Stormcloud let out a low growl, signaling the young dragons behind it to follow.
It paid little mind to Aegarax's predicament—after all, matters between dragons were unpredictable.
Caraxes's sharp cry rang out again, directing Stormcloud toward the locations of Syrax and Morghul's cave. It specifically warned Stormcloud not to let the young dragons disturb these two.
Stormcloud knew exactly why. It had been the same in Dragon's Nest's dragon pit—Vermithor wouldn't allow them near Silverwing's lair. Of course, aside from Aegarax and Zarafax, no other dragon dared approach Silverwing's den. Likewise, Shadowmare and Starsong prevented other great dragons from nearing the nests of the weaker Dawn and Morning.
It was a way to protect certain dragons within the lair.
Stormcloud scanned the caves surrounding the dragon den. After selecting one, it spread its wings and took flight, slowly squeezing inside. Even now, it still found these man-made caves less comfortable than the naturally formed ones it had shaped with its own fire.
Caraxes still hung from the ceiling, its slender neck draped like a serpent coiled around a tree, watching the young dragons as they searched for their own caves.
By now, Parexys had stopped clinging to Aegarax. It had suddenly let go and vanished somewhere. When the slow-witted Aegarax finally realized Parexys was missing, the stout young dragon was so overjoyed that it circled the den twice before diving into a spacious cave.
It was only days later, when Parexys once again wrapped itself around him with eerie precision, that Aegarax realized how naive he had been.
Parexys had been hiding nearby all along, waiting for Aegarax to choose a cave before slipping into a neighboring one—biding its time until Aegarax lowered its guard.
Jedaerion and Gaelithox chose the cave beneath Stormcloud's. The two young dragons were clever enough to realize that the now significantly larger Stormcloud could protect them, so they wasted no time in clinging to its protection.
This left Horn Tide and Unicorn, who had lagged behind, feeling frustrated. They had no choice but to settle for slightly more distant caves.
And at that moment, disaster struck.
The blue-black young dragon picked a cave and crawled inside.
But as it moved forward, something felt off.
Wait… why did this cave smell like another dragon?
Wait… why did that dragon smell… angry?
Wait… why is this cave so big? No, I need to run—
Dragons communicated through roars that carried little structured meaning—no subjects, no predicates—but among dragons, these sounds conveyed far more than just their base intent.
For instance, when Caraxes had warned the young ones earlier, it had specifically mentioned a "bad-tempered old blue one."
The young dragon instantly realized whose presence it had just intruded upon.
Dreamfyre.
It desperately tried to turn and flee, letting out a frantic cry:
"Blue horn, crystal red serpent, white worm, proud sun—help!"
But it was too late.
A torrent of searing dragonflame erupted from the depths of the cave, swallowing the young dragon whole.
Among the dragons still alive, Dreamfyre was the oldest, having hatched after the Conquest. Over a hundred years old, her flames burned hot enough to melt rock. The young dragon had barely been grazed before it collapsed.
Its blue-black scales were instantly charred black as it whimpered, collapsing in the passage leading to the cave entrance.
The glow of dragonfire spilled out from the cave, drawing the attention of the newly settled young dragons, who all poked their heads out at once.
Stormcloud let out a commanding roar, ordering them back inside before taking off toward the source of the fire—where a sickening crunching sound soon followed.
But Caraxes, hanging from above, blocked its path.
"Unlucky whelp… intruded on the bad-tempered old blue one… dead."
The sharp cry explained everything.
A charred dragon corpse was flung from the cave, landing in the open.
From the shadows, a massive blue-scaled head emerged. The ancient dragon let out a deafening roar, sending shivers through the air.
Its message was clear.
"Don't provoke me."
Dreamfyre cast a cold glance at Stormcloud, who hovered in midair, and at Caraxes, who clung to the ceiling. With a low roar, she silently retreated into her lair.
It wasn't really the unfortunate young dragon's fault. After all, no dragon knew that Dreamfyre had spent a long time secretly carving out multiple tunnels to make her lair more comfortable.
This kind of dragonfire, capable of melting through mountains, was rare even among the dragons still living. Only Dreamfyre, Vermithor, Shaowmare, Starsong, and Aegarax could breathe such flames.
So when it came to reshaping dragon lairs, all one could do was sigh deeply.
The news of a young dragon's death left the people of King's Landing indifferent.
After all, for dragons, this was nothing out of the ordinary.
Only Viserys mourned the loss of yet another great dragon for House Targaryen, brooding over it for a long time.
---
King's Landing, Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast, the bedchamber of Viserys and Larra.
Fourteen-year-old Viserys lay naked on the bed, his face blank. His body, still thin but beginning to show some firmness, was wrapped loosely in a silk sheet.
Larra patiently wiped down her young husband's body. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her long silver hair cascaded smoothly down her back, showing no sign that she had only just risen from bed herself.
"My love, what happened? Why are you sweating so much?"
Viserys hesitated, unsure whether to tell Larra what he had just dreamed. His emotions urged him to share, but reason told him otherwise.
He had dreamed of the throne room in King's Landing.
The Iron Throne stood tall upon the base of three red dragons.
A king, his face obscured, sat upon the throne, crowned and scepter in hand.
Below the Iron Throne, all manner of creatures danced.
Viserys saw a grey direwolf blowing a horn, a crowned stag performing a comical dance, and countless roses entwining a harp, producing a melody both soft and sorrowful. A longsword and a blazing sun, dressed as jesters, clashed with each other in mock battle, hoping to amuse the king on the throne.
A trout beat a drum, an eagle plucked at strings, a lion sang an ancient song, while a dappled dragon led a seahorse in a graceful, measured dance. The Seven-Pointed Star shimmered. Fire burned.
It all seemed so harmonious.
But then Viserys saw the strings attached to the dancing creatures. Even the king upon the Iron Throne had strings stretching from his crown, all converging and extending infinitely into the heavens above.
Curious, Viserys looked up.
He caught a glimpse of a silver shadow flashing across the sky.
"No, my love, it was nothing... I just dreamed of my brother, Lucerys."
Viserys forced a bitter smile as he answered Larra.