| Chapter 20: The Ghosts of Valyria |

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| Aegon Targaryen - 1st Person Pov |

. . .

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The sea stretched endlessly before me, a vast expanse of blue that seemed to go on forever. The waves rolled gently beneath the ship, their steady rhythm both soothing and unsettling.

I had never felt so small, so insignificant, surrounded by nothing but water and sky.

The distant hum of the crew moving about the ship was the only reminder that I wasn't completely alone. But in many ways, I was.

Jia was dead, her blood still vivid in my memory. The empire of Yi Ti was in flames, torn apart by rebellion. And behind me, in the shadow of that distant shore, I had left behind the people, the city, and the world that had shaped me.

My mentor's betrayal still echoed in my mind, but it was a distant hum now, drowned out by the call of something far stronger.

Old Valyria.

The land of my ancestors. The place I was destined to go.

It had been weeks since I had left Yi Ti behind, and the journey had been long, arduous, and filled with silence. The crew of the ship had little to say to me. They kept their distance, their eyes wary whenever I passed. They didn't know who I was, only that I had paid them well for passage across the Jade Sea and beyond.

I was just a shadow to them, a traveler with no name, no history.

And that suited me just fine.

I had no need for conversation, no desire to connect with anyone on this voyage. My thoughts were enough company,— though they were not always kind.

.

The winds had been favorable for most of the journey, carrying us across the seas with an almost unnatural speed. But as the days passed, and the distance between me and the shores of Essos grew greater, I felt something else pulling at me,— a deep, invisible force that seemed to come from within the very waters themselves. It was as if the sea knew where I was going, and it was guiding me there.

However, with every passing day, the weight of my thoughts grew heavier. The dreams that had haunted me for so long,— the visions of fire and dragons,— were constant now.

Every night, I was visited by the same images. Flames rising high into the sky. Dragons circling overhead. The ruins of a once-great empire, crumbling beneath the weight of its own power.

And in the center of it all, I stood alone, the fire reflecting in my eyes, my blood burning with the weight of my ancestors.

It was Valyria. Always Valyria.

The crew could sense my unease, though they never spoke of it.

They were practical men, used to the dangers of the sea, but there was something about this journey that seemed to unsettle even them.

They whispered when they thought I wasn't listening, muttering about cursed lands and haunted seas. They spoke of the Smoking Sea, the treacherous waters that surrounded Valyria, said to be filled with fire and death.

They weren't wrong. Old Valyria was a place of legend, but it was also a place of ruin. The Doom had swallowed it whole centuries ago, leaving nothing but ash and bone in its wake. No one who ventured there ever returned.

And yet, I had to go.

The pull of Valyria was stronger than anything I had ever felt. It was as if the very blood in my veins was calling me home, urging me to return to the land where my ancestors had once ruled with fire and blood.

The dreams were not just dreams,— they were a summons. A reminder of who I was, of what I was meant to be.

I spent my days on the deck, staring out at the horizon, my thoughts a tangled web of destiny and doubt. The waves whispered to me, their soft murmurings sounding almost like words. Sometimes, I thought I could hear voices,— faint, distant, like the ghosts of the past trying to speak to me. But when I turned, there was no one there.

I was alone. Utterly, completely alone.

. . .

. .

.

One night, as the ship sailed silently beneath the stars, I stood at the edge of the deck, my hands gripping the railing. The sea was calm, the water as smooth as glass, reflecting the pale light of the moon. It was beautiful, in a way. But it was also empty.

The wind brushed against my face, cool and gentle, but there was a tension in the air,— a feeling of something approaching, something unseen.

And as I stared out at the dark horizon, I felt a presence beside me. I turned quickly, my hand instinctively moving to the hilt of Sunset, but there was no one there.

And yet... I wasn't alone. I could feel it.

Just then, a figure stood just at the edge of my vision, shrouded in shadow. Its face was obscured, its features hidden by the flickering light of the lanterns. But there was something familiar about it, something that tugged at the edges of my memory.

