Under the twinkling stars, a crimson inferno engulfed Tyrosh.
Caraxes soared through the sky with agility, circling above the High Lord's estate as he unleashed torrents of dragonfire.
Two thousand mercenaries rushed to reinforce the stronghold, taking cover behind buildings while drawing their bows and launching spears.
Clang! Clang!
Caraxes didn't bother dodging. He continued to spew fire recklessly, allowing arrows to strike his hardened scales without concern.
Occasionally, he would glide low, briefly exposing Daemon on his back.
"Fire! Take down the dragonrider!"
The mercenaries shouted, their eyes gleaming as if they were staring at a mountain of gold.
Arrows and spears rained down in a dense barrage.
Daemon glanced down and scoffed, his tone indifferent. "Fools."
Screeeech!
Caraxes let out a piercing shriek, spreading his massive crimson wings to shield himself, effortlessly swatting away the incoming projectiles.
As a battle-hardened dragon, his scales were impenetrable, and his wing membranes were tough enough to resist even heavy crossbow bolts.
His cold, vertical pupils locked onto the mercenaries lurking in the shadows. In an instant, Caraxes descended, stretching his serpentine neck forward and unleashing a storm of dragonfire.
The crimson flames swept across the battlefield like a massive broom, leaving behind nothing but screams and charred corpses.
Clang! Clang!
For a while, the man and the dragon rampaged freely. Then, emergency bells tolled from within the estate, summoning the garrison from all directions.
The surviving mercenaries scattered, desperately retreating while pushing forward scorpion ballistae, swiftly loading them with steel-tipped spears.
Sensing the imminent danger, Daemon's expression turned cold. "Fly!"
Caraxes ceased his fiery assault. With a powerful push