Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

The tunnels branched in all directions, illuminated by the vibrant glow of various ores. Rhaegar relied on his senses to search for the buried history hidden within. It was still early, and he needed to explore the Fourteen Flames. As he ventured deeper into the pitch-black tunnel, the intensity of the fire magic in the air grew stronger. With each breath, his heart filtered the pure magic, gradually strengthening his body.

"Roar..."

Halfway through, a thunderous roar reverberated through the tunnel, dislodging loose gravel from above. Rhaegar's eyes flashed as he raised Truefyre and identified a fork in the tunnel. Without a word, he sped into it...

Boom!

“Roar...”

The Cannibal’s ferocious growl echoed as wisps of greenish Dragonfire curled from its mouth, ready to erupt at any moment. Several abominations emerged from the pits.

“Ssshh...”

With a piercing shriek, the pits burst open, releasing red-bodied monsters. Their gaping mouths and thick bodies crushed the rocks, like death worms poised to devour life.

“Roar!”

Dark green Dragonfire spewed forth as the Cannibal pounced with lightning speed. With a loud crack, flesh tore apart, and blood splattered throughout the mine, clinging to the soft, flabby red flesh.

“Roar!”

The monsters fought back, trying to wrap their thick bodies around the dragon’s claws.

Pop!

The Cannibal’s pupils filled with cunning and cruelty as its claws lifted and fell, grinding the monsters into pulp.

Boom!

One of the abominations opened its ugly mouth and spewed a red flame that resembled acid. The battle-hardened Cannibal turned its head, narrowly avoiding its vulnerable eyes. The red flame seared the dragon's neck, white smoke rising from its dark scales.

“Roar!”

The Cannibal felt a slight sting and, unable to restrain its rage, stretched its neck and bit the monster to pieces.

Gulp~

The dragon's teeth shredded the rotten flesh, mixing it with the stench of heat as it swallowed.

Suddenly, the Cannibal felt a sense of fullness.

"Roar..."

Its pupils flashed with confusion as its scarlet tongue licked its mouth, feeling a strange addiction. Glancing around, it saw the ground littered with the corpses of monsters. Some attempted to crawl back into the ground, while others writhed and screamed in agony. The Cannibal's nostrils flared as it caught a repulsive scent, one that instinct told it to reject.

After a brief pause, the dragon opened its mouth, picked up a half-dead monster in its jaws, and chewed, blood spurting as it fed.

“Cannibal!”

Suddenly, its rider’s voice echoed from the entrance of the mine. Rhaegar sprinted towards the scene but halted abruptly at the sight before him.

“Roar!”

The Cannibal was engrossed in its meal, roaring at the driver as it continued to tear into the corpse. The taste reminded it of the young dragons it had hunted in the past—soft, plump meat, hot as fire, and radiating a special kind of heat.

Rhaegar’s eyes widened in shock. “Firewyrms!?”

"Roar..."

The Cannibal seemed to respond, flinging a piece of the remains at the King, splattering hot blood everywhere.

“Be careful, man!”

Rhaegar leapt back, staring at the broken wyrm. He recalled Barth the Septon, the Hand of the King and friend of Old King, who had written a book titled Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History. It described the magical creatures known as "Firewyrms" or "Wyrms" that only existed in the Lands of the Long Summer. Seeing one in person was a different experience altogether.

“Wyrms aren’t a good ingredient,” Rhaegar warned the greedy Cannibal, using his sword to lift the remains of the finely scaled carcass.

In both ancient Valyria and Barth's writings, dragons and wyrms were natural enemies, constantly battling in the sky and underground. While the two species might have shared the Fourteen Flames as their nesting ground, territorial struggles were inevitable. Even though wyrms were tough and capable of spitting fire, they were no match for dragons. Dragons couldn’t burrow underground, which gave the them a chance to breed—but could they really be eaten?

“Grrrr... grrrr...”

The Cannibal answered with action, digging into the ground with its powerful claws and snatching up the fleeing wyrms, swallowing them whole.

“Alright,” Rhaegar conceded, feeling the dragon's possessiveness over its food through their deep soul link. With each bite, a surge of chaotic fire magic filled his body. The fire magic was particularly violent and corrupt. While Rhaegar’s own fire magic was like a clear stream with fish visible in the water, the Cannibal’s was restless and explosive, like a firecracker ready to ignite. The fire magic from the Firewyrms was akin to magma spewing from a volcano—mixed with ash, smoke, and ominous, harmful substances.

As the Cannibal chewed, the flesh and blood were broken down in its stomach.

Bang!

Rhaegar sensed something strange and touched his chest, feeling his heart race. He called up the system panel.

[Rhaegar Targaryen]

Talent: Dreamer (Gold)

Bloodline: Dragonborn (61%)

Runes: Bronze (Green), Serpent (Blue), Dream Eater (Purple)

Blood Magic: Binding Charm (Blue), Dragon Dance (Purple)...

Relics: Blood and Fire, Dreamscape, Pure Water...

Comment: “Descendant of Valyria, returning to the embrace of The Lands of the Long Summer.”