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice low but steady.

The figure didn't move, didn't speak at first.

It simply stood there, watching me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. I gripped the hilt of my valyrian-steel sword tighter, ready for a fight, but something stopped me from drawing it.

The figure finally spoke, its voice soft and distant, like the whisper of the wind. "You carry the weight of kings..." it said, its words dripping with an ancient knowledge. "But your crown is heavy, Aegon Targaryen."

I narrowed my eyes, my heart skipping a beat. "How do you know my name?"

The figure didn't answer. Instead, it stepped closer, the shadows parting just enough for me to see the outline of its facial structure.

Its eyes gleamed faintly in the darkness, a flicker of something unnatural behind them.

"You were given a gift." the figure continued, its voice like a distant echo. "A coin, a token of your path. Do you remember?"

I stiffened, the memory flashing in my mind.

The coin. The strange man who had given it to me months ago, back in Yi Ti, before my life had spiraled into chaos. I had nearly forgotten it, tucked away in my belongings, but the weight of it seemed to return now, pressing against my thoughts.

I said nothing, but the figure seemed to know. It tilted its head slightly, as if listening to something I couldn't hear.

"Valyria calls to you, even now." it said quietly. "But you do not yet understand the why, yet."

"The why?" I questioned, my voice rough with frustration. "Why does it call to me? Is it not simply because a Dragon that I am supposed to "conquer", is there,— waiting for me?"

The figure's gaze locked onto mine, his eyes gleaming with a strange, fiery light. "Perhaps. Or perhaps there's some hidden,— fuller thruth to your future, that Destiny finds the need to arm you with the power of a Dragon...But the answer is in your blood..." he said softly. "It has always been in your blood."

My breath caught in my throat. My blood?

The blood of the Targaryens. The legacy of my ancestors, the fire that burned in my veins.

That's the answer? What kind of answer is even that...

The figure then took a step back, before I could question it further, its form blending into the shadows once more. "The road ahead is filled with fire and darkness." it said, with its voice fading like the wind. "But you are not alone, Aegon. Not yet."

I reached out, trying to grasp the figure, trying to demand more answers, but my hand passed through empty air. The figure was gone, as if he had never been there at all.

And I stood there, frozen, my mind racing.

The coin. The blood. Valyria. The figure's words echoed in my mind, cryptic and unsettling.

What did it all mean?

I pulled the coin from my pocket, turning it over in my hands, its surface gleaming faintly in the moonlight. The memory of the man who had given it to me tugged at the edges of my thoughts, but his face was hazy, distant.

Had it been him? The figure who had just appeared? Or was it someone else,— something else?

The sea seemed to churn beneath me, the calm surface rippling as if disturbed by some unseen force. The air grew heavy, the tension thickening. And in the distance, I saw it,— a dark shape rising from the horizon.

Valyria.

The ruins of the once-great empire loomed ahead, their jagged edges silhouetted against the night sky. The faint glow of the Smoking Sea lit the edges of the broken land, casting an eerie light over the desolation.

My heart quickened, a mix of fear and anticipation swirling in my chest.

This was it. This was the place that had haunted my dreams, the place that had called me across the world.

I was here. Finally.

But as the ship drew closer to the shores of Old Valyria, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me,— something far older and more powerful than I could ever understand.

I gripped the golden dragon coin tightly in my hand, my pulse racing as the ship sailed toward the ruins of Valyria.

What awaited me there? What had my blood called me to?

The answers were ahead, shrouded in fire and shadow. And soon, I would face them.

. . .

. .

.

The air was thick with ash and smoke as I stepped onto the shores of Old Valyria.

The moment my feet touched the blackened ground, I felt it,— an ancient, suffocating weight pressing down on me, like the land itself was alive with the memory of its own destruction. The jagged ruins of a once-great empire stretched out before me, their shadows long and twisted under the dim light of the Smoking Sea. The sky above was an unnatural red, as if the very heavens were still stained by the fire that had consumed this place centuries ago.

