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CLIP-CLOP, CLIP-CLOP!
A fully armored cavalry unit, one hundred strong, galloped at full speed along the road leading to the town of Saltpine.
At the front rode a man in his thirties. Upon his chest was emblazoned the sigil of his house — a towering pine tree carved in detailed relief.
He was Mortimer Boggs, the eldest son and heir to the House of Boggs of the Crackclaw Point .
With furrowed brows and a pensive expression, Mortimer suddenly turned to a rider behind him, his voice sharp and urgent.
"You are certain about what you saw? You did not mistake it?" he asked again. "It was truly the dragon of the Scourge of the Realm… I mean, Prince Jacaerys… that destroyed Saltpine Town?"
Upon hearing this, the rider, named Nat, responded with unwavering certainty.
"Ser, I swear upon the Seven. Our Saltpine Town was destroyed because Prince Jacaerys's dragon engaged in battle with another dragon right there."
"Another dragon?" Mortimer narrowed his eyes. "Could it be one of the two princes aligned with Her Grace the Queen?"
Following the assassination in the Red Keep and the battle between dragons in King's Landing, the conflict between the Greens and the Blacks was no longer a hidden undercurrent — it had become a blatant and public divide across the Seven Kingdoms.
Mortimer turned his gaze toward the distant Saltpine ruins, muttering under his breath, "Damn it. Why did they have to fight on our land? Why on the territory of House Boggs?"
The destruction of Saltpine Town meant a catastrophic loss. The region's annual tax revenue would drop by at least eighty percent.
"If what this Nat says is true… and the other dragon has already perished, consumed in battle, then… No. We must insist that it was the Scourge of the Realm who destroyed the town. We must press the royal court at King's Landing for compensation!"
By midday, Mortimer and his party had reached the outer perimeter of Saltpine Town's remains.
Upon witnessing the vast field of destruction, the massive blood cocoon, and the skeletal remains of the dragon Cannibal, the entire cavalry unit was rendered speechless, stunned into silence.
Mortimer, uneasy at the sight and with fear clawing at his chest, chose to stay at the edges until his scouts confirmed there were no threats in the area. Only then did he spur his horse into the ruins.
At the very center of the devastation, Jacaerys sat cross-legged before the enormous cocoon of blood.
Mortimer had never seen the prince in person, but the finely crafted dragon-scale armor Jacaerys wore made his identity unmistakable.
"Greetings, Prince Jacaerys," Mortimer announced solemnly.
"Address me properly," Jacaerys replied calmly. "Call me Your Grace."
"What?" Mortimer blinked, caught off guard by the statement.
"My claim to the Iron Throne has been stripped. I am now King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones. Do not mistake my title again."
"…Very well then. Greetings, Your Grace," Mortimer corrected himself, though the words felt strange in his mouth.
In truth, he scoffed at Jacaerys's claim in his heart. To the vast majority in the Seven Kingdoms, the title of King of the impoverished and remote Stepstones held far less honor than the name of a prince born to the royal bloodline.
"I am hungry," Jacaerys said with a nod, then spoke as though issuing a command to a servant. "Go and find me something to eat."
Mortimer's eyelid twitched.
The nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, himself included, swore allegiance to King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra, the realm's designated heir. Even if Jacaerys remained second in line to the Iron Throne, he held no formal authority to command them.
And these past few months, Queen Alicent and the Hand of the King had been secretly working to win over the realm's lords.
Though King Viserys had not removed Princess Rhaenyra's status as heir, the decision to strip her eldest son of his inheritance spoke volumes. To any who observed closely, it was clear where his favor had shifted — toward Queen Alicent.
Already, many noble houses had begun changing allegiances, turning to the Greens.
It had been over twenty years since the realm's great lords swore their oaths to Princess Rhaenyra. Those original lords were now old or dead.
As for House Boggs, located close to Dragonstone, they had yet to make a public declaration. But given the state of things, Mortimer had already begun contemplating advising his father to side with Queen Alicent and her faction.
Suppressing the anger rising in his chest, Mortimer turned and gave a quiet order to one of his men.
Shortly after, the rider returned with some military rations.
As Jacaerys took one glance at the food handed over, he turned to Mortimer and said, "Eat it first. I want to see you taste it."
After multiple assassination attempts in Essos, Jacaerys had become highly cautious about his safety — most especially regarding food.
He had no resistance to poison now, and food was the most common way for it to be administered.
However, Westeros was not like Essos. Poison was viewed with disgust and fear among knights and lords. It was considered a weapon of cowards, eunuchs, bastards, and women — never the tool of honorable men.
