Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Crack!

The giant jaws locked onto the twisted shoulder blades, and the wild dragon's wings drooped instantly under the crushing force. In a dragon fight, disabling the wings is crucial.

"Roar!"

The wild dragon let out a mournful roar as one side of its body went numb, its wing losing all sensation. In a desperate, panicked attempt to resist, it spewed Dragonfire, but it was futile.

Rhaegar trembled with intensity, his eyes fixed on the tattered hemp rope draped across the wild dragon’s back. Gritting his teeth, he urged, "Harder, Cannibal!"

As far as he could see, the rope, now filthy and encrusted with mud, looked like it had been dragged through a sewer. It wrapped around the dragon's neck, anchored by a heavily corroded iron plate at the top—the worn base of what had once been a dragon saddle.

Rhaegar tightened his grip on the dragon whip, a realization dawning. "It really is a remnant of a Dragonlord," he thought. This was a dragon without a master, yet one that had once borne a rider.

"Roar!"

The Cannibal, driven by a deep-seated desire for revenge, bit down harder, crushing the bones of the wild dragon’s wing and twisting its massive body.

One sharp claw clamped around the wild dragon's neck, while the other tore into a flailing leg. The rain poured down on the two battling beasts, the sound of splintering bone and ripping flesh echoing through the storm. A large chunk of meat was torn off by the Cannibal’s fangs, and the dragon's head shook as it devoured the flesh.

The taste of blood only intensified the Cannibal's ferocity, awakening a primal desire to consume. It continued to bite and swallow, piece by piece, prolonging the torment.

The Cannibal didn’t end the battle with a single, merciful bite. Instead, it savored the destruction, eating the wild dragon slowly and cruelly, bit by agonizing bit. No dragon in the world could challenge the majesty of the king of wild dragons. Killing a dragon, even an adult one, was not difficult for such a beast.

"Roar..."

The wild dragon moaned in agony, its body succumbing to the relentless assault. As it fell uncontrollably, it lowered its head in a final, desperate attempt to bite back at the vicious Cannibal.

A sudden stumble!

The wild dragon’s sharp teeth sank into the dark dragon's neck, struggling to pierce the tough scales, bright blood blooming like scarlet flowers. Cannibal’s green pupils narrowed, growing even more sinister as it clenched its opponent's claws with a burst of strength, the sickening crunch of breaking bones echoing through the air.

"Roar..."

The wild dragon’s pupils dulled, its jaws loosening around the Cannibal’s muzzle as the loose flesh of its neck began to sag and deform. Rhaegar watched intently, his eyes reflecting an indecipherable light as he raised and lowered the dragon-taming whip. The choice to kill or spare was a mere thought away.

Suddenly, the wild dragon slowly twisted its neck, and its amber pupils came into view. Rhaegar was momentarily stunned, seeing a complex mix of emotions—hatred, resentment, and a deep weariness—flicker in those massive eyes. A wave of realization surged through him.

This was no mere wild dragon. It was a creature that had once known a master, now wandering alone across the continent of Sothoryos. Rhaegar lowered his head, recognizing the error in his initial assumptions.

The wild dragon was old; its loose, sagging skin revealed as much. Though not as decrepit as Vhagar, it was certainly older than Vermithor, which had matured and aged rapidly. In contrast, Dreamfyre and Silverwing, though smaller and less imposing, still retained their youthful vigor, with no signs of aging. Even the Cannibal, with its thick scales and prominent horned crest, had not yet left the prime of its life.

Rhaegar's mind cleared, noticing a subtle shift in the wild dragon's eyes. Dragons have distinct growth periods, peaks, and aging phases. This dragon looked ancient, but who knew its true age?

Dragons typically live around two hundred years. The Doom of Valyria occurred over two centuries ago, aligning with the natural lifespan of a dragon. If this wild dragon had hatched in Sothoryos, its age would be roughly accurate. But if that were true, it would be a wild dragon by nature. Yet the saddle on its back proved it had once been ridden.

Was it once the mount of an ancient Dragonlord before the Doom? Or a descendant who fled to Sothoryos afterward?

'No,' Rhaegar thought, shaking his head. 'The descendants of the Dragonlord could not have tamed a dragon without some great effort.' This wild dragon likely existed before the Doom, meaning it must be over two hundred years old.

"Roar..."

Cannibal tore off another piece of flesh, causing the wild dragon to tremble violently in pain, letting out a mournful cry of despair. At the edge of life and death, the will to survive surged stronger than anything else. The wild dragon’s neck shook wildly as it launched a desperate counterattack, its massive body—over 100 meters long—striking back.

Crack!

The scarred beak of the wild dragon's snout clamped down on the Cannibal's hind leg, sharp teeth piercing deep into the flesh.

"Roar!"

Cannibal roared in pain, then swallowed the bloody chunk it had torn free, releasing its grip on the wild dragon’s claws and kicking it away.

The wild dragon’s survival instinct had kicked in. When prey fights back with such ferocity, a direct confrontation becomes too risky. The only way to win was to wear down its will, like a hunter tiring out a wild pheasant. With its wing broken, the wild dragon couldn't escape. Its only choice was to fight with everything it had left.