It was a land of death, of fire and blood. And it called to me.

I had spent days at sea, haunted by dreams of dragons, of flames licking at my skin, of the ghosts of my ancestors whispering secrets I could never quite understand. But now, standing on the shores of Old Valyria, those dreams felt more real than ever. I could almost hear the faint echoes of their voices, carried on the acrid wind that swept through the ruins.

This is where it all began...

My heart pounded in my chest.

This is where the Targaryens had once ruled, before the Doom had swallowed them whole, leaving nothing but ash and shattered stone in its wake.

And yet, despite the desolation that surrounded me, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of... belonging. This was my heritage, the place where my bloodline had been forged. The land of dragons and fire.

The land of my ancestors.

The ship that had carried me here was anchored in the distance, its crew staying well clear of the cursed land. They had been reluctant to even sail this close to Valyria, their faces pale with fear as they muttered about the dangers that lurked here,— the monsters, the ghosts, the magic. They had refused to step foot on the island, and I hadn't argued.

This journey was mine alone.

The landscape before me was a nightmare come to life,— twisted spires of stone jutted from the ground like the bones of some long-dead beast, and the ground beneath my feet was cracked and scorched, as though the earth itself had been burned from within. In the distance, I could see the ruins of what had once been great towers, their peaks crumbled and broken, now little more than skeletons of their former glory.

As I moved deeper into the ruins, the air grew colder, despite the ever-present heat from the Smoking Sea. Every step I took echoed in the silence, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of the land. The only other sound was the faint, distant rumble of something deep beneath the ground,— like the heartbeat of the earth itself, steady and unrelenting.

My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear and anticipation swirling inside me. This was the place from my dreams, the place that had called to me for so long. And now that I was here, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.

I moved cautiously, my hand never straying far from the hilt of my sword.

I didn't know what to expect, but the stories I had heard about Valyria were enough to keep me on edge. This was a place of death, where even the air seemed hostile, filled with the remnants of ancient magic and power.

The ruins stretched out before me like a maze, their jagged edges casting long shadows that twisted and shifted as I moved. The ground beneath my feet was unstable, and more than once I had to leap over deep fissures that seemed to open up without warning, as though the land itself was trying to swallow me whole.

I kept moving, my eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. I knew that Valyria was not a place for the living,— those who ventured here rarely returned. But I had come for a reason, and I couldn't turn back now.

The dragon, I reminded myself. I came here to claim my dragon.

But as I ventured deeper into the ruins, I realized that the dragon was not the only thing waiting for me here.

. . .

. .

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The first sign of danger came as I reached what appeared to be the remains of an ancient plaza, its stone floor cracked and uneven, the remnants of Valyrian statues scattered across the ground. I had been walking for hours, my legs burning with the effort of navigating the treacherous terrain, when I felt it,— a sudden shift in the air, a coldness that seeped into my bones.

I stopped, my senses on high alert.

The wind had died down, the silence around me growing oppressive. And then, I heard it,— a faint, distant sound, like the whisper of footsteps on stone.

I turned sharply, my hand gripping the hilt of my sword. The plaza was empty, but I knew I wasn't alone. There was something here, watching me, waiting.

For a moment, I stood frozen, my breath shallow as I scanned the ruins for any sign of movement. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it,— a shadow, flitting between the broken columns, too fast for me to fully register.

I drew my sword, the valyrian-steel gleaming in the dim light, my heart racing. Whatever it was, it wasn't human. I could feel the ancient magic in the air, the remnants of power that still lingered in this cursed place.

I stepped forward cautiously, my eyes locked on the spot where I had seen the shadow.

The ruins were silent, save for the sound of my own breathing, but the sense of unease had only grown stronger.

And then, suddenly, it was there.