Rhaegar scanned the panel, noting a slight increase in the bloodline percentage but no other changes. His gaze settled on "Pure Water," and he guessed the reason. The ability to share his poison resistance with the dragon must have allowed the Cannibal to safely consume the wyrms, which would otherwise be harmful to its flesh and blood.

“Roar!”

The Cannibal’s green eyes gleamed with excitement as it finished the last wyrm and charged into another tunnel.

“Where are you going?”

Rhaegar was stunned, feeling an inexplicable heat surge through him.

Boom!

In response, he heard the sound of rocks shattering as the black dragon barreled forward, widening the tunnel with its sheer force.

Crack! Crack!

The Cannibal sniffed the air, found a pit filled with red ore, and began devouring it. Rhaegar followed closely behind, watching as the dragon feasted on stone.

In that moment, Rhaegar’s pupils shrank as he inhaled the thick, almost tangible fire magic. Each unmined red orb glowed like a bonfire in the night, radiating an intense heat.

“This ore naturally contains fire magic,” Rhaegar whispered, watching the Cannibal devour the red ore. The dragon chewed quickly, reducing an entire wall of ore to rubble until it could eat no more. Stretching its thick neck, it let out a deep, rumbling burp.

The Cannibal shook its massive body lightly before curling up at the edge of the pit, its glowing vertical pupils slowly closing. Soon, its hot breaths became long and steady as it drifted into a dormant state.

Rhaegar was surprised. 'The wyrms and the red ore must have provided the Cannibal with enough energy,' he thought.

The last time the dragon went into hibernation, it had been after devouring the remains of the wild dragon Morghul. The Cannibal had slept for three days and nights, and when it awoke, it had grown to a size that surpassed Vhagar, the largest dragon at the time.

Rhaegar smiled, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “When you return to the Lands of the Long Summer, how far will you grow?” he wondered aloud.

Before setting foot in the Lands of the Long Summer, he had only a vague idea of what ancient Valyria was like. Now that he was here, he realized how different it was. The air was thick with fire magic, and special ore like that found in the Fourteen Flames was abundant. No wonder Balerion the Black Dread had grown so massive. A dragon born in these lands had a significant advantage over those hatched in Westeros.

Rhaegar fell into a trance, muttering, “No wonder Daenys’ dream showed Balerion being chased by several dragons.” He suspected the Fourteen Flames had consumed too many special ores, leading to conflicts with other dragons.

Crack!

Rhaegar snapped off a piece of red ore with his bare hands, feeling the concentrated fire magic within. He knew that the growth of dragons was inseparable from the nourishment of such magic. The existence of the Fourteen Flames seemed like a breeding ground for dragon growth.

Rhaegar turned the ore over in his hand, contemplating its potential. He crushed it with force, the fire magic swirling around his fingers. Unfortunately, the magic was too complex, filled with impurities, and unsuitable for direct absorption.

“To use it, you must purify the impurities little by little,” Rhaegar murmured, eyeing the red ore embedded in the stone walls around him. It wasn’t suitable for humans to absorb, but it could be fed to dragons.

He realized its value. 'It must be used....'

...

Night had fallen over King’s Landing, and the Red Keep was shrouded in shadow.

“She sent me a letter,” a deep voice resonated in the dim candlelight.

Helaena knelt on the carpet, silently sewing a girl's dress. She did not look up.

“You don’t have to speak, sister,” Aemond said, seated cross-legged on the other side of the room. He adjusted the candlestick, flicking the wick to brighten the flame.

Helaena kept her head down, saying nothing.

“The Dornish don’t deserve pity, do they?” Aemond pressed, searching for agreement in her silence.

In the faintly lit room, the siblings faced each other. Helaena’s expression remained blank, her thoughts distant. She had always been more of a listener.

“Sigh.”

Aemond exhaled softly, his shoulders slumping as he leaned toward his sister, though he hesitated to move any closer. Helaena glanced at him briefly, then bent her head to cut the thread. “You should go back now,” she reminded him.

Who could discipline a child for mistakes made in childhood? She was the older sister, but she couldn’t bring herself to chastise him.

“Go away.”

Aemond flushed with embarrassment. His eyes fell on the small shirt she was embroidering with a purple flower, and he changed the subject. “Are you planning to dress my nephew like a girl?”

“Different seeds produce different flowers,” Helaena replied indifferently, as if nothing truly mattered anymore.

“Alright,” Aemond muttered, not fully understanding but knowing his sister didn’t want him there.

“I’m going to patrol the Red Keep. You should rest early,” he said, standing up and strapping on his sword. Reluctantly, he pushed open the door. He had wanted to spend more time with her, even if they didn’t fully understand one another. Their blood bond brought a sense of ease.

Bang.

The door closed softly, but the sound still seemed heavy in the quiet room. Helaena looked up, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. She stood and searched for the basket where she kept her spools of thread. Finding another small boy’s garment, she resumed sewing, her hands moving in silence...

...

The Narrow Sea, off the coast of Claw Isle.

The waves crashed against the shore in the still of the night. Flares illuminated the silhouette of a vast fleet, their sails adorned with purple shells and golden scales, symbols of Braavos and Pentos.

Thump, thump, thump...

The sound of drums echoed across the sea. Under the cover of darkness, another fleet crossed the Bay of Crabs, its sails bearing the crest of a eagle.

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