"Roar!"

The wild dragon's grip weakened, its neck loosening as it gasped for breath, head drooping and shaking. In that moment, Rhaegar's eyes flashed with resolve, and he made a swift decision.

"Stop, Cannibal!"

Before the dragon beneath him could fully register his command, Rhaegar sent a powerful mental directive into its mind. With a sudden burst of energy, he stood up, sprinted across the dragon's broad back, and leapt into the cold, driving rain.

"Roar!"

The Cannibal roared in surprise as its massive body glided past, its dark wings momentarily shielding Rhaegar from the rain. His heart pounded in his chest, and he swallowed hard as he plummeted through the air. Below, the vast forest stretched out like a green ocean, the moist wind howling around him.

Barely able to see in the storm, Rhaegar focused on his breathing, adjusting it by feel. He drew out the dragon whip he had been holding tightly.

"Roar!"

The wild dragon let out a continuous roar, its flight becoming more erratic as it descended lower, just beneath Rhaegar. It frantically tried to regain its balance, twisting from a backflip into a steep dive. Hearing a noise behind him, the dragon turned its head in confusion.

A silver-haired figure flashed into view.

"I'm here!"

Rhaegar's eyes snapped open, and he roared with all his might.

Whoosh!

The dragon whip shot out like a striking snake, coiling around the wild dragon's bloodied neck in a tight loop. Overjoyed, Rhaegar used the momentum to swing his body through the air, landing precisely on the dragon's back with a half-turn.

Plop!

He fell heavily onto the rusty iron plate of the saddle, landing on his knees. "Big guy, that's enough!" Rhaegar reached out, skillfully grabbing the rope of the dilapidated saddle. With all his strength, he began to ride the fierce dragon.

Such a magnificent beast would be a pity to kill. He wanted to ride it—and conquer it.

"Roar!"

The wild dragon, shocked and enraged at being ridden, instinctively struggled, thrashing violently. But Rhaegar held on, tightening his grip.

Boom!

Unable to shake off its persistent rider, the wild dragon lowered its head and dove, unleashing a furious blast of Dragonfire. The orange and green flames erupted into a mushroom cloud, the searing heat rushing toward Rhaegar like a massive, fiery net.

But Rhaegar's expression remained unchanged, his heart steady as he shouted, "Come!"

Pop!

The two-colored Dragonfire engulfed him, gently caressing his face and flowing down each silver strand of his hair. His purple eyes shone brightly, unwavering in the midst of the inferno.

Hum!

Suddenly, a gray light appeared on his forehead, just as the wild dragon tried to break through the mushroom cloud. Rhaegar’s heart swelled with joy, and a smile curled at his lips. Slowly, he closed his eyes.

"Croak."

A toad croaked in his ear, and a gray toad materialized out of thin air. In that instant, both man and dragon, locked in their fierce struggle, felt their pupils darken...

The foggy space was so dark that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Slowly, a consciousness began to awaken, its presence tentatively exploring the shadowy void.

Suddenly, a shout pierced the silence, echoing in High Valyrian.

"Uragax!!"

Silence.

Not a sound disturbed the oppressive stillness.

"Uragax!!"

The cry was repeated, this time with more urgency, as if summoning a companion.

In the darkness, three eggs appeared, their surfaces gleaming faintly: one dark red, one deep green, and the last speckled white.

Roar.

One of the eggs began to tremble, tiny cracks forming on its bright, moss-like rhombus-patterned shell.

One second, two seconds...

"Roar~~"

The egg split open, revealing a small, green dragon head that poked out, tiny and agile.

"Uragax, your reincarnated body has hatched!"

A hoarse voice rang out, trembling with excitement.

Roar.

No sooner had the green dragon hatchling emerged than a large hand seized it by the neck, lifting it roughly as if it were no more than a chicken. The hatchling panicked, its wide eyes darting around in fear.

The cave was dark, the walls carved with strange inscriptions that gave the impression of a place dedicated to the worship of dark gods. Figures in black and red robes moved about like shadows, their faces hidden, their movements eerily mechanical.

"Roar~~"

The young dragon froze momentarily, its pupils quietly shifting. Then, all at once, the sounds around it vanished, as if the world itself had fallen silent. In the void, a pair of purple eyes appeared, seeming to pierce through time and space, reaching deep into the hatchling’s consciousness as if entering a dream.

"Croak."

The sound of a dull toad broke the silence, and the illusory scene shifted.

...

Outside the cave, an open canyon spread wide. A towering volcano loomed in the distance, its crater boiling with molten lava, spewing pungent black smoke into the sky. Despite the volcanic fury, the canyon floor was thick with vegetation, birds chirping and squawking as they twisted their heads on branches and rocks.

In the depths of the canyon, a heavy, low breathing echoed ominously.

Clap!

A pale dragon tail, as thick as a ship’s mast and as long as a pine tree, swayed and then fell limp against the stone wall at the edge of the canyon, sending a shudder through the earth.

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