A creature, unlike anything I had ever seen, darted out from the shadows, its body long and serpentine, its eyes glowing with an eerie red light. It moved with unnatural speed, its movements jerky and erratic, as though it had been stitched together from the remnants of something long dead.

I barely had time to react before it lunged at me, its sharp claws outstretched. I threw myself to the side, rolling across the cracked stone as the creature's claws slashed through the air where I had just stood.

I sprang to my feet, my sword ready, but the creature was faster than I expected. It whipped around with a snarl, its long tail lashing out at me. I ducked, the force of the strike sending me stumbling backward, but I kept my footing.

The creature circled me, its glowing eyes fixed on mine, and for a moment, I saw something in those eyes,— something that wasn't quite animal, but wasn't human either.

It was as if the thing that stood before me was only half-alive, its body sustained by the ancient magic that still lingered in these ruins.

With a growl, it lunged at me again, its claws aimed for my throat. But this time, I was ready.

I sidestepped the attack and slashed my sword across its side, the blade cutting through its leathery skin. The creature let out a screech of pain, its blood,— a dark, oily substance,— spilling onto the ground.

But it wasn't finished.

Before I could strike again, it lashed out with its tail, the force of the blow knocking me off my feet. I hit the ground hard, the air leaving my lungs in a rush. The creature pounced, its jaws snapping inches from my face, but I managed to roll out of the way just in time.

I scrambled to my feet, with Sunset still in hand, but the creature was already weakening. Its movements had become sluggish, its eyes dimming. With a final, desperate lunge, it charged at me, but I met it head-on, driving my sword into its head.

The creature let out a final, pitiful screech before collapsing to the ground, its body twitching once before going still.

I stood there for a moment, my chest heaving, my sword slick with the creature's blood. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and decay, and I could feel the magic in the air pulsing around me, stronger now than it had been before.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, my mind racing.

What was that?

But before I could dwell on the creature any longer, something else caught my attention.

A voice. Faint and distant, carried on the wind.

"A descendent of Valyria…"

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. The voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it was unmistakable.

I turned slowly, my eyes scanning the ruins, but there was no one there. And yet, I could still hear it,— the voice, growing stronger, clearer.

"You have come at last."

My blood ran cold. The voice was familiar, and yet it wasn't. It was like hearing an echo of something long forgotten, a memory that had been buried deep within me.

"Who's there?" I called out, my voice steady despite the fear creeping up my spine.

For a moment, there was only silence. And then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.

It was a man, or at least, it appeared to be.

His form was tall and thin, his robes tattered and torn, his face obscured by a hood that cast deep shadows over his features. But there was something about him,— something ancient, something powerful,— that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Someone has finally come to claim what is to be given..." the figure said, its voice echoing in the stillness of the ruins.

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning. The figure's presence was both unsettling and magnetic, and though every instinct in me screamed to be wary, I found myself rooted to the spot.

There was a power about him, a weight that seemed to draw everything toward it,— like the entire landscape of Valyria bent to its will.

My grip tightened on the hilt of my sword.

There was no sound now, no creatures lurking in the shadows. Just me, the figure, and the endless stretch of broken ruins. The weight of the air was thick with tension and ancient magic, pressing against my chest.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice hoarse from the battle, from the smoke still lingering in the air.

The figure stepped forward, its movements unnervingly smooth, its robes barely stirring in the still air. Its face remained hidden beneath the hood, but I could feel its gaze on me, cold and unyielding.

"I am what remains..." it replied, its voice soft but resonant, as though it came from deep within the earth itself. "I am the last whisper of the greatness that was lost, the ghost of a dying empire. I am what you will become."

His words sent a chill down my spine.

What I will become? The thought struck me like a hammer. I had come here for answers, to find the dragon that haunted my dreams, to claim the power that my blood had promised me. But this… this figure spoke as though it knew more about me than I knew about myself.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice stronger now, though my heart was still pounding. "What do you know about me?"

