The next day, the weather was clear.
In a desolate canyon somewhere in Sothoryos, the Green Hell.
A terrifying black-scaled dragon, as dark as coal, let out a deep, guttural roar, beating its massive wings as it swooped over the canyon, toying with its prey.
Two wyverns, about thirty feet long with green-and-white striped wings, shrieked in panic, flapping wildly like headless chickens as they fled.
But they were too small and too slow.
Slash!
The predator's green, vertical pupils gleamed with ferocity as it opened its maw and clamped down on one of the wyverns. Sharp fangs snapped shut, and in an instant, the creature was torn apart.
Blood rained down from the sky as the predator raised its head, chewing a few times before swallowing the wyvern whole—an adolescent dragon's worth of meat devoured in mere seconds.
Flapping its wings once more, the massive beast cast a shadow over most of the canyon, engulfing the second, still-fleeing wyvern.
Screech!
Sunlight was blocked out, and the wyvern let out a terrified cry just as a gigantic, black steel-like claw came crashing down from above.
The wyvern's slender body was snatched up like a helpless chick.
A moment later—
Splurt!
Its entire body was crushed, internal organs splattering through the air. Only its long, limp neck and wings dangled lifelessly as it was discarded, nothing more than a snack.
In front of a deep cave within the canyon
Rhaegar tilted his head up, staring. His long silver hair was tousled, and his fitted black robe fluttered in the wind.
Squelch!
With both hands gripping a spear, he drove it into the ground, causing a gush of foul-smelling blood to spray out.
At his feet lay the corpse of a twenty-foot-long wyvern, its sharp head pierced clean through by the spear, leaving a gaping, bloody hole. Sticking out of its spine was a Valyrian steel sword—Trueflame.
"This thing was a real pain. It's like it doesn't even feel pain—if you don't hit a vital spot, it just won't die."
Rhaegar wiped a thin layer of sweat from his forehead, twirled his spear to shake off the blood, and stowed away his Valyrian steel weapon—Dawn—into his spatial ring.
Against large creatures, a spear was the better weapon.
Screech!
As soon as he turned around, having just pulled Trueflame from the wyvern's spine, the predator let out a call and descended.
Before its rider could react, the ravenous dragon stretched out its long neck and, in one swift motion, chomped down on the wyvern's corpse, crushing and devouring it.
"Heh, you really were starving."
Rhaegar chuckled and scanned the barren, rocky canyon.
The uneven ground was littered with all kinds of bones—boar bones, monkey bones, and even those of the native inhabitants.
The three wyverns he had just slain were the rulers of this canyon.
They behaved somewhat like pack animals, yet they still fought amongst themselves.
In short, they were brainless beasts.
"Come on, Glutton."
Rhaegar climbed onto the dragon's back, securing a bulging sack to the saddle.
Screech!
Glutton's mouth was still smeared with blood. It glanced back at its rider, green eyes flashing with dissatisfaction.
Rhaegar ignored it completely, opened the sack, and pulled out a grayish-white wyvern egg.
It was about the same size as a dragon's egg, smooth all over, with no dragon-scale-like texture on its shell.
This was a striped wyvern egg—one of two he had taken from the cave.
Inside the sack, there were also three pale green wyvern eggs from last night's hunt in the swamp.
Come to think of it, swamp wyverns were supposed to be solitary creatures, and they were rare, yet they laid quite a number of eggs.
That swamp alone had three nests, each containing three eggs.
Rhaegar had taken the freshest clutch, leaving the rest to feed Glutton.
Striped wyverns, however, were different.
They were almost pack creatures—three wyverns had produced only one clutch, and that clutch held just two eggs.
Rhaegar studied the grayish-white egg for a moment, turning it over in his hands, before musing aloud, "I wonder if this thing can hatch on its own."
Wyverns were apex predators, their adult forms as large as adolescent dragons.
Even though they couldn't breathe fire, their fangs and claws were deadly weapons.
If they could be tamed…
Rhaegar quickly shook his head and laughed. "A mindless beast? If they could be tamed, the natives would've done it already."
Catching sight of Glutton eyeing the egg hungrily, he suddenly had a new idea.
"If they can hatch, I could breed a whole batch and move them to Westeros—they'd make perfect prey for the dragons."
His eyes lit up. That was a solid plan.
Most dragons in his family were kept in captivity from the moment they hatched, fed livestock when hungry.
Over time, they lost their hunting instincts.
But wyverns were vicious, far larger than any common beast—perfect for training adolescent and young dragons in combat.
Screech!
Glutton let out a sharp cry, realizing its rider wouldn't part with the egg. It abandoned the idea and instead took off, searching for the next hunting ground.
Man and dragon had already destroyed three striped wyvern nests and continued their relentless search.
Glutton's green pupils remained cold, its hunger significantly sated. Leaving the Green Hell, it now circled several coastal islands.
The wyverns in the Green Hell were too well hidden—whenever they caught its scent, they wouldn't even dare to come out.
The islands, however, had far more wyverns and all sorts of exotic beasts that, while not ideal, could still serve as food.
Roar…
Suddenly, Glutton bared its fangs. It had caught the faint scent of something familiar—something of its own kind. Its green pupils locked onto a large island, shaped like a mango.
Rhaegar felt it too, a sense of unease creeping in.
"Glutton, descend!"
Screech!
With a mighty flap, Glutton swooped downward, its massive black form cutting through the dense jungle below.
After a thorough search, it pinpointed a low-lying canyon, heavily covered in vegetation.
The canyon was near a squat mountain.
