The prices were steep: ten, sixty, and one hundred and twenty points of Essence.
Expensive—but worth every drop.
Aemon took a slow, steady breath as his eyes fixed on the three shimmering cards laid out before him on the panel.
His excitement, however, centred on the third one—[Golden-Nosed Rat]. Judging by the description alone, it was the perfect pet.
Who knew? It might even help him sniff out magical items hidden beneath the dust and stone of old Valyria's legacy.
"Confirm selection," he murmured, jaw clenched.
With that, he took the first and third cards.
Boop.
The [Physique +1] card shattered instantly, dissolving into a white halo that pierced his chest and vanished.
The [Golden-Nosed Rat] was a light-blue dot of light, invisible to anyone else, that drifted softly into the embroidered pouch on his belt.
Outwardly, Aemon kept a blank expression. Inwardly, warmth flooded his limbs and a quiet strength spread through his core.
He glanced at the spinning hourglass in the corner of the panel. The numbers ticked down.
[Essence: 68]
It stung, letting that much go—but it was necessary.
The panel's daily card offerings were random, and often downright useless. It had been nearly a week since he'd last seen [Physique +1] appear.
If he didn't take it now, who knew when the next opportunity would come?
As for the second card, [Empty Hand], he decided to hold off. No sense in blowing through everything at once.
He had to maintain the illusion of wealth, after all. A Targaryen prince shouldn't look desperate.
"Let's have a peek at the little mouse, then."
When no one was looking, Aemon casually reached into his pouch.
"Zhizhi."
The moment his fingers touched fur, he felt something soft, round, and very much alive squirm gently against his hand.
Before he could admire it properly, the old dragonkeeper's voice echoed ahead.
"Your Highnesses—please allow us to enter first and assess the situation."
Aemon blinked, startled. At some point, the group had moved into the shadowy depths of the Dragonpit, following the stone passage beneath the hall into a twisting, vaulted tunnel.
They stood now at the threshold of a vast, echoing cavern.
"We'll wait here," said Rhaenyra, pulling Aemon aside by the sleeve.
Aemon nodded absently, eyes still adjusting to the dimness. One hand discreetly squeezed the ball of fur in his pouch.
He hadn't forgotten why they'd come.
Step one: see whether a dragon's presence could provide Essence.
Step two: get close—get familiar—with a dragon.
No, not just any dragon.
He wanted to try taming her.
The dragon imprisoned here: a volatile, ancient beauty whose name still made the elders whisper.
Dreamfyre.
Big as a barn, violent as a storm, and rumoured to be one of the most breathtaking creatures ever bred in Valyria.
And Helena? She was still a babe. Why waste such a beast on her when he could make better use of it?
Even if Dreamfyre couldn't rival Vhagar—one of the oldest and greatest living dragons—she would still outclass most of the younger broods.
"You're thinking of taming Dreamfyre?" Rhaenyra asked quietly, side-eyeing him.
Aemon didn't lie. "I want to try."
"She's a good dragon," said Rhaenyra after a moment, her voice surprisingly sincere. "I hope you succeed."
She'd suspected as much from the moment Aemon had asked to visit the pit. They shared the same blood, after all. Fire and blood coursed through both of them.
Their mothers had come from the Vale, true, and neither had been raised around dragons. But their fathers—Viserys and Daemon—were true dragonriders.
It was in their nature, like a buried instinct. So deep they would pay any price to satisfy it.
Aemon smiled, strangely touched. He thumped his chest and declared, "If I tame a dragon, I'll help you burn anyone who dares to trouble you."
Rhaenyra's eyes softened.
Dragons were priceless now. Since the Doom of Valyria, the Targaryens were the only dragonlords left in the world. Their bloodline—soaring and falling over generations—still claimed the sky.
And in truth, there weren't more than ten living dragons among them anymore.
She smiled faintly. "You're Daemon's son. My brother. Why would I hoard a family dragon from you?"
But she couldn't help laughing softly when Aemon grinned like an idiot and puffed out his chest.
He reminded her of Daemon in his younger, more impish days.
He wasn't her half-brother—wasn't someone who'd steal her crown. That thought made her heart soften.
Squeak!
Something shifted.
A chubby little head poked out of Aemon's pouch. Milky-white fur. Round ears. Gleaming golden nose.
Aemon winced. In his excitement, he'd forgotten he was still holding it.
"What in the Seven Hells is that?" Rhaenyra yelped, instinctively stepping back.
So much for warm bonding.
"Don't panic—it's just a rat. Caught it in the Red Keep."
Aemon gave her an apologetic smile as he gently pinched the back of the creature's neck and lifted it out.
The creature was adorable, really. Like a fat, pampered hamster. Its paws were pink and soft, and its fur pristine. Its most distinct feature was its golden snout, as if it had snuffled through a pile of gold coins or cheese.
Aemon studied it. "Actually… it's kinda cute."
The rat squeaked indignantly and waved a tiny paw as if to say, I'm not cute—I'm useful.
"A rat?" Rhaenyra raised a brow, still wary. "A random rat?"
"Well, the Red Keep is basically a giant rat nest," Aemon said with a shrug. "Might be a special breed."
He quickly tucked the creature back inside the pouch, though his heart pounded with excitement.
In his mind, the details had appeared the moment he touched it.
The Golden-Nosed Rat had exceptional senses—keen smell, sharp hearing. It could detect faint magical scents, even through stone or concealment.
But more importantly?
It had magical pouches hidden in its cheeks, each capable of storing up to a cubic metre of items.
It was, in effect, a living, breathing, loyal—and slightly vain—storage artefact.
"Blessed be the gods," Aemon thought to himself. "This thing's a treasure chest on legs."
Squeak!
The rat poked its head out again, chirping with indignation, as if saying, You're welcome, by the way.
Aemon chuckled and gave it a gentle pat on the head, nudging it back down.
The card's bond made it loyal—but it clearly had a cheeky streak.
Only once the creature was safely hidden again did Rhaenyra give a snort and say, "You've got very interesting taste, Aemon."
"Heh." He scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin.
He'd gotten rather good at pretending to be daft since arriving in King's Landing.
Then it came—a distant hum of voices from the darkened cave ahead.
"Swallow flame… ride wing…"
"Two heads… sing as three…"
"My voice… speaks fire's tongue…"
The old dragonkeepers were chanting in low, droning Valyrian—an ancient lullaby meant to calm the beasts.
Aemon's eyes sharpened, gaze fixed on the cavern.
"That's the Song of Fire," Rhaenyra said quietly. "The one that stirs their blood. Be ready."
"I will," he said. And meant it.
Soon, the dragonkeepers returned—slow, cautious, bamboo staffs held wide to keep the dragon's temper in check.
A hush fell. The ground trembled.
Clink-clink—clatter.
The sound of chains echoed like thunder.
Aemon tensed. His pulse roared in his ears.
Even the rat curled into a ball of nerves, vibrating with shared fear.
Then—
BOOM.
The cavern shook.
A monster charged into view.
Chains rattled. Dust fell. The very walls seemed to groan in warning.
HIIIIISSSS!!
She was here.
Dreamfyre.
Beautiful and terrible. A living flame sculpted into form