The Skies Above Dragonstone.
"Brother!!!"
This desperate scream came from Aegon.
Sunfyre was being mauled by Silverwing, heavily wounded and faltering, but the moment Aegon looked back and saw his younger brother swallowed by dragonfire, a violent rage erupted from the marrow of his bones.
It was the fury of a relative witnessing the death of a sibling, a rage powerful enough to incinerate all cowardice.
"Sunfyre!" Aegon shrieked, his voice distorted by pain.
"Turn! Kill him!!"
The Golden Dragon felt it. Sunfyre's weary, battered body flared with renewed strength under Aegon's roar.
He no longer cared about Silverwing's talons tearing at his left side.
At the moment Silverwing moved to bite his wing-wound a third time, Sunfyre twisted his scarred frame and beat the air with his intact right wing, slamming head-first into the fire-breathing Grey Ghost!
Mirax had been entirely focused on the back of Vermithor, waiting to see Aemond turn to ash.
He never expected the "coward" Aegon, who had been fleeing like a beaten dog, to launch such a suicidal counter-charge.
"What?! Mirax! Look out!" Sara shrieked from Silverwing's back, but it was too late.
Sunfyre's impact was absolute. His solid right shoulder slammed into Grey Ghost's relatively fragile chest.
The pale dragon let out a sharp cry of pain, his stream of fire toward Aemond cutting off abruptly. Grey Ghost was sent spiraling, and Mirax was nearly flung from his seat, saved only by a desperate grip on the dragon's neck.
High above, Morghul saw his master struck by flame.
Letting out a piercing shriek, the black dragon abandoned his pursuit of Sheepstealer and dove straight down.
The flames dissipated...
The back of Vermithor was scorched black, the bronze scales sizzling and emitting acrid smoke.
Yet, in the center of the charcoal, a figure slowly stood up.
Aemond.
His upper garments had been turned to ash by the dragonfire, revealing a lean, bleeding torso.
His skin was drenched in dragon blood, which had strangely shielded him from the worst of the flames, though his flesh was a terrifying scarlet, as if he had just stepped out of a forge.
Steam rose from his body. His silver hair danced in the rising heat, sparks flickering at the tips.
He stood there, atop the smoking dragon, the hilt of Blackfyre still gripped tight.
"Impossible!" Mirax gasped.
But hatred quickly overrode shock.
"Kill him! Grey Ghost! Use your claws! Tear him apart!"
Grey Ghost lunged with bared talons.
"SUNFYRE!!" Aegon's roar echoed again.
Sunfyre used the last of his strength to tackle Grey Ghost a second time.
This wasn't a hit-and-run; it was a grapple.
Sunfyre locked his hind legs around the pale dragon's waist.
The two young dragons became a tangled mess of claws and teeth, tumbling through the air and away from Aemond.
"Grey Ghost, burn him!" Mirax yelled.
"Fire! Sunfyre! Burn him!!" Aegon shrieked.
The two dragons, face-to-face in a death-embrace, unleashed their dragonfire simultaneously.
The flames clashed in the narrow gap between them, a blinding explosion of orange and gold that melted scales and charred flesh.
Both dragons shrieked in agony, but neither let go.
Aemond grabbed the scorched reins of Vermithor, watching the carnage.
Vhagar was locked in a struggle of her own.
Silverwing had cut in from behind, biting at the old dragon's neck, one of her few vulnerable spots.
CLANG!
Dragon teeth met ancient scales with the sound of clashing metal.
Silverwing's teeth skidded across Vhagar's hide, leaving only white gouges without piercing the underlying tissue.
Two centuries of growth had made Vhagar's hide thicker than castle walls.
Vhagar's amber eye constricted into a slit of cold fury.
She turned her massive head, ignoring the struggling Vermithor beneath her, and roared directly at Silverwing.
The sheer pressure of the roar, mixed with the stench of sulfur, nearly knocked the silver dragon out of the sky.
Silverwing tumbled, and Sara, clutching her belly in sudden, sharp pain, nearly lost consciousness.
Then Sheepstealer joined. Diving from above, the wild dragon unleashed a stream of dark red fire at the base of Vhagar's already injured left wing.
The scales there had been cracked by Vermithor's tail earlier; now, under the heat, they peeled away to reveal raw, red flesh.
Vhagar let out a thunderous wail of true rage.
This wasn't just battle-lust anymore; it was the fury of a matriarch being attacked by her own kin.
Silverwing, Vermithor, Sheepstealer, all were her descendants. And now, they stood against her.
Vhagar went berserk. She shook off Vermithor and turned her maw toward Silverwing and the diving Sheepstealer.
She unleashed a torrent of murky green liquid fire.
Sara saw death coming. Her maternal instinct overrode the mission, not for herself, but for her child.
She yanked the reins, screaming: "Climb! Silverwing! Full speed climb!!!"
The silver she-dragon sensed the lethal threat and lunged vertically.
The green fire grazed her belly, charring her scales, but she escaped a direct hit.
Sheepstealer was not as lucky. His momentum was too great, and Nettles lacked the skill to guide him away.
The green fire slammed into his soft chest and underbelly.
"SCREE-HOOOO!!!"
Sheepstealer let out a scream of unprecedented agony. The fire clung to him, burning at a temperature that could melt steel.
Nettles, weeping and tossed by the dragon's frantic thrashing, cried out, "Sheepstealer! Save me!"
The wild dragon heard her. Perhaps it was the girl's cry, or perhaps the pain made him realize he had to flee.
Sheepstealer abandoned the fight, beating his wings with frantic power as he fled toward the eastern sea, higher and higher, until he vanished into a trail of black smoke over the horizon.
Silverwing, having escaped the fire, let out a howl toward the still-struggling Vermithor, trying to rouse him.
On her back, Sara was pale, her abdomen cramping violently. She bit her lip until it bled, her hands white on the saddle.
She couldn't stay. If she stayed, the baby was lost.
She steered Silverwing away, banking toward the east, abandoning the battlefield for Tyrosh.
But for Vermithor, the sight of his mate being attacked and his kin fleeing snapped the last thread of restraint.
He was no longer being driven by the rider's commands.
He was driven by the primal ferocity of a predator.
He let out a roar that shook the earth. No pain. Only wrath.
He lunged his massive bronze claws into Vhagar's belly, the softest point of any dragon.
RIP.
Vhagar's scream echoed across the island. The bronze talons pierced her grey hide and sank deep into her vitals.
Ancient blood fountained out.
She thrashed, her wings creating hurricanes, her tail smashing into Vermithor, but the Bronze Fury refused to let go.
He locked his hind legs into her ribs and used his weight to pull the ancient dragon down, while his other foreclaw dug into the wound on Vhagar's shoulder.
Locked in a death-grip, the two greatest dragons on earth began to tumble and roll, plummeting directly toward the center of the Dragonmont, the volcano of Dragonstone.
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