Rhaegar observed closely, sensing an unusual heat emanating from it—it seemed to be a long-dormant volcano.
"A volcano?"
He murmured.
Since the explosion of Valyria's Fourteen Flames, the only known active volcano was Dragonstone's Dragonmont.
Beneath the Thousand-Faced Isle, underground magma develops sluggishly, making it barely qualify as a miniature volcano.
Aside from that, volcanic landforms are incredibly rare.
Sensing the faint anticipation of its rider, the Devourer flapped its wings and circled the extinct volcano once before slowly descending above the canyon.
Rhaegar seized the opportunity to observe closely.
The active volcano's slopes were densely covered with greenery, with many birds nesting there—proof that it hadn't erupted in at least several decades.
"Hiss—Gah—!"
Suddenly, a thunderous roar exploded in the air. The Devourer seemed to have been startled by something, and eerie green dragonfire began to gather deep within its maw.
Rhaegar quickly turned his gaze, instantly standing up from the saddle, his eyes filled with shock.
What he saw was a massive—no, an enormous, an unimaginably gigantic—dragon's remains!
The skeleton was pitch black, with a head adorned with dense crown-like horns and two colossal, dusky dragon horns stretching over ten meters long.
The canyon itself was only a few hundred meters long and a few dozen meters wide, hidden deep within a remote forest.
Yet, this colossal dragon skeleton was wedged into the gorge. Its massive wing bones extended beyond the canyon, draping over the open land on both sides, spanning hundreds of meters.
"Devourer, get closer!"
After the initial shock, Rhaegar's breathing grew rapid, but his mind remained composed.
Compared to the Devourer, the dragon skeleton was at least three times its size.
From the absurdly large dragon head to the thick, powerful tail, Rhaegar estimated that this dragon had been over 300 meters long in life, with a wingspan exceeding 600 meters.
"Seven Hells… Is this really a dragon?"
The more he looked, the more his heart pounded, sending waves of turmoil through his mind.
Throughout the brief history of House Targaryen, the largest known dragon had been Balerion the Black Dread.
Balerion lived for over 200 years before dying of old age. Even then, he remained larger than Vhagar, the biggest living dragon, yet never surpassed the 200-meter mark.
And Balerion came from the peak of Old Valyria, boasting one of the noblest bloodlines among the forty dragonlord families.
Yet, the skeleton before him easily exceeded 300 meters. The sheer, impossible disparity was something Rhaegar struggled to accept.
"Devourer, put me down!"
Taking several deep breaths, he made up his mind.
He needed to examine the skeleton up close.
First, to see if it would activate his Explorer's Gift.
A dragon larger than Balerion should certainly count as a relic of historical significance.
Second, he simply couldn't accept it. He refused to believe a dragon of this size had ever existed.
He needed to inspect the age of the bones and estimate when this dragon had fallen.
Given that dragons had a standard lifespan of about 200 years, this one must have hatched before the Doom of Valyria.
A dragon of such extraordinary size shouldn't have gone unnoticed by the dragonlord families.
Even if it had been a wild dragon, there were simply too many unanswered questions.
"Hiss… Gah…"
The Devourer did not immediately obey. Instead, it sniffed around, lowering its head as if searching for something.
After a long moment, its green vertical pupils flickered with uncertainty. Its tense body gradually relaxed.
It had discovered something—something that made it lower its guard.
"Roar…"
With a deep, rumbling growl, the Devourer flapped its wings and flew toward the canyon, selecting a clearing near the dragon's skull to land.
"Stay alert," Rhaegar ordered as he slid off the dragon's back, rushing toward the skeleton without hesitation.
The canyon was lush with vegetation, much of it growing over the massive remains, creating a surreal blend of life and death.
As he closed the distance, the true scale of the skeleton became overwhelmingly clear.
The skull alone was the size of a small castle, and each fang was thicker than his waist.
"A miracle…"
Rhaegar murmured, reaching out to touch one of the enormous fangs.
Crack!
Instead of the expected activation of his Explorer's Gift, a sharp snapping sound rang out.
Rhaegar froze. He pressed against the tooth and gave it a shove.
Thud!
The fang detached completely from the lower jaw, teetering before crashing onto the grass below.
His mouth opened slightly, momentarily stunned.
Squatting down, he examined the point where the tooth had broken off—it had fallen out from the root, not snapped due to weathering.
Then, a sudden realization struck him. His eyes widened in disbelief.
"A 300-meter-long dragon… with horns?"
As dragons age, their growing bones and muscles eventually shed unnecessary features like horns, crown spurs, and even scales.
Vhagar, at 170 years old, had already lost its once-magnificent dragon horns, with only a few newly grown crown spurs remaining.
Its jaw and neck muscles had slackened, hanging loosely.
Rhaegar's expression darkened. He immediately backed away from the skull and shouted, "Devourer!"
"Hiss—Gah!"
The Devourer let out a thunderous roar and whipped its massive black tail sideways in a sweeping motion.
Boom!
The tail struck the dragon skull with immense force.
With a deafening crash, the skull detached from the spine, slamming into the canyon wall.
In an instant, it shattered into countless fragments.
Fangs snapped apart, and the two massive dragon horns broke cleanly off, crumbling into a heap of bone dust.
Clatter…
Watching the bones scatter before his eyes, Rhaegar's gaze turned ice-cold.
Disappointed, he muttered, "A true dragon's bones are eternal."
Dragon bones were known to resist even the erosion of magma.
Even after centuries of exposure to the elements, they should remain as hard as steel.
This dragon skeleton was wrong.
Deeply, deeply wrong.