“Follow me, Iragaxys!”
Baelon’s shout echoed across the skies of Dragonstone, filled with an unyielding determination that left no room for defiance.
Boom!
Vhagar let out a low, guttural growl as it circled the skies, its immense body casting a shadow that stretched across the land. Its deep, ancient eyes, cloudy with time, held a mix of sadness, loneliness, and indifference. No one understood the weight it bore, the old dragon whose roars echoed day and night were its only outlet.
But the young dragon's challenge had awakened something in Vhagar—a long-dormant desire for battle, a spark from the days when the dragon was a force of conquest, a founder of kingdoms.
"Roar!"
Suddenly, Iragaxys burst from the east coast, black and red scales glistening in the fading light. It spewed dark Dragonfire aimed directly at Vhagar’s eyes before gliding swiftly along the surface of the sea.
Boom!
Vhagar, momentarily caught off guard, jerked its massive head away as the Dragonfire singed its thick, wrinkled skin, sending sparks and black smoke billowing into the air. The old dragon’s slow reaction only fueled its anger. Now, the founding beast was teetering on the edge of a full-blown rampage.
"Roar!"Vhagar’s thunderous roar shook the sky as its large, battle-scarred wings, riddled with holes, flared open, trying to envelop the younger dragon.
Seeing the danger, Baelon acted quickly. “Head for The Gullet, Iragaxys, now!” he ordered, urgency creeping into his voice.
The fury of an enraged Vhagar was unstoppable, and Baelon knew it. He needed to outmaneuver the ancient dragon and somehow manage to control both the unpredictable Iragaxys and the relentless Vhagar.
“It’s like pulling a chestnut from the fire,” Baelon muttered, resolved. He was determined to succeed, no matter the risk. He could live without a dragon, lose his claim to the Iron Throne, even sacrifice his fragile life. But to survive—truly survive—he had to prove himself.
An adult dragon, powerful enough to wage war and reclaim honor, was the only way to shed the shame of being dragonless.
“Faster, Iragaxys!” Baelon urged, his grip tightening on the reins. The young dragon soared over Blackwater Bay, streaking past the ships of Driftmark Island, heading toward the natural stronghold of The Gullet.
Boom!
Behind them, Vhagar pursued, crashing through the clouds with its immense bulk, its sagging jowls quivering as it cut through the air. The old dragon’s eyes were grim, and deep within its throat, flames smoldered, ready to unleash their fury.
As Vhagar passed over Driftmark, the sight of the ancient beast filled the fishermen below with awe. For a brief moment, they thought Lady Laena had returned.
...
The two dragons, one leading and the other in relentless pursuit, flew through the stormy skies above Shipbreaker Bay.
Crack!
A flash of lightning split the heavy dark clouds as they churned overhead. Baelon clung tightly to Iragaxys, gripping the scarlet dorsal fin, bracing against the fierce wind and torrential rain.
"Roar!"
Iragaxys lowered its body, gliding just above the churning sea like a seabird skimming the surface.
Boom!
A searing torrent of orange Dragonfire erupted behind them, vaporizing the rain into a cloud of steam. Iragaxys glanced back but didn’t falter, pressing forward, flying southward into the worsening storm. The rain beat down, thick and blinding, making it harder to see.
Baelon wiped the rain from his eyes, encouraging his dragon, “Keep going, we’re almost there. We need to find that ancient dragon.”
He had no hope of defeating Vhagar with a young dragon. His plan was clear—seek out the 300-year-old beast, even older than Vhagar, to tip the scales in his favor.
"Roar!"
Iragaxys’s scarlet eyes gleamed with reluctance, but he pushed forward, his wing beats quickening. The young dragon wanted nothing more than to avoid provoking Vhagar, and now he was being forced to flee while carrying this reckless rider.
“Thank you, Iragaxys,” Baelon said sincerely, though he swung the dragon-taming whip with a nonchalance that made the dragon’s eyes narrow in frustration. Iragaxys grunted, then dove toward the Stepstones, a place it’d never been before.
It felt like an eternity had passed, but also just an instant, when they suddenly burst free from the oppressive storm. The sky cleared, bright and dazzling, as if someone had flipped a switch from night to day.
Baelon squinted, shielding his eyes against the sudden light.
"Roar..."
Iragaxys exhaled with relief, unconsciously slowing its pace. It was a powerful dragon, built for speed and battle, but the long flight had drained it, far beyond what most young dragons could endure.
“Don’t slow down, Iragaxys,” Baelon warned, his eyes scanning the skies nervously. He knew an ancient dragon could strike at any moment. Vhagar, after all, was no ordinary dragon—battle-hardened, vicious, and seasoned in combat. It had more experience than even the Cannibal his father rode, earning the ancient Valyrian name of Godness of War.
"Roar..."
Iragaxys panted heavily, lowering his body even further as they flew in eerie silence. There wasn’t a single bird in the sky. The man and dragon found themselves in what seemed like a paradise—floating through a tranquil sea of clouds, the soft breeze barely touching them.
It was this unnerving calm that made Baelon feel on edge.
Rumble...
Without warning, the clouds surged like waves, swirling into a bloom of mist. Baelon’s heart leapt, and instinct took over. “Get out of the way, Iragaxys!” he shouted.
In his line of sight, an ancient, murderous dragon lunged from the mist with eyes full of malice, jaws wide as if to bite Iragaxys in half.
"Roar!"
Iragaxys obeyed Baelon’s command, diving hard to the right just in time.
"Roar!"
Vhagar erupted from the sea of clouds, blood-red maw gaping as it roared. The monstrous dragon’s teeth grazed Iragaxys’s wing, and the two massive wings collided with a deafening Bang!