Mortimer instantly understood the deeper meaning behind Jacaerys's words.
His anger surged, and this time he could not hold it back.
"Jacaerys Velaryon!" he shouted. "I am a knight, properly anointed by Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. What you just said is an insult to my honor! According to the laws of the realm, I have every right to demand a trial by combat!"
Jacaerys's expression darkened. His gaze turned cold and sharp.
"So," he said slowly, "you intend to challenge me to a duel?"
Mortimer's bravado faltered. Jacaerys's icy stare sent a chill down his spine, quenching his fury like a bucket of cold water thrown over a fire.
If he had such courage, he would not have lingered in fear on the outskirts of the town earlier.
"Hmph. I am no brute who only knows how to settle matters through force," Mortimer said stiffly. "You unleashed your dragon to burn our town of Saltpine. I will bring this matter before the Small Council!"
He did not dare to call for a duel, nor did he have the resolve to order his men to attack Jacaerys.
He left behind only this final, bitter declaration and turned to leave the ruined town on horseback.
Jacaerys's eyes flickered with thought. In the end, he chose not to act.
He lacked the certainty that he could kill every witness here and eliminate all threats.
Besides, the Seven Kingdoms were not like the Kingdom of the Three Daughters of Essos. Without a just cause, to kill a noble so brazenly would be to undermine his own legitimacy.
But at that very moment, the enormous blood cocoon — silent until now — suddenly began to move.
PUFF! PUFF!
The red outer membrane of the cocoon bulged outward, and from the outline, a single claw-like shape pressed against it from within.
But after only a few breaths' time, the bulge receded.
Then, in a different place, the membrane protruded once more, this time in the shape of a tail.
Over the span of a minute or two, the same process repeated.
The cocoon would swell and then fall still again, as though some terrifying creature within was preparing to burst forth.
SHRRRRRIP!
A loud, tearing sound echoed across the ruined ground.
From within the enormous blood cocoon, a fearsome dragon's head, covered in thick, dark blood, burst through the crimson membrane.
ROOOOOOOOOAAAAAR—!
A thunderous roar followed immediately as the dragon, its head now fully emerged, lifted its gaze to the heavens and released a shrill, elated bellow that resonated across the desolate ruins.
The earth trembled.
Nearby horses, already uneasy, were startled into panic by the mighty dragon's presence.
One of them, bearing none other than Mortimer, reared violently in terror. Caught completely off guard, Mortimer was thrown off its back with great force.
But his misfortune did not end there. His left foot remained stuck in the stirrup, and in its panic, the warhorse dragged him helplessly across the broken ground, galloping wildly toward the outskirts of the ruined town.
Nat, having managed to calm his own steed, shot a venomous glare at Jacaerys, who stood before the emerging dragon with undivided attention.
Without another word, Nat snapped the reins and urged his horse forward, speeding off in pursuit of Mortimer, whose cries of pain grew fainter with distance.
A wet, grotesque sound filled the air as the immense dragon thrashed and writhed, tearing the cocoon apart from the inside. Blood, thick and steaming, gushed from the widening rifts.
Then, at last, the entire body of the dragon broke free.
The newly emerged giant dragon shook itself powerfully, sending a spray of blood in all directions. The blood fell like rain, painting the scorched earth a deeper crimson.
Now visible in its entirety, the creature stood revealed in its full, magnificent form: its scales a deep, dark green, polished to a blackened sheen beneath the sun. The color exuded a noble brilliance, vivid yet solemn, a shade that seemed to pulse with vitality.
This dragon, now fully matured, stretched to nearly thirty meters in length. Even excluding its long and sinuous tail, it still stood at a staggering height of fifteen to sixteen meters.
Then, with a heavy thud, it unfurled its wings—two massive, ink-green appendages that slowly expanded until they spanned between sixty to seventy meters wide. The breadth of its wings alone blotted out a portion of the town ruins, plunging the earth beneath into shadow.
Jacaerys stood in awe, his face shining with excitement and pride as he looked upon Vermax, who had in a single night shed its former shell and emerged anew, having grown to twice its original size.
His heart stirred with anticipation.
Then, with a swift motion of his thoughts, he raised his voice and issued a command in High Valyrian.
"DRACARYS!"
With a snarl and a surge of energy, Vermax lifted his head high, jaws parting wide.
A pillar of fire erupted from its mouth, jet-black flames tinged with gray surging toward the heavens.
The scorching dragonfire roared across the sky above the ruined town, burning so hot that the very air itself shimmered and twisted with the force of the heat.
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[Chapter End's]
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