The figure tilted its head slightly, as if regarding me with some ancient, unspoken understanding. "I know what you are, Aegon Targaryen. I know the blood that runs through your veins, the fire that burns in your heart. You are not the first to seek power in these ruins, and you will not be the last."

It took another step forward, its robes brushing against the cracked stone. "But you… you are different. You carry the legacy of dragons within you. And that legacy calls you here, to this place, to claim what is rightfully yours."

The air grew colder as he spoke, the wind picking up around us, carrying with it the faint scent of ash and something darker,— something older.

I felt the weight of its words pressing down on me, stirring something deep inside me that I couldn't quite name.

My dreams, my visions… they had all led me here, to this moment. But the figure's presence unsettled me, its words filled with a power that seemed to stretch beyond this world.

I took a step forward, my eyes locked on the shadowed face beneath his hood. "You speak as though you know my destiny," I said, my voice steady. "But I have recently decided to pave my own path,— by myself."

The figure paused, and for a moment, I thought I saw the flicker of a smile beneath the hood. "Perhaps, that may be true." it said, with a voice almost amused. "But the blood in your veins was forged in fire, shaped by forces far older than you can understand. The dragons chose your family long before you were born, and they have called you here for a reason."

I felt a surge of heat in my chest at his words, the familiar burn of my blood, the legacy of my ancestors. The Targaryens had been born in Valyria, their power forged in the fire of dragons.

And now, I stood in the place where it had all begun, where the ruins of their empire still whispered of the strength they had once wielded.

"The dragon..." I said, my voice quiet but firm. "Where is it?"

The figure stilled, its head tilting slightly, as if it were listening to something only it could hear. Then, slowly, it raised one hand and pointed toward the distant horizon, where the jagged silhouette of a ruined fortress loomed against the sky. The faint glow of fire flickered from within its broken walls, casting eerie shadows across the landscape.

"There, you shall find her..." it said, with a voice that echoed as a soft murmur. "The dragon waits for you. It has always waited."

My heart raced as I followed the figure's gaze, my eyes locking onto the distant fortress.

The ruins of Valyria stretched between me and the dragon, the air heavy with the weight of centuries-old power. I could feel the pull of it, the draw of something ancient and fierce, calling to me from the depths of those crumbling walls.

But the figure wasn't finished. It stepped closer, its presence looming over me, with a voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down my spine.

"You must be prepared, however." it said.

"The power you seek is not easily tamed. Dragons are fire made flesh, and their loyalty is not given,— it is earned. The blood of your ancestors may burn in your veins, but the dragon does not care for blood alone."

Its words hung heavy in the air, filling me with a strange sense of foreboding. I had always known this wouldn't be easy, that claiming the dragon would require more than just walking into the ruins and demanding its loyalty.

But the way the figure spoke, the weight of his words, made me realize just how dangerous this truly was.

"What do I have to do?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

The figure remained silent for a long moment, face still hidden beneath the hood.

And then, in a voice so soft it was almost lost to the wind, it spoke once more. "You must face the dragon, and you must prove that you are worthy."

The ground beneath me seemed to shift then, the very air around me growing heavier with the weight of his words. The Smoking Sea roared in the distance, its foul stench rising to mix with the scent of charred earth and sulfur. This was it. The moment I had been waiting for.

I turned my gaze back to the ruined fortress in the distance, the firelight flickering within its broken walls. The dragon was there, waiting for me, as it had waited for centuries.

And I would face it,— alone.

. . .

. .

.

As I made my way through the ruins toward the fortress, the weight of my ancestors pressed down on me. The ground beneath my feet was scorched and uneven, littered with the remnants of Valyria's once-great cities.

Broken columns, shattered statues, and crumbled buildings stretched out in every direction, the ghosts of an empire that had ruled the world.

But I wasn't afraid.

The fear that had gripped me when I first set foot on these shores had faded, replaced by something stronger,— determination.

I had come here to claim what was mine, to prove that the blood of the Targaryens was still strong, still worthy of the power that had once been theirs.

