Chapter 638: The Battle of Shipbreaker Bay

It was raining... pouring. The night was thick with the deluge.

Roar!

The Trickster soared through the storm, navigating the sky as it shifted from the open sea to a craggy cliff, where smaller shapes darted about in the shadows.

Aemon wiped the rain from his face, squinting up at the night sky.

Crackling—

A flash of lightning split the darkness, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Through the storm clouds, the silhouette of a massive dragon emerged—its size overwhelming, four times as long as a young dragon.

"Let's turn around, Trickster," Aemon said quickly, tugging on the saddle rope as he spotted a turn along the jagged cliff. The reef cliffs were like a long, narrow maze, and with the storm overhead, it was nearly impossible to tell sky from sea.

But he remembered.

Trickster narrowed its vertical pupils, tilting its head before flipping sideways, executing a rapid, precise turn. Its muscular body moved with agility, reacting as if it anticipated Aemon's every thought.

Boom!

A searing white stream of dragonfire crashed into the cliff where they had been moments before.

"Faster, Trickster. See if you can shake it off," Aemon urged, a small smile creeping across his face despite the danger. If they could pull off the maneuver, they might lose the Pale Wild Dragon behind them.

King's Landing has two dragons... Vermithor and Syrax,he thought. But my grandfather and mother are hardly adept riders, and it's a long way from here to the Dragonpit.

His mind wandered to Meleys, the dragon of his great-aunt Rhaenys, who patrolled The Gullet. Would Meleys be out on a night like this? The rain soaked his face, bringing him back to reality.

Even the swiftest dragons would stay grounded in this storm, and Driftmark was too far. They had no choice but to evade their pursuer.

Ssshh...gah...

The Pale Wild Dragon reappeared, breaking through the dark clouds. Its nostrils flared as it sniffed the air, its blood-red eyes scanning the cliffs.

"Faster," Aemon muttered through gritted teeth. "We'll make for Stonehelm!"

Apart from Vermithor, no dragon could decisively defeat a Dragoneater like this wild beast. Meleys might put up a fight, but at best, it would end in a deadly draw. If Aemon could lure the Pale Wild Dragon to the isolated Stonehelm, maybe they'd cross paths with his one-eyed uncle, Aemond.

And if that failed, they could always hide in the Rainwood.

Crackling—

The rain grew heavier, pounding down so fiercely it was nearly impossible to see.

The Pale Wild Dragon circled above the maze of reefs, occasionally spewing dragonfire to illuminate the rain-soaked world.

"Dracarys, Trickster!" Aemon shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm and the waves crashing below.

The Pale Wild Dragon, sensing its prey, lowered its head. Its scarlet pupils gleamed with hunger as it sought its next meal.

Roar!

Suddenly, a sharp dragon's roar erupted from the side. Trickster darted forward like a spear, its scorpion-like tail straight and tense, surging toward the massive dragon.

With a deafening rumble, Trickster unleashed a torrent of orange dragonfire. It struck the Pale Wild Dragon's side, exploding into a mushroom cloud of flame and heat.

Roar!

The Pale Wild Dragon let out a shriek, but the flames consumed it. The dragon's side was scorched beyond recognition—its once-bright scarlet eye burst and shattered, while pale scales were stained with dark, foul blood.

When the smoke cleared, the wild dragon staggered, casting a desperate glance with its remaining eye. But the damage was done.

By the time it opened its eye again, the young dragon and its rider had already disappeared into the storm.

Roar!

The pale wild dragon growled, its throat rumbling as it flared its nostrils, searching the air for a scent. It hovered relentlessly over the group of reefs, unwilling to leave.

Meanwhile, in a shadowed corner of the rocky cliff...

Trickster panted, his hind legs braced against a jagged reef column, his chest heaving with exhaustion.

"It's still here... can it smell us?" Aemon muttered, his face flushed as the rain streamed through his soaked hair. He and Trickster had done everything they could, but the constant strain of flying in the heavy rain had taken its toll. If they stayed tangled in this fight much longer, they would end up crashing into the sea.

Boom!

A blast of pale dragonfire streaked down from the sky, striking the distant waves. The light from the flames illuminated the churning sea.

Aemon scanned the cliffs, searching for a better position. He needed a new angle, a way to strike. If I could just get to the other eye... he thought. His father had always said that dragon fights weren't just about size, but ruthlessness.

Roar!

A sudden dragon roar echoed from afar, cutting through the storm.

Aemon's eyes darted down. The pale wild dragon froze, swiveling its head warily—its remaining eye darting back and forth, unable to fully assess its surroundings. The injured eye socket, still oozing blood, was left exposed.

Then, from the dark clouds, a light silver dragon dived headlong, trailing silver and orange dragonfire in its wake.

Boom!

