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Saltpine Town lay in the southeastern corner of the Crackclaw Point, under the governance of House Boggs.
Among the many settlements scattered across the peninsula, the residents of Saltpine Town were considered the wealthiest of the common folk.
This prosperity stemmed from their advantageous location, nestled between sea and forest. The townspeople made their living both by harvesting the bounty of the sea and by relying on the mountain behind them.
Living by the sea meant they could fish, gather shellfish, and enjoy the many gifts brought in by the tide. The nearby mountain, covered in dense pine forests, provided a steady supply of valuable timber.
These pine trees, rich in resin, were ideal for use as firewood and fuel. The wood was also easy to work with and naturally resistant to decay, making it a favored material for building structures and crafting furniture.
With wealth came the fear of it being coveted. Thus, the townsfolk of Saltpine had pooled their resources to form a local militia—a band of armed villagers tasked with protecting their home.
Yet on this night, even those militia fighters felt a creeping sense of dread deep in their hearts. They were not alone. Every citizen in Saltpine Town, no matter how experienced or naïve, felt the same oppressive fear. Terrifying roars, monstrous and unnatural, echoed from the direction of the mountain.
"Don't come out! Go back inside your homes!
If you have a basement, hide there! If not, take cover near the water!"
The frantic shouts came from a young man named Nat, who had joined the militia only two or three months earlier. He stood on the main road, calling out to the townsfolk who had stepped outside, drawn by the strange noise.
Some of those who recognized Nat paid little attention to his urgent warnings. Instead, they praised him, saying he was just like a man who had returned from the capital, King's Landing, to take control in a moment of crisis.
But Nat's words were not only ignored, they seemed to have the opposite effect. More and more people emerged from their houses to see what was going on.
With a grim expression, Nat turned his eyes toward the looming silhouette of the mountain. In his heart, he silently prayed to the Seven Gods, hoping that the dragons fighting atop the mountain would quickly depart.
Yes, dragons.
Nat knew the townspeople mistook the roars as those of mere monsters. But he had heard these sounds before. They were not beastly growls—they were the calls of dragons.
A few months ago, Nat had lived near Fishmonger's Square in King's Landing. He had personally witnessed the dragon battle that turned the skies into a furnace. He had seen the six dragons soaring overhead, locked in a clash that shook the heavens.
Though he was fortunate to have survived unscathed, the next morning, as he wandered through the ruins of Fishmonger's Square, he saw the corpses of many friends who had not been as lucky.
Having witnessed how insignificant humans were before dragons, Nat had abandoned his dreams of making a name for himself in the capital. Instead, he had returned to his hometown to live a quieter life.
He never imagined that only a few months later, he would once again hear the roar of dragons—this time in peaceful Saltpine.
"Look! What is that?!"
A scream rang out behind him. Nat immediately turned his gaze to the night sky, where a vast shadow loomed overhead.
As soon as his eyes adjusted, he saw the true form of the silhouette—and its trajectory. It was hurtling straight toward Saltpine Town.
Nat's eyes widened in horror, and with a voice strained to the point of breaking, he shouted, "Everyone run! A dragon—it's falling from the sky!"
WHOOSH!
BOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!
Two dragons, tangled together in a deathly struggle, plummeted from the sky and crashed directly into the heart of the town. A thunderous impact followed, shaking the earth.
The houses, many of them built from pine wood, were smashed to pieces beneath the tremendous weight of the beasts. Shards of timber exploded outward in every direction like deadly arrows.
A few townspeople who had been standing near their doorways, still frozen in shock, were crushed instantly, turned into nothing more than splattered flesh beneath the dragons' weight. Even those who had remained indoors were not spared. Many were sent flying along with the ruins of their homes.
In such a catastrophe, survival was rare—perhaps one in a hundred could be so fortunate.
Aaaaaah!
Hic... Hic...!
Only moments ago, Saltpine had been full of life and laughter. Now, in barely two minutes, it had transformed into a hellscape filled with the shrieking of the wounded and the wailing of those mourning their dead.
Nat groaned as he pushed himself off the ground. Pain seared through his left arm. When he looked down, he saw a jagged piece of wood embedded deep in his forearm, and bright red blood was slowly seeping from the wound.
No! My father and mother… the little ones!
Only now did he realize he had been so focused on warning others that he had completely forgotten about his own family—his parents and younger siblings.
His heart twisted in panic. Tearing a strip of cloth from the inner lining of his shirt, Nat quickly bound his injured arm and broke into a run, sprinting toward his home.
THUD, THUD, THUD!
The town had become a field of ruin. Amid the shattered buildings, the two dragons still fought furiously. Their massive bodies caused tremors every time they crashed into the ground—like miniature earthquakes in the heart of the town.
The black-scaled dragon, clearly the larger of the two, struggled to rise to its feet. But the emerald-green dragon was already on top of it, clamping its jaws around the black dragon's throat and pressing down on its wings with powerful claws.
