Perfumed Garden.
The tranquil night was shattered by the roar of a restless dragon, causing the nobles and wealthy elites enjoying their revelry to become alert.
Groups of guards rushed out to maintain order amidst the commotion.
Lofty pavilions stood tall, forming an open-air corridor.
Johanna, draped in a sheer silk dress, rested her hand on the railing, her captivating eyes gazing calmly into the distance.
After a while, the disturbance subsided.
A petite maid approached in hurried, delicate steps, lowering her head in silence as she reached the corridor.
Johanna blinked once before her red lips parted. "What news from Dragonstone?"
The maid, visibly anxious, spoke softly, "A group of visitors will be arriving tonight."
"Well done."
With graceful poise, Johanna turned, her slender waist swaying gently. She spoke warmly, "As usual, take a pouch of gold coins and help me watch over the estate."
The maid's face lit up with joy as she bowed in gratitude and withdrew.
Johanna let her go, then retrieved a scroll of white parchment and a quill from her bosom, pondering. "Dorne… Lys. What should I write?"
She had secured a powerful new ally, but they might be too powerful.
She needed an escape route—she couldn't afford to reveal everything.
Lys, a secluded beach.
Under the cover of night, several small boats drifted toward the shore with the sea breeze.
Splash…
A dozen figures in black robes leaped into the shallow waters, dragging the boats ashore and concealing them among the jagged rocks.
The leader pulled back his hood, revealing a head of messy brown curls. He smiled and murmured, "All men must die."
"All men must serve…"
Three days later.
An isolated island in the Lysene waters.
A fleet of over a dozen warships had gathered, with thousands of well-equipped soldiers securing the coastline as a temporary base.
The island was covered in lush vegetation and palm trees, rising into a small hill.
At the hilltop, a contingent of soldiers, their armor engraved with the sigil of a seahorse, encircled a makeshift command tent.
The Sea Snake stood solemnly, clad in silver-gray armor, gathered around a sand table alongside several commanders.
Some bore sigils of a green tower, a red crab, a roaring lion, and other noble houses.
"My lords, we've cleared the surrounding waters. We can consider launching the full assault."
The Sea Snake's deep voice carried authority as his calloused hand placed a carved dragon figurine on Lys's position on the sand table.
"Lord Corlys, Prince Daemon is still negotiating with the Prince of Tyrosh. We may need to wait a while longer," spoke a young man with platinum curls, sharp blue eyes, and a resolute expression.
His breastplate bore the red crab sigil of House Celtigar, from Crab Isle.
The Sea Snake cast him a glance and said flatly, "Daemon will not succeed, Lord Clement."
Clement Celtigar—newly appointed Lord of Crab Isle.
He was the eldest son of Bartimos Celtigar, who was imprisoned in the dungeons of the Red Keep, and the current commander of House Celtigar in the War of the Narrow Sea.
Clement hesitated at the remark. "Prince Daemon does seem to be stalling the war."
Daemon, along with Pentos and Myr, had encircled the Tyroshi waters, but no breakthrough had been made.
Everyone knew he sought to claim Tyrosh without bloodshed, securing control over the Free City directly.
Hiss—
Hiss…
Mid-discussion, distant, guttural dragon roars echoed as several massive dragons soared through the sky.
A pair of vast, coal-black wings cast shadows over the island as Vermithor's colossal form slowly descended.
Rhaegar, clad in a black robe over silver hair, dismounted and ascended the hill.
Moments later, Sunfyre and Seasmoke landed, with Aegon and Lannino, both in armor, following closely behind.
"My prince…"
The commanders greeted him with deference.
The Sea Snake, ever reserved, simply nodded. "Prince."
"You've all worked hard."
Rhaegar acknowledged them with a nod before scanning the sand table. His slender fingers tapped the marked position of Lys as he spoke firmly, "I have instructed Daemon to prepare for the full assault. We and Volantis will besiege the city tomorrow. Tonight, ready the troops."