The fiery blast struck the pale wild dragon squarely on the side of its head. It let out a piercing shriek, shaking violently as the flames scorched its empty eye socket. The great beast wobbled unsteadily, nearly crashing into the cliffs below.

"Seasmoke!" Aemon exclaimed, a mix of surprise and relief flooding his voice. Without hesitation, he commanded, "Go around to the back, Trickster!"

With Seasmoke buying them time, the blind Dragoneater wouldn't be able to focus on them.

Roar!

Seasmoke, though injured, had landed a solid hit. It rose unsteadily into the air, one wing hanging limply by its side. It was clear that the older dragon could barely stay aloft.

Furious, the Pale Wild Dragon turned its focus away from Trickster and charged after Seasmoke, determined to finish its wounded prey.

"Dracarys!" Aemon urged, and Trickster sprang into action. The young dragon lunged forward, unleashing a torrent of fire. The flames struck the Pale Wild Dragon on the neck, scorching its pale scales black.

Grr...

The Pale Wild Dragon growled low, its neck smoldering as it flapped its tattered wings and disappeared into the stormy clouds above.

"Missed... but that was close," Aemon muttered in frustration, slamming his fist against the saddle. He squinted through the rain, watching the Pale Wild Dragon vanish from sight.

Roar!

Trickster let out a low hiss, circling back to the cover of the rocks. His tail, scorpion-like and tense, swayed slowly as he caught his breath. The young dragon's chest rose and fell heavily; the strain of the battle was evident. This was its first real fight, and both it and Aemon were physically and mentally drained.

Roar!

Seasmoke cried out in pain one last time, narrowly avoiding a bolt of lightning as it limped away in the direction from which it had come. The Pale Wild Dragon was gone, retreating into the storm. Seasmoke, too, was leaving.

Time passed slowly...

Aemon and Trickster remained hidden among the rocks, watching as Seasmoke's pale silver form gradually faded into the distance.

"Are they all gone?" Aemon whispered, his spirit still on edge as his purple eyes scanned the darkening sky for any sign of the pale beast.

His heart raced, his senses alert. His purple eyes, wide and searching, occasionally narrowed to vertical slits in the rain. Despite the downpour, his throat felt parched, and his skin was flushed with heat, a combination of exhaustion and the lingering tension of battle.

Roar!

Trickster let out a soft roar, and for the first time, the tip of its tail—previously twitching with tension—dropped naturally. Aemon glanced back, finally allowing himself to relax.

"Great... Let's go too," he whispered, the relief clear in his voice.

The dragon's tail, sensitive to the slightest vibrations in the air, could detect any hidden presence. Anything invisible to the naked eye wouldn't escape its senses.

Trickster cautiously poked its head out, scanning the area for danger. Once certain it was safe, the young dragon leapt into the sky, chasing after the light silver form of Seasmoke. Aemon didn't stop him, gulping down rainwater to quench his parched throat.

Tarth was closer now—closer than King's Landing or Stonehelm. Seasmoke was just ahead, and the thought of safety spurred them forward. Trickster wove nimbly through the dark clouds, evading the booming thunder and heavy rain as they flew.

The flush on Aemon's cheeks began to fade, and his head swayed with exhaustion. His vision blurred.

"I feel dizzy," he muttered, reaching instinctively for the necklace around his neck and the Truefyre sword at his waist. These treasures were precious—he couldn't afford to lose them.

Roar!

After a while, Trickster broke free of the dark clouds, emerging into a sky gradually clearing. The first rays of dawn touched the horizon, casting a soft light over both man and dragon.

"It's dawn, Trickster," Aemon murmured, closing his eyes as he gently stroked the dragon's scales. Trickster began to slow, its scorpion-like tail swaying lazily in the peaceful morning light.

Hum...

Suddenly, Trickster's tail snapped to attention, twitching violently and pointing straight down toward the blanket of clouds below. The dragon's pupils contracted, and it let out a panicked roar.

Roar...

Without warning, the pale, bloodied muzzle of the wild dragon burst through the clouds, slicing through the air like a sword. It lunged straight at Trickster with terrifying speed, jaws closing with a deafening crash.

Crack!

Aemon felt his body lurch violently as a foul gust of wind hit him, followed by the sickening sound of bones snapping. Before he could react, everything tilted, and he found himself falling—weightlessly.

"Trickster?" Aemon called, his voice dazed, as confusion clouded his mind. He blinked, trying to make sense of the sight before him.

He was still in the saddle, falling helplessly. Above him, Trickster's head grew smaller and smaller in the distance, the dragon's lake-colored eyes locked onto him—silent, unblinking.

What?

Aemon's heart raced as his gaze flicked to the severed head of his dragon. The familiar dark green neck was nowhere to be seen, the head torn from its body.