Iragaxys barely avoided a direct hit but was knocked by the impact, its body spiraling out of control, tumbling like a broken kite.
“No! No!” Baelon shouted, wrapping the dragon-taming whip around Iragaxys’s neck in a desperate attempt to slow their descent. “Keep your head up, don’t fall!” His shout, laced with High Valyrian, was a desperate binding spell, a last-ditch effort to regain control.
"Roar~~"
Iragaxys’s injured wing twisted painfully as they fell, its eyes opening mid-plummet in confusion. Seeing the sea rising fast beneath them, a chilling fear coursed through it.
...
Meanwhile, on the Stepstones...
Thud, thud, thud...
The wild, thunderous beat of war drums echoed across Bloodstone Island as warships emerged from every direction, darkening the horizon.
"Give me the iron coins! What is dead may never die!"
Aboard a golden squid-shaped ram ship, a wild young man with jet-black hair bellowed, brandishing a curved knife. His lean chest was smeared with dirt, salt, and dried blood, the marks of countless raids. His narrow, ambitious eyes gleamed with the promise of murder and plunder.
Dozens of warships flying the Kraken banner closed in, the ragged ironborn aboard them howling with madness, their voices unified in a single cry: "What is dead may never die!"
"Attack!"
Dalton Greyjoy’s voice cracked with bloodlust, filled with the primal urge for plunder and chaos.
...
Sea of Dorne
An old dragon soared slowly through the skies, its cold, vertical pupils scanning the vast sea below as if searching for something hidden beneath the waves.
Boom!
Its massive wings scattered the clouds, and a stream of Dragonfire scorched the surface of the water. The dragon was using brute force to flush out its target, sending a clear message of intimidation.
Meanwhile, along the coast of Ghost Hill, a young black-and-red dragon dragged itself ashore, shaking off the salty water that clung to its scales.
“Hurry, Iragaxys,” Baelon urged between gasps, still coughing up seawater. They had narrowly avoided plummeting into the sea but had managed to stabilize mid-fall. The old dragon, wary of ambushes, had forced Iragaxys to dive into the water to hide, and they’d surfaced only after reaching Rainwood, flying toward Ghost Hill, bordering Dorne.
"Roar!"
True loyalty shines in hard times, and Iragaxys, despite its arrogance, spared a glance back at Baelon. Instead of dumping the “little liar” into the sea, the dragon beat its scarlet wings and continued its flight toward Sunspear.
“Thanks to you,” Baelon chuckled weakly, feeling the hot winds of Dorne brush against his face as he rubbed his hands together.
Iragaxys didn’t respond, still too proud to acknowledge the one who had forced it into this mess. Instead, it tilted its head and accelerated. If it weren’t for its injured wing, it would have shown Baelon what real speed and power felt like.
“Thank you, Iragaxys,” Baelon said quietly, his voice filled with genuine emotion. His head lowered, and his eyes grew misty. “If I weren’t the eldest son, I’d choose you.” Tears he had suppressed through battles and chases finally welled up, not from fear or anger, but from facing the young dragon he had once rejected.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” Baelon muttered, releasing his grip on the dragon-taming whip. He no longer needed to force Iragaxys with brute strength. He needed an adult dragon—not for himself, but to meet the expectations of his father and the honor of House Targaryen.
As the eldest son and future heir to the Iron Throne, he had to secure his advantage over his siblings. Reading history books, mastering mathematics, or excelling in swordsmanship wouldn’t be enough. Only by riding an adult dragon could he claim the Iron Throne with authority.
“Fly faster, Iragaxys,” Baelon whispered, choking back his emotions. He wanted to freeze this moment—this fleeting sense of freedom—where he could ride whichever dragon he pleased, without worrying about controlling an adult beast or proving himself.
"Roar..."
Iragaxys neighed softly, its scarlet pupils softening as it steadied its flight. The dragon, sensing its rider's sorrow, gently poked him with its thick tail, as if trying to comfort him.
“Stop it,” Baelon muttered, swatting away the dragon's tail half-heartedly. Iragaxys wasn’t the only dragon he had rejected. Grey Ghost, Silverwing—he had turned them all away. The guilt of deceiving these magnificent creatures weighed heavily on him, and he feared he was becoming an "emotional fraudster" in the eyes of the dragon pack.
"Roar."
Iragaxys rolled its eyes and rose higher into the sky, its body moving almost unconsciously.
Baelon kept his head down, afraid that Iragaxys might take offense and toss him from the sky. “Never ride a dragon recklessly again,” he muttered, frustrated by the powerful bond he could not fully control.
Suddenly, a thunderous roar echoed from the horizon.
"Roar..."
A massive shadow loomed through the layers of clouds and mist—Vhagar. Its pupils were burning with rage, and deep in its throat, flames gathered.
Boom!
Dragonfire rained down from the sky. Iragaxys flinched in panic, narrowly avoiding the deadly flames as it dipped toward the desert, nearly losing its balance.
“Steady, Iragaxys!” Baelon shouted, wiping away the remnants of his tears and snot, regaining his composure. The brief moment of vulnerability between him and the dragon was shattered, replaced by the immediate danger of survival.
...
By the banks of the Greenblood River, deep in the Lemonwood Forest...
Distant flames lit up the night sky, and the echo of a fierce dragon's roar reverberated for miles in every direction.
"Roar...?"
An old dragon, hidden among the thick bushes, opened its vertical pupils, blinking in confusion at the sound. It lifted its head, peering toward the source of the roar.
Moments later, a massive dark green shadow swept across the sky.
Clatter...
The old dragon’s pupils suddenly narrowed, and the dense bushes rustled as its body shifted, revealing scales the color of moss, blending seamlessly with the vibrant emerald forest.
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