The Sea Snake, ever cautious, warned, "Lys has been sending ravens frequently—most to Braavos and Sunspear."
War was fought not only with swords and spears but also with ravens and intelligence.
Braavos had remained quiet for some time, but their intervention was unpredictable.
As for Dorne, its silence meant they were certainly scheming.
Rhaegar's eyes flickered as he said, "Braavos is safe for now—there's been no military mobilization."
After a pause, his finger moved to Sunspear on the map, and he mused, "I suspect Qoren Martell has already set sail. He's waiting for us to engage before taking a back route through the Summer Sea to strike our rear."
Or worse—attack Storm's End, which was heavily fortified.
The Sea Snake analyzed, "If that's the case, the garrison on the Stepstones must guard the rear to prevent a pincer attack."
Rhaegar smirked confidently. "I already gave the order. If the Dornish fleet dares to come, history will repeat the Battle of the Hundred Candles."
During the Fourth Dornish War, House Martell had dispatched a fleet of a hundred ships to flank Storm's End via Wyndmere Point.
King Jaehaerys I personally led his two sons, Aemon and Baelon, into battle, riding Vermithor, Caraxes, and Vhagar to strike first.
From dawn until nightfall, they burned all one hundred warships, leaving the sea aglow with flickering flames, like a hundred candles in the dark.
Tyroshi Waters.
A network of islands formed a defensive line with dozens of warships anchored in close formation.
On a sandy shore, Daemon stood with a grim expression, holding a letter in his hands.
The rogue prince was clad in a black dragonscale cuirass and a crimson cloak, standing firm against the salty sea breeze.
A few mercenary captains, hired from Pentos, huddled at the edges, wary of approaching the imposing prince.
The opponent had a volatile temper, and they had no intention of being used as a punching bag.
"Heh, ungrateful scum."
Daemon let out a cold laugh before tearing the letter into pieces.
The Prince of Tyrosh had refused to surrender, filling his letter with insults and mocking him as a "homeless" Targaryen.
Daemon tucked his helmet under his arm, not even sparing a glance at the group of mercenary captains before arrogantly declaring, "I'm going to patrol on dragonback. You handle the military preparations."
With that, he strode away with an imposing aura, his retreating figure exuding an overwhelming presence.
"Hiss…Gah…"
A massive crimson shadow swept across the sky. Broad wings beat slowly as the dragon descended onto the sandy shore.
By the time the mercenary captains processed what was happening, Daemon had already mounted his dragon and soared into the vast sky above the sea.
…
"Hiss…Gah…"
Caraxes let out a sharp cry, his serpent-like body gliding through the air as he flew toward Tyrosh.
Daemon's expression was grim, the words "homeless" echoing endlessly in his mind.
His father, Baelon, and grandfather, Jaehaerys, had both passed away. The Iron Throne now belonged to his older brother, Viserys.
At some point, he had begun to feel like an outsider—an unwanted presence cast aside.
Now, King's Landing belonged to Viserys. It belonged to his niece, Rhaenyra. It belonged to his nephew, Rhaegar.
It even belonged to the unborn child in Rhaenyra's womb.
But it did not belong to him.
Daemon's eyes darkened as he whispered to himself, "Brother, I will carve out my own kingdom."
King's Landing, his former wife's seat at Runestone, the free cities he had visited like Pentos, and his temporary home on Driftmark…
None of them were truly his.
He would conquer new lands for the child that had yet to be born—a land no Targaryen had ever claimed before.
Sensing his rider's emotions, Caraxes flapped his broad crimson wings with greater intensity, accelerating through the sky.
Man and dragon had set out to teach Tyrosh a lesson.
Without realizing it, a thin mist began to spread across the vast blue sky, and the humid sea breeze grew heavier.
Drip.
A single drop of rain landed on Daemon's hand, causing him to frown. "Rain?"
The Disputed Lands lay near the Summer Sea, where the climate was scorching year-round. Rain and strong winds were common occurrences.
