Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Time passed quickly, and the autumn leaves fell. Near the Summer Sea, the temperature remained high...

At the foot of Fourteen Flames Mountain in the Lands of the Long Summer, a harsh sun beat down.

"Your Grace, the exploration team is back." Under the scorching sun, the Sea Snake hobbled up the mountain slope.

"Be careful." Rhaegar helped him up, then asked suspiciously, "How is the situation?"

Three months had passed. The king and his adviser had traveled nearly the entire Lands of the Long Summer, searching for hidden ruins. The Sea Snake looked up at the clear sky, wiping the sweat from his brow. "The sailors sailed 200 miles west and found only the ruins of a Free City, nothing more than crumbled stone."

Rhaegar sighed. "It seems there is little hope."

The vast land they stood on was as large as a region of Westeros, but it was trapped in the peculiar climate of the Smoking Sea. There were vast grasslands, but not a single river with drinkable fresh water. The fresh water they drank each day was still taken from the snow on the distant peaks.

The resources for trees, fisheries, and animal husbandry were nearly nonexistent. Aside from a limited area of old-growth pine trees near the snow-capped peaks, it was difficult to find any vegetation beyond scattered weeds. The land was almost devoid of birds, fish, or insects, and it fell silent at night.

The Sea Snake hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "Your Grace, our supplies will last another month, but we must plan ahead."

"I understand," Rhaegar nodded. The gravity of their situation was clear. Supplies would be exhausted in a month at most, even if they resorted to slaughtering the cattle and sheep meant for the dragons. Otherwise, someone would have to venture into the fog and attempt to fish in the Smoking Sea. No one believed they could catch anything in the boiling, salty waters.

Rhaegar exhaled deeply, then said firmly, "Pack up. We'll leave the day after tomorrow."

"The sailors will be grateful to you, Your Grace," the Sea Snake replied solemnly.

After that, the two parted ways. The Sea Snake returned to the camp to sort through the porcelain, broken swords, and tons of ore mined from the Fourteen Flames, all gathered from various ruins.

...

Rhaegar walked into the underground mine with a solemn expression. After thoroughly exploring the Fourteen Flames, he discovered that most of the nests above the mountainside were blocked off, tangled in layers of withered vine roots. Without a dragon’s aid, breaking through would be nearly impossible.

“Breathe fire and harness your wings.

Stand with two heads and sing to the three.

By my voice, the words of fire.”

In the dimly lit tunnel, Rhaegar advanced with Truefyre in hand, his voice echoing through the narrow passage as he sang an ancient Valyrian ballad. It was a song passed down through generations of his house, used to awaken sleeping dragons.

And now, it was time to wake the Cannibal.

Three months ago, the dragon had gorged itself on wyrms and pyroxeres ore, sinking into an unbreakable deep sleep. But with their departure imminent, the beast had to be roused. Rhaegar's eyes gleamed with anticipation, his voice growing deep and powerful as he chanted, “Blood magic, the sacrifice has been paid...”

He wanted to see with his own eyes what his dragon had become.

Rumbling echoed from deep within the tunnel, the sound of scales scraping against stone walls. A hot blast of air blew past, causing the flames of his torch to flicker. Rhaegar strode forward steadily, and through the darkness, he saw a massive silhouette, its enormous head slowly shifting.

“Roar!”

A thunderous roar suddenly filled the crypt, and the dragon’s head lunged forward, expelling ash-like flames. In an instant, the chamber was illuminated by a deep green light.

“Cannibal, wake up!” Rhaegar’s face was alight with excitement, his gaze fixed on the awakening beast. The green Dragonfire that once filled the air now dispersed, as if breaking free from the constraints of gas and liquid, forming silent ash particles. The embers floated and swayed, deliberately avoiding Rhaegar and instead attaching themselves to the cracked walls.

Boom!

The flames spread rapidly, transforming into a fiery inferno. Rhaegar’s breathing quickened, and a smile tugged at his lips.