Nat sprinted with all his might, avoiding the wreckage and the zone of destruction where the dragons clashed. Finally, he reached the street where his home stood.
He gasped in relief. The Seven have truly protected us!
There, in the distance, his house stood untouched. Though not far from the chaos, it had miraculously escaped harm.
Nat's body sagged as he exhaled, overwhelmed by the surge of hope.
ROOOOOOOAAAAR!!!
A bone-rattling cry tore through the night. The black-scaled dragon, still pinned beneath its emerald foe, let out one final, thunderous roar.
From the depths of its wide-open maw, an eerie green glow began to gather.
WHOOSH!
A pillar of ghostly green fire erupted from the black dragon's mouth—a torrent of dragonflame that cut through the air like a living blade.
That flame surged in one single, relentless direction—toward Nat's home.
BOOOOOM!!!! CRACKLE!!
In the blink of an eye, the fire slammed into the house. The structure, once whole, exploded apart, shredded by the force. Within moments, it was engulfed in the searing heat and turned to charred ash.
"NOOOOOO!"
Nat fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face as he howled in anguish. The pain in his chest was more unbearable than anything he had felt in his arm. His cries joined the cacophony of grief already echoing through the ruined town.
The green dragonflame, like a demon unchained, found itself perfectly suited to Saltpine's wooden landscape. Fueled by the pinewood—rich in oil and highly flammable—the fire spread quickly. It raced from splinter to beam, devouring everything in its path.
HISS! HISS!
The black-scaled dragon, now like a runaway inferno, spewed its emerald flames in all directions. It transformed the remains of Saltpine into a blazing sea of fire.
Yet even in its final fury, it could not harm the emerald-green dragon, which remained perched atop it.
Before long, the black-scaled dragon's final burst of strength began to fade. The once-violent torrents of green flame spewing from its maw grew weaker and more intermittent. In its remaining right eye—glossy and jet-green—the flicker of life dimmed by the second.
At last, the stream of eerie flame sputtered and vanished completely. The black-scaled dragon gave its final shudder and fell still. The luster in its green eye dulled to a lifeless gray, resembling cold stone.
A resounding cry erupted from the emerald-green dragon as it sensed the death of its adversary. Loosening its jaws from the black dragon's torn throat, it tilted back its massive head and roared toward the heavens in an ecstatic proclamation of victory.
At that moment, Nat turned his tear-streaked face toward the triumphant emerald beast. His features, already twisted in grief, now contorted further—his gaze boiling with hatred, loathing, and the bitter fire of vengeance.
He recognized that dragon. He had seen it before in the skies above King's Landing. Its master was none other than the infamous "Scourge of the Realm"—Jacaerys Velaryon.
SHRRRK! SHRRRK!
As the victorious roar faded into the distance, the emerald-green dragon wasted no time. Its savage jaws opened once more, revealing rows of jagged fangs as it tore into the corpse of its fallen foe. With great gulps, it devoured chunks of flesh ripped from the black dragon's massive body.
Each piece of torn flesh unleashed gouts of dragon's blood that rained down upon the ruined town of Saltpine like a crimson storm.
Bathed in that ghastly downpour, Nat raised a trembling hand and wiped away the blood-mixed tears at the corners of his eyes.
He took one last look at the burning remains of his home, then turned away, the grief on his face replaced by grim resolve. He began to search the ruins, hoping to find survivors among the devastation.
The emerald-green dragon, lost in its gluttonous feast, paid no attention to the tiny human figures that fled the burning town like ants from a collapsing nest.
All around, green fire raged, engulfing the remains of Saltpine. The dragon crouched amid the rubble, feasting with feral delight, while scattered survivors—frail and fragile—began to flee toward the distant safety of their lord's castle.
Time passed slowly. The fires crackled and smoldered. Then, just as the first light of dawn brushed the horizon, Jacaerys arrived.
His face was grave, shadowed with concern, as he strode with long, urgent steps toward the town. From a distance, the faint plumes of smoke still curling skyward from the ruins guided his path.
He neither knew nor cared what calamity had unfolded in the town below.
What concerned him was something far more personal—since the night before, his bond with Vermax had become tenuous and unstable. His thoughts and feelings, usually shared effortlessly with the dragon through their psychic link, had been met with silence, as if cast into an abyss.
Worried and unable to sit idle, Jacaerys had spent the entire night descending from the heights of Mountain of the Saltpine on foot, desperate to discover what had become of his dragon.
Then he stopped in his tracks.
"What... is that?"
His eyes widened in disbelief as they fell upon a scene beyond anything he could have imagined.
At the very heart of the destroyed town, nestled among the ashes and cinders left by the great fire, lay a monstrous cocoon. It stood fifteen meters high and stretched over thirty meters in length. The surface pulsed faintly, as if it were alive, slick with the sheen of drying blood.
Nearby, lying clean and eerily pristine, were the immense skeletal remains of a dragon. Its once-mighty form had been reduced to nothing more than bleached bone and haunting silence
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[Chapter End's]
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