And as I approached the fortress, the air grew thick with the scent of smoke and fire.

The ground was cracked and uneven, the stones beneath my feet radiating heat as though they had been baked in the sun for centuries. The walls of the fortress loomed high above me, their surfaces blackened by time and fire, the jagged edges casting long shadows across the landscape.

My heart raced as I stepped through the crumbled archway that had once been the entrance to the fortress. The air inside was hot and stifling, the walls close and oppressive. The faint glow of fire flickered from deeper within the ruins, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the stone.

And then, I heard it,— a low, rumbling growl that sent a shiver down my spine.

The sound came from deep within the fortress, vibrating through the stone and into my very bones.

I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on the hilt of my Sunset as I moved forward, my footsteps echoing in the stillness. The dragon was close. I could feel its presence like a living thing, a pulse of power that radiated from the very walls.

I rounded a corner, the heat growing more intense with every step, and there it was.

The dragon.

It was massive, easily larger than any creature I had ever seen.

Its scales were black as night, with streaks of faint pink running along its ridged back and down its tail. The glow of the firelight reflected off its scales, casting an eerie, shimmering light across its body. Its wings were folded tightly against its body, the leathery surface stretched taut, and its tail curled around its massive form like a serpent.

But it was its eyes that held me captive,— two glowing orbs of molten gold, staring at me with a mix of curiosity and… hunger?

My breath caught in my throat as the dragon lifted its head, its nostrils flaring as it caught my scent. Its lips curled back, revealing rows of sharp, gleaming teeth, and a low growl rumbled deep within its chest.

This was it.

The moment I had been preparing for.

I took a step forward, my heart pounding, the heat from the dragon's body searing the air between us. The weight of my ancestors pressed down on me, their voices echoing in my mind, urging me forward. This was my destiny, my birthright.

But the dragon was not mine, not yet.

It stood, unfolding its massive wings, and let out a deafening roar that shook the very walls of the fortress, the sound reverberating through my bones.

And then, it lunged.

The sheer size of the dragon made the ground tremble beneath me, its wings unfurling as it charged forward with terrifying speed. Its roar filled the air, shaking the very stones of the ancient fortress. For a split second, I froze,— stunned by the power, by the sheer presence of the beast bearing down on me.

But instinct kicked in.

I dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the dragon's massive claws as they slammed into the ground where I had just stood. The impact sent shards of stone flying in every direction, the sound of cracking rock echoing through the ruins. I rolled across the uneven ground, my sword drawn, heart pounding in my chest.

The dragon whirled around, its eyes glowing with fire, its teeth bared in a snarl. It was testing me, I realized.

This was not a simple fight,— it was a challenge. The dragon wasn't just defending its territory; it was demanding that I prove myself worthy of its loyalty.

I had come here for this, to claim the beast that called to my blood, but this was not a matter of strength alone.

The dragon was a creature of fire and instinct,— it would not yield to force. I had to be more than a warrior. I had to be more than just another dragonlord seeking to claim his birthright.

I had to be worthy.

I stood, sword in hand, and faced the dragon head-on.

Its massive form towered over me, its wings half-spread, its breath hot and sulfurous in the air between us. My mind raced, every lesson I had learned in Yi Ti, every moment of training, every vision of my ancestors flashing through my thoughts. The weight of the Targaryen legacy pressed down on me, and for a moment, I wondered if I truly had the strength to carry it.

But there was no time for doubt.

The dragon charged, its jaws snapping dangerously close to my face. I leapt backward, my feet finding unstable purchase on the crumbling stones. The heat of its breath scorched my skin, the air shimmering with the intensity of the fire that burned within it.

I wasn't just fighting the dragon. I was fighting for my place in the world, for the right to carry the fire of my ancestors, for the destiny that had been calling me across the seas. I had to prove to this creature,— and to myself,— that I was worthy of it all.