Boom!

The Pale Wild Dragon let out a triumphant roar as its bony, skeletal form swooped through the air. Its slender, needle-like tail flicked back and forth, almost lazily.

Aemon felt a hot flash in his throat, and a deep, wrenching sorrow swelled in his chest. "So close," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roaring wind.

The sun continued to rise, casting light on the distant silhouette of Tarth, just a few nautical miles away.

Plop!

Darkness enveloped him as he hit the cold, unforgiving sea. The salty, briny water rushed into his nose and mouth, and everything faded to black.

...

,

Roar...

The pale wild dragon let out a roar, its breath like steam hissing through its throat. One side of its head looked grotesque, almost skeletal, with a blood-red mouth chewing hungrily on something unseen.

"No! No! No!"

On the dragon's back—covered in jagged, bony spines—a half-charred figure lay crumpled against an iron plate. Its one remaining purple eye was wide with horror, wailing in anguish. The iron plate was tangled in frayed, vine-like ropes, many of which had snapped and dangled uselessly in the air.

The half-burnt figure, its body seared black, lay helplessly on its side, a witness to the massacre. As it watched the dark green dragon with the long tail fall helplessly into the sea, it let out a mournful, broken roar—a sound of deep, despairing grief.

That had been s dragon of House Belaerys.

The only dragon capable of navigating through the eye of a storm. A name tied forever to the winds and waves, now extinguished in a single, brutal moment.

Roar...

The pale wild dragon's nostrils flared as it heard the pitiful murmuring from its back. Without hesitation, it spat out a blast of pale, ghostly dragonfire. The sickly flames hissed through the air, silencing the wails in an instant.

The sky fell into an eerie quiet.

The dragon's jaws dripped with the sweet, metallic taste of blood, and from its back, the scent of burnt flesh lingered in the air. The young beast lowered its head, peering toward the sea below, where the wreckage of the once-proud dragon now stirred the waves into large, crashing swells.

Hum—

A faint red glow flickered on the horizon, but the pale wild dragon ignored it. The surface of the water quickly returned to its calm, azure state, as though nothing had ever happened.

The dragon opened its remaining right eye wide, scanning the area for any signs of life. Finding none, it let out a satisfied snort, then flapped its wings and soared back toward its lair, disappearing into the thick clouds.

...

A few days later.

Qohor, the Temple Hall.

In the dimly lit hall, the statues of gods and goddesses stood in silent rows—except for the Black Goat, which loomed large above the rest. The flickering light from the hearth cast eerie shadows over the room.

Rhaegar lay on his back beside the roaring fire, his eyes closed, resting more deeply than he had in a long time.

Crack!

The firewood sparked, the sound echoing faintly through the vast, empty hall. It was the only noise breaking the stillness. Rhaegar slept soundly, oblivious to the seven statues of the Mother Goddess in the corner, their compassionate eyes seemingly fixed on him.

His eyelids twitched, and a soft voice whispered in the distance, calling to him.

"Who's calling me at this hour?" he mumbled groggily, his face showing irritation at being disturbed.

He opened his eyes to find Daemon standing by the bed, flanked by his twin foster daughters and Daeron. Their expressions were strange, as if they were concealing something, their emotions tightly controlled.

Rhaegar's gaze swept over them all before settling on Baela. "I thought you returned to Westeros," he said, surprise in his voice. "Where's Aemon?"

He had sent Aemon to rally the forces of the Vale, to bring back his second son and secure the management of Tyrosh and Lys. Could it be that lazy boy—always careless—didn't want to help?

"Aemon..." Baela's voice cracked, her eyes brimming with tears. She could barely speak. "He..."

Before she could finish, Daemon placed a large hand on her shoulder, gently interrupting her.

"Leave us," he said quietly, his eyes lowered.

The children obediently withdrew from the room, leaving Rhaegar and Daemon alone. A deep sense of foreboding settled over Rhaegar, his unease growing. If Rhaena had traveled all the way from King's Landing, there was no reason Aemon shouldn't have come with her.

Daemon said nothing at first, simply standing at his nephew's side. Then, after a long, tense silence, he placed a hand on Rhaegar's shoulder, his lips moving as though to whisper the words that weighed so heavily on him.

Rhaegar stared into the flames, unmoving, his mind racing, his heart bracing for what he somehow already knew.

After what felt like an eternity, Daemon let out a soft sigh and stepped back.

"I..." Rhaegar's voice rasped as he turned his back to the fire, his body rigid with tension.

Daemon met his eyes, but Rhaegar's face betrayed no outward emotion. Instead, a cold, hollow grief, mixed with simmering rage, filled his gaze.

The room was silent except for the crackling of the fire, but in that silence, the weight of loss hung thick in the air.

(Word count: 2,596)