Four years.
Time didn't pass slowly in Dragonstone—it passed with weight. As if each day branded the skin and soul of those who dwelled in that fortress of stone and dragons.
Daron was no longer the young man who had arrived full of questions. Now he was a dragonrider. Rider of Cannibal. And not just that—he was a master in the skies, a warrior forged in green flames and wild winds.
Training Cannibal had been a task many would call suicidal. But Daron had succeeded. Not with whips or chains. Not with shouts or pleas. With respect, patience… and an ancient bond neither of them fully understood, yet was as real as the roars that shook Dragonstone's towers at dawn.
The dragon was a living shadow across the sky. His flames, a dark, phosphorescent green, painted the night in a color that didn't belong to the world of men. And Daron, mounted on his back, became a myth. A figure circling above dormant volcanoes, soaring through storms as if they were roads, shouting commands in High Valyrian like a prince of old.
Daemon always watched him with that half-smile of his. That mix of pride, suspicion, and affection only he could convey without a single word. They trained together—sometimes with swords, sometimes just with words. Much had changed since their first encounter. Now they were more than allies. They were distorted reflections of the same mirror: two men born for war, with fire in their blood and tragedy in their bones.
"You're stronger than I was at your age," Daemon said one morning, as they watched Cannibal sleeping on a hilltop like a living mountain from the battlements.
"But you still don't know who you are."
"Maybe that makes me more dangerous," Daron replied, arms crossed, eyes on the horizon.
Daemon chuckled softly. "Or more useful."
They both knew what was coming. Perhaps not the details, but the storm.
In King's Landing, the world turned to the rhythm of whispers.
Aegon, Viserys and Alicent's firstborn son, was already three years old. A silver-haired boy with light eyes, running through the halls of the Red Keep with the laughter of someone who had yet to know the weight of his name.
Alicent, for her part, carried the pregnancy of her second child with grace, though the nights were long and her bed, cold. The court did not rest. Otto Hightower was more active than ever, weaving invisible webs among nobles, letters, and promises.
She had learned to walk on blades. To smile when she didn't want to. To seduce when her soul screamed for freedom. But she was no longer a girl. She had accepted her role, her duty… her game. She knew that for Aegon to have a future, she had to protect him from the womb. With every decision. With every gesture.
Viserys looked older, yes—but not defeated. He smiled more with the arrival of his children, and though his back curved more with each winter, his voice still echoed strong in the throne room. The news that Daron had tamed Cannibal was met with a mix of fear and awe… but the king had laughed. He had truly laughed.
"My brother is a true Targaryen," he said, raising a cup in private with Alicent. "If the gods gave him the wildest dragon, it must be for a reason."
Alicent smiled, saying nothing. But a spark lit in her eyes—the spark of danger. Because a man with a dragon like Cannibal was not just family… he was a potential rival.
Rhaenyra watched it all from the shadows. More distant, colder, more aware of the game. She too had grown. She too had changed. And though she didn't say much, her eyes followed every movement of her stepmother, her father… and the absence of her half-brother.
In Dragonstone, the sea crashed hard against the rocks as Daron descended from his morning flight. Cannibal roared to the sky, spreading his wings like an ancient god.
Daron dismounted with a single leap, and the dragon—though his eyes still shone with wild fire—allowed it without a move. He was no longer a beast out of control. He was a force of nature… with purpose.
Daron walked to his chambers, shaking off the sweat of flight, and found a letter on his table, sealed with the king's wax.
He opened it carefully. One glance was enough to understand.
"My brother,
Prince Aegon is turning four. I have decided to celebrate with a great hunt in the Kingswood. Your presence is expected.
House Targaryen must stand united in the eyes of the realm.
Viserys I,King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men."
Daron held the letter for a few more seconds. He said nothing.
Then looked out the window, where Cannibal slept under a storm.
The winds were shifting. The game was beginning to reveal itself.
And he was ready.