At times, gusts from the sea would carry wandering storm clouds inland. In the Myrish tongue, this phenomenon was called "dragging rain."
"Hiss…Gah!…"
Suddenly, Caraxes tensed, his amber eyes narrowing with caution as he let out a high-pitched warning cry.
Daemon's expression shifted. His right hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword while his eyes darted around, scanning the surroundings.
Caraxes' cries were filled with alarm. The last time he had sounded like this was when Daemon's six-year-old nephew ambushed him during a storm, nearly causing both man and dragon to perish.
"ROAR!!"
In an instant, a massive silver-black shadow burst through the thin veil of clouds, its maw opening wide to lunge at them.
Daemon spun around just in time to be hit with a gust of foul-smelling wind.
For a brief moment, a chill ran down his spine.
That was one enormous dragon's maw!
At least three times the size of Caraxes.
"Hiss…Gah!"
Caraxes let out a startled cry, swiftly twisting his wings to dodge the attack, countering with a stream of crimson dragonfire.
BOOM—
The two dragons brushed past each other, and Caraxes' flames struck the side of the enemy's neck.
"ROAR…"
The silver-black dragon howled in pain, its mist-colored wings beating rapidly as it ascended.
Only then did Daemon get a clear look at the dragon's true form. He muttered coldly, "Moondancer!"
He had heard of the wild dragon that roamed the Smoking Sea—Moondancer, with its silver-black scales, gray wing membranes, and an abnormally large head.
For a moment, just by looking at its enormous head, he had mistaken it for an ancient dragon rivaling Vhagar in size.
But upon closer inspection, the dragon was only about 50 meters long—smaller than Caraxes, who was in his prime.
"Moondancer, Dracarys!"
A foreign voice suddenly commanded in High Valyrian.
"ROAR…"
Moondancer, having climbed above the clouds, abruptly turned and dived toward Caraxes, its bloodshot eyes gleaming as it unleashed a torrent of dark gray dragonfire.
"Hiss…Gah!"
Caraxes exuded a fierce killing intent, his broad wings flaring as he twisted to evade the flames. His long, serpent-like neck stretched forward, retaliating with another stream of fire.
Moondancer barely missed its target, while Caraxes, now above, spewed dragonfire down onto its side wing.
Caraxes' flames were a deep crimson, as if infused with blood, surging forth without end.
Daemon remained expressionless, though a storm of emotions raged inside him.
His gaze flicked toward Moondancer's back—where a red-robed priest was mounted.
"So, it really has been tamed."
Daemon's face darkened, but the corners of his lips curled into a smirk.
"Ascend!"
At his command, Caraxes ceased his flames and shot upward into the clouds.
The drizzle continued to fall…
Though this sea region was drenched in fine rain, the sky remained bright and clear.
"Moondancer, fly higher!"
The red-robed priest gripped the dragon's back, his deep blue eyes flashing with urgency beneath his hood.
Moondancer let out a guttural growl, shaking its massive body before flapping its wings to give chase.
The priest swayed violently, barely managing to stay on the dragon's back.
Without a saddle, he had to cling to Moondancer's spines with his bare hands, struggling to maintain control.
SPLASH—
Moondancer broke through the mist, scattering droplets of rain as it emerged into the open sky.
"Kill it!"
A sudden roar erupted, accompanied by the high-pitched screech of Caraxes.
The priest turned his head in alarm—only to see a crimson shadow rushing straight toward him.
"Hiss…Gah!!…"
Caraxes dived with terrifying speed, his broad wings slicing through the air like blades. His powerful jaws snapped forward, clamping down on Moondancer's neck.
"ROAR!"
Moondancer let out a shriek of agony, its body thrashing wildly as it turned to unleash another burst of dragonfire.
But Caraxes refused to let go. His sinuous body coiled around Moondancer like a bloodthirsty wyrm, tightening his grip.
The battle had only just begun.
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