The dragon circled me, its golden eyes watching, calculating. I could see the intelligence behind those eyes, the ancient wisdom of a creature born of fire and ash. It was not mindless; it was not a beast to be tamed by brute force.

I sheathed my sword, the act deliberate, and I took a step forward then, my heart racing but my resolve firm.

The dragon paused, its head tilting slightly, as if it were curious. It had expected a fight, and now it saw something different.

"I am Aegon Targaryen!" I said in high-valyrian, my voice steady, though the fear still gnawed at the edges of my mind,— and I wondered if this gamble would work. "I am of your blood. I am fire made flesh, and I have come to claim what is mine."

The dragon's nostrils flared, and for a moment, I thought it would attack again. But it didn't. It simply watched me, its massive body coiled, its muscles tense, waiting.

I stepped closer with newfound courage, my hand outstretched.

My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my movements slow, deliberate. This was not a creature to be dominated, but one to be understood, respected. I had learned that from Jia,— that true strength was not just in the blade, but in the mind. In understanding one's enemy, and knowing when to strike and when to hold back.

The dragon let out a low rumble, its eyes still locked on mine. I could feel its breath on my skin, hot and sulfurous, the raw power of it making my heart race.

But I didn't back down,— I couldn't.

I took another step forward, and then another. My hand was inches from its massive head now, the heat radiating from its scales almost unbearable. I could feel the fire that burned inside it, the same fire that burned in my own blood.

"I am fire made flesh." I repeated, my voice quieter now, but filled with certainty. "And so are you."

For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

The dragon's eyes flickered with something,— recognition, perhaps, or something deeper. And then, slowly, it lowered its head, the growl fading from its throat.

I placed my hand on its snout, the heat of its scales searing against my skin. But I didn't pull back. I stood there, my hand resting on the dragon, feeling the pulse of power that radiated through its body, feeling the bond between us forming,— between the blood of the dragon and the fire that had called me here.

The dragon's massive body relaxed, and the tension in the air seemed to dissipate, replaced by something else,— something ancient and unspoken.

The dragon had accepted me. It was not a submission, but an acknowledgment of the bond we now shared, of the fire that connected us.

I stepped back, my heart still pounding, but now with a sense of triumph. The dragon watched me, its eyes still glowing, but there was no more hostility in its gaze. It was mine now.

I had claimed the dragon.

. . .

. .

.

The fortress loomed behind me as I stood on the cliff's edge, the wind whipping through my hair. The dragon,— my dragon,— stood beside me, its massive wings half-spread, its body coiled and ready. The ruins of Valyria stretched out before us, a sea of broken stone and ash, the remnants of a once-great empire that had crumbled under the weight of its own power.

I had come here to find my place in the world, to claim the legacy that was mine by birthright. And now, standing beside the dragon, I felt the full weight of that legacy pressing down on me.

The fire in my blood burned hotter than ever, and I knew that my journey was far from over.

This was just the beginning.

Old Valyria had called me here, and I had answered. But now, the pull of something greater tugged at me,— Westeros, the Iron Throne, the legacy of my family.

I turned my gaze to the horizon, where the distant shores of Essos lay hidden in the mists. The path ahead was filled with uncertainty, with danger, but it was the path I was meant to walk.

I mounted the dragon, feeling the power of its muscles beneath me, the heat of its body radiating through the air. The wind howled around us, the sound of the Smoking Sea roaring in the distance.

And then, with a beat of its massive wings, we rose into the sky.

The ground fell away beneath us, the ruins of Valyria shrinking into the distance as we soared higher and higher. The wind rushed past my ears, the world below a blur of shadows and fire. I could feel the dragon's power beneath me, the raw strength of its flight, and for the first time in my life, I felt truly free.

This was what I had been born for. This was my destiny.

As we flew into the night, the stars above and the ruins of the past behind, I knew that there was no turning back. The fire that burned in my blood would guide me, and the dragon at my side would carry me toward the future that awaited.

. . .

. .

.

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