Boom!

A black dragon head slowly emerged from the darkness, its three pairs of long, curved gray-white horns appearing ferocious against the backdrop of its malevolent green eyes. In the shadows, it resembled a terrifying, ancient god.

Rhaegar extended a hand and smiled. "Old friend, you've finally woken up."

“Roar!”

The Cannibal's pupils glowed with a hungry green light. One of its wings slammed down, causing the ground to shake violently and sending rocks tumbling as its sharp, gray-white claws dug into the earth. Then, the dragon's entire body emerged from the shadows, its scales gleaming with a metallic sheen in the firelight.

Bang!

The dragon's massive head thrust forward, its snout colliding with Rhaegar's outstretched palm. It seemed to be answering its rider’s call.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, sensing every change in the dragon. His lips curled into a slight smile.

...

Outside the Fourteen Flames, on the barren land, withered vines had been woven into a small nest. Daemon, dressed haphazardly, was swinging his sword to chop firewood. He didn’t get along with his nephew, and his disdain for the Sea Snake was even greater. Upon arriving in the Lands of the Long Summer, he chose to live alone. Fortunately, the only real danger in these lands were the Firewyrms.

Crack! The pine wood split cleanly, releasing a sharp snap. Daemon wiped the sweat from his brow and slapped his aching back. 'Farmers are better suited for this kind of hard labor,' he thought, with a twinge of bitterness. 'It’s a shame the Dark Sister has been reduced to a mere tool for chopping wood.'

“Roar...” A melodious, high-pitched screech echoed from afar, and the clouds overhead swirled like whipped egg whites. Caraxes swayed through the sky like a snake, flapping its large wings to create a gust before lowering its hind legs and descending slowly.

Boom!

Daemon glanced up, pride gleaming in his eyes. A massive, scaly, red-colored serpent-like creature landed before him, its appearance noticeably altered from three months ago. The once dark, dirty scales now gleamed with a vivid, blood-red hue. Its slender neck moved with a snake-like flexibility, no longer losing balance when extended. The sharp, fierce dragon head clutched a gray sheep in its jaws, thick blood dripping from its mouth. Caraxes now truly looked like the Blood Wyrm it was named after.

"Caraxes, come here and let me have a look." Using the Dark Sister for support, Daemon’s voice carried a magnetic command.

"Roar..." Caraxes responded to its rider’s call, leaping down the slope and extending its snake-like neck to nuzzle its head against Daemon.

"Good boy, good boy," Daemon murmured, his hands resting on the dragon's hot mouth as he looked it over with delight. The beast had grown significantly since their arrival. Three months ago, Caraxes had been about 70 meters long, similar in size to Meleys, and slightly smaller than the wild Sheepstealer. Now, its scarlet body had stretched to over 80 meters, with a wingspan broad enough to cover a warship. In terms of size, Caraxes now rivaled the Silverwing of Dragonstone, even surpassing Sheepstealer.

Daemon and the dragon shared a moment of mutual affection, rubbing their heads together. But then Daemon noticed the dead sheep and exclaimed, "Did Corlys bring sheep?" He was puzzled, remembering that only goats had been brought from Dragonstone. "Where did you get the sheep, Caraxes?"

Daemon frowned, pulling a handful of gray, soft wool from the dragon’s teeth.

“Roar!” Caraxes let out a satisfied moan, swallowing the sheep whole. Daemon’s frown deepened, and he was about to press further when...

Rumbling.

Suddenly, the ground shook, as if a giant beast were breaking through the earth. Daemon quickly turned, realizing the noise was coming from the foot of the Fourteen Flames.

"What is it?" he muttered, drawing the Dark Sister. Grabbing the rope ladder, he swiftly climbed onto Caraxes’ back.

...

Boom!

A deafening explosion rocked the underground mine as a surge of greenish Dragonfire erupted, shattering the solid stone walls in an instant.

Roar!

The long-slumbering beast burst from the cave in a flash of blinding light.

“Fly, Cannibal!” Rhaegar commanded, his voice calm yet powerful, his black robes billowing around him as his intense gaze followed the dragon.

Roar!

The Cannibal roared into the sky, its sharp gray horns slicing through the clouds of dust that obstructed its view. With a powerful beat of its dark wings, the massive dragon ascended, its enormous body cutting through the air like a force of nature.

Rhaegar’s silver hair whipped wildly around him as he threw his head back and laughed, a triumphant sound that echoed across the mountains. The Cannibal gave him a sidelong glance before turning its attention to the summit of the Fourteen Flames, hidden beneath a thick layer of cloud. The dragon opened its mouth and unleashed a torrent of green Dragonfire, the flames flickering like ghostly ash as they scorched the air.

Pop!

Man and dragon soared straight through the Dragonfire, the intense heat burning small holes in Rhaegar’s black robe. But his grin only widened, his hand gripping the hilt of a black dragon horn, triumphant and unbothered by the flames licking at his clothes.

Roar!

The Cannibal let out another thunderous roar, its thick tail whipping through the air and smashing a chunk of volcanic rock as it circled the towering peaks of the Fourteen Flames. The dragon's immense power seemed to transcend mortal limitations, a force far beyond the strength of men.

Far below, Daemon sat astride Caraxes, watching the spectacle unfold above. The black dragon soared recklessly, its roars shaking the sky as it unleashed more Dragonfire, painting half the sky an eerie green—like a hellish mirage.

“His dragon became more powerful.,” Daemon muttered, his voice filled with both awe and a tinge of something darker. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword as his gaze remained fixed on the black dragon above.

As he watched, the full scale of the Cannibal’s growth became apparent. Compared to the Fourteen Flames, the black dragon had grown monstrously large. Its immense black wings cast a vast shadow over the mountain, almost completely eclipsing the towering peaks beneath it.

...

“Cannibal, faster!” Rhaegar shouted, slicing his palm and allowing blood to flow freely.

“Roar!”

The Cannibal bared its jagged white fangs, conjuring a whirlwind that carried the scent of ash and death. Rhaegar's eyes gleamed with joy as he observed the dragon's immense power. After devouring the wild dragon Morghul, the Cannibal had grown to an impressive length of 150 meters, surpassing even Vhagar, who was over 180 years old. It had become the largest dragon in the world.

Now, it had grown even more. By his estimation, the Cannibal stretched over 160 meters, dwarfing dragons like Silverwing and Sheepstealer by double their size.

“Roar!”

The Cannibal unleashed a torrent of emerald Dragonfire, its green eyes reflecting a cold indifference. With each increase in size, its combat prowess had advanced exponentially, promising even greater power as time progressed.

Suddenly, the dragon tooth clutched in Rhaegar's hand began to emit a soft glow. His gaze sharpened as he raised the obsidian fang etched with pale dragon patterns. The atmosphere around them shifted dramatically; the very sky and earth seemed to tremble as clouds parted violently, forming a swirling circular barrier around the revealed peaks of the Fourteen Flames.

“Roar... Roar...”

A cacophony of chaotic dragon roars filled the air as the black dragon tooth vibrated, projecting five spectral dragon forms of varying sizes. Rhaegar remained composed, his eyes fixed on the unfolding spectacle.

The largest of the apparitions, a phantom dragon rivaling Meleys in size, let out a thunderous roar before diving straight into Rhaegar's forehead.

Hum.

Rhaegar's eyes closed as a flood of unfamiliar memories surged through his mind: visions of the Fourteen Flames, flowing magma, and groups of silver-haired figures flashed before him. The spectral dragon quivered before dissolving into a cascade of ephemeral bubbles, each containing fragments of ancient recollections that pieced together seamlessly within his consciousness.

An expression of profound realization crossed Rhaegar's face as he murmured to himself, “The Dragon's Horn...”

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