhagar sensed her master's thoughts, roared, and turned her head to look at the stone gates.
"Vhagar."
Aemond climbed back onto Vhagar.
"To the Dragonpit."
Vhagar spread her wings.
Suddenly, Aemond looked up.
Lightning illuminated the sky.
In that blinding white light, a crimson shadow descended from the dark clouds.
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