At midday, the sun hung high in the sky.
Inside the council hall, tall, narrow windows on all four sides allowed bright, transparent light to stream in. Yet, the air remained bitterly cold.
The circular chamber was filled with figures standing around a large stone map table.
Rhaegar stood on one side of the table, both hands pressed against its surface, his sharp gaze sweeping across everyone present.
Serpentine Corlys, Rhaenys, Laenor, Aegon...
Laenor, Otto, Lannino...
This was an emergency meeting of the royal council, attended by every member bearing the Targaryen or Velaryon name.
From his father, King Viserys, to young Daeron, who was nestled beside Alicent's legs, no one was exempt from participation.
Rhaegar had a point to make clear to them all.
War! It was imminent!
He slammed his hand on the table, his face cold as ice, and spoke without preamble:
"My lords, silence will not solve our problems. We must discuss how to reclaim that wild dragon!"
A dragon must never fall into the hands of outsiders!
Regardless of whether it was the Smoke Sea Wild Dragon or the one gravely injured by the Glutton, part of the responsibility lay with him.
"Prince, with all due respect, you would never willingly give up a dragon, and no one else would willingly return one to you."
Corlys spoke sharply, raising his head with pride.
"Lys hunting a wild dragon is an open challenge to House Targaryen's authority. War is inevitable."
"I agree!" Daemon declared firmly.
The two men found themselves in immediate agreement—both had long been eager for war.
Rhaegar cast them a glance but remained silent, his cold gaze unreadable.
Though he had no intention of fueling their ambitions, the first note of war had already been struck.
His eyes swept around the room. The rest remained silent, their brows furrowed in deep thought.
Each was weighing the cost of war.
Even Viserys, the King himself, sat at the far end of the table, lost in contemplation.
His expression was grim, his eyes simmering with fury as he clutched the letter in his hands, reading and rereading its contents.
The letter made everything clear:
A wild dragon from the Smoke Sea had been gravely wounded and stranded on an uninhabited island within Lysene waters. A group of mercenaries discovered the massive creature.
They used livestock to lower its guard, then, seizing the opportunity while it rested, captured it through sheer numbers, chains, and sacrifice.
They had sold it for a hefty sum to Lys' governor, Panroba Bazayn.
Seeing his father remain silent, Rhaegar frowned slightly and spoke directly:
"Father, you are the King of the Seven Kingdoms, the head of House Targaryen. The decision must come from you!"
As Prince Regent and heir, he was not yet King.
Without his father's final word, everything was mere talk.
Viserys clenched his jaw, suppressing his anger as reason took hold. In a measured tone, he said,
"If war breaks out, countless lives will be lost. We must first attempt a diplomatic resolution."
"Your Grace, the only ones who will suffer are the Three Daughters. Seeking peace with them is nothing but a child's game."
Corlys scoffed, his words laced with contempt.
Lys had already captured an unclaimed wild dragon. Whether or not they could tame it was irrelevant—the threat was real.
Viserys seethed with frustration, his grip tightening around the crumpled letter.
Otto, observing his reaction, spoke in a measured tone,
"Lord Corlys, His Grace seeks to maintain peace in the realm. At the very least, we should first attempt negotiations with the Three Daughters and demand the return of the dragon."
"Wishful thinking," Daemon sneered.
Laenor stepped forward, playing his role as Hand of the King, and said solemnly,
"Your Grace, the Three Daughters are ambitious. Capturing the dragon is likely a calculated move to claim it as their own."
"And you suggest…?" Viserys asked hesitantly.
Laenor ignored the ongoing argument and answered rationally,
"We should prepare for war in advance while sending envoys to negotiate. This will allow us to gauge their intentions."
Simply put: diplomacy first, but be ready for battle.
Daemon scowled, dissatisfied.
"That would only alert them! We should dispatch warships and dragons immediately to strike Lys with overwhelming force."
Tormund interjected calmly,
"To my knowledge, the Three Daughters have, over the years, built no fewer than a hundred watchtowers, each equipped with scorpion ballistae designed to repel dragons."
No one was foolish enough to make the same mistake twice.
Aemond added,
"Braavos and Dorne maintain strong ties with the Three Daughters. If we rashly declare war, we may face resistance from the entire Free Cities and Dorne."
Three years prior, Rhaegar had ridden his dragon, the Glutton, to burn several of the Three Daughters' cities to the ground.
Since then, the remaining Free Cities had voiced their opposition, unwilling to see a repeat of the Freehold era's dragon invasions.
Daemon scoffed, looking Aemond up and down before sneering,
"Tell me, which Free City has dared to retaliate against your master? We have our own allies."
Tormund chuckled and turned toward the King, speaking earnestly,
"Your Grace, whether or not we negotiate with the Three Daughters is debatable. However, sending letters to rally support from other Free Cities or at least issuing a warning is absolutely necessary."
Viserys clenched his teeth, his face taut.
"Rhaegar, what do you think?"
The council had reached a consensus—he, as King, could not afford to appear weak.
Rhaegar had been waiting for this moment.
"Father, sending envoys to negotiate is fine. But first, we must prepare for war. We must be ready to strike at any moment."
A dragon had fallen into Lys' hands. The Free Cities were not without remnants of Valyrian blood.
Who could guarantee what might happen next?
Rhaegar's gaze swept across the room, pausing briefly on Daemon, Aegon, and Aemond—every dragon rider present.
His expression hardened as he declared,
"No matter what, there can only be one dragon race in this world!"
Two Days Later
Over the vast, endless Summer Sea…
"Screeech!"
A colossal black beast tore through the white clouds, its terrifying, savage head releasing a thunderous roar.
Atop its back, Rhaegar sat in the saddle, clad in a flowing black cloak, his silver hair billowing in the wind.
The midday heat was oppressive.
Peering down at the sea below, he spotted a lush green island in the distance.
Following the island's direction for a while longer, a dense jungle-covered landmass came into view.
"Sothoryos. Finally."
A gleam flashed in Rhaegar's eyes.
His father and the royal council were handling affairs at Dragonstone; he did not need to remain there at all times.
With war on the horizon, he could not allow the Glutton to go into battle starving.
Hunting the Long-Winged Dragon
He had come specifically to this uninhabited continent to hunt long-winged dragons.
Notably, during his time here, he conducted an aerial reconnaissance of Lys' defensive forces while riding his dragon.
At sea, there was a large fleet of patrol ships. Within the city-state, hundreds of watchtowers stood tall, each housing more than one scorpion ballista.
The scorpion ballistae were densely positioned. If a dragon attempted a low-altitude fire-breathing attack, it would risk getting hit in the eyes.
For young dragons like Sunflame and Seasmoke, who had only recently reached adulthood, the chances of being shot down were significantly high.
An aerial assault was not advisable. A coordinated attack by both dragons and the fleet would be the optimal strategy.
"Roar..."
The Devourer let out a low growl, its body suddenly dropping in altitude as it glided over the dense jungle, its vertical pupils locked onto a towering mountain in the distance.
Judging by its confident movements, it seemed to know the terrain well.
Rega chuckled and asked, "Devourer, have you been here before?"
"Screech..."
The dragon's green vertical pupils flashed with a trace of arrogance. It increased its speed, answering with its actions.
After a while, man and dragon passed through the jungle, skirting around the towering mountains that obstructed their view.
Rega surveyed the surroundings, sensing the emotions Devourer was conveying.
There were no suitable prey in this area—the sharp-beaked dragons were deeper inland.
Time passed.
Before long, the sun began to set.
Neither of them chose to travel at night.
After soaring through the skies all day, they needed to recover their strength in the evening.
Below them lay a vast primeval forest, crisscrossed with small streams that meandered irregularly, forming a swamp shrouded in miasma.
With its night vision, Devourer selected a dry patch of woodland and exhaled a blast of eerie green dragonfire.
Boom—
A vast section of the forest went up in flames, reduced to ashes under the dragon's relentless fire.
Devourer slowly descended, its black wings snuffing out the remaining embers, then curled up on the ground as if it had done this countless times before.
It was a dragon that had traveled across multiple continents, possessing knowledge and experience that surpassed most dragons—and even most humans.
Rega slid off the dragon's back, retrieved some dry rations from his spatial bracelet, and set up a temporary tent.
He was used to Devourer's intelligence and had learned to appreciate it.
Midnight Disturbance
Clang! Clang!
Rega was fast asleep in his tent when a loud commotion startled him awake.
"Screech..."
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing cry echoed through the night—both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
Rega immediately perked up, exclaiming in astonishment, "A long-winged dragon!"
He hurriedly crawled out of his cramped tent and spotted flickering firelight in the forest about a mile away.
"Roar..."
Devourer was also disturbed, lifting its massive head, its green vertical pupils glowing like ghostly flames as it fixated on the source of the noise.
Whoosh—
A grayish dragon silhouette darted across the treetops, shrieking as it chased down its prey.
"Devourer, let's go check it out."
Rega swiftly climbed onto the dragon's back, his gaze locked onto the long-winged dragon.
Under the moonlight, the dragon's body appeared quite large—at least forty feet long, bigger than an average striped long-winged dragon.
"Screech..."
Devourer let out a restless growl, baring its fangs in a vicious grin before flapping its powerful wings and taking off.
It was starving, and the prey had practically delivered itself.
The long-winged dragon had yet to realize it had been targeted by a top-tier predator. It shrieked wildly, diving to the ground to attack with its fangs and claws.
"Dragonfire!"
Rega's eyes turned cold as he spoke in High Valyrian.
Boom—
A pillar of eerie green dragonfire erupted, engulfing the frenzied long-winged dragon below.
"Screech!!"
The dragon let out a bloodcurdling scream as its spine was burned clean through, its wings flapping twice before it collapsed, lifeless.
Devourer dove down, its powerful feet crushing the surrounding trees as it impatiently tore into its prey.
Rega glanced at the fallen creature. Its body was covered in grayish scales with patches of green moss growing in between, emitting a strong, earthy stench.
It was likely a swamp long-winged dragon, a species that thrived in marshy terrain.
Beneath the dragon's massive body, a few tall, muscular savages lay crushed, their skin painted with tribal markings.
Rega looked up and saw more tribesmen fleeing into the jungle, screaming in terror as they brandished torches.
After a brief moment of thought, he recalled a small piece of history from his family's records.
The continent of Sothoryos had a number of indigenous tribes. Their bodies were as strong as wild beasts, and they painted their skin with white and brown patterns.
Their women could not bear children with men outside their own race—any offspring would either be stillborn or monstrous abominations.
During the era of Freehold fortresses, several powerful dragonlord families discovered this continent and established colonies at Wyvern Point.
Three attempts were made in total, but in the end, the land was abandoned.
The first failure was due to the native tribes destroying the settlements.
A Predator's Instinct
Rip!
Devourer bit down viciously, discarding the burnt, scrawny remains of the long-winged dragon. Instead, it crushed the neck and tail with its fangs, greedily swallowing the chunks.
After devouring most of its meal, Devourer sniffed the air, its green pupils locking onto a swampy area.
"Screech..."
With a low snarl, it flapped its wings and shot into the sky, heading straight for the swamp.
It had picked up a familiar scent from the long-winged dragon—there were dragon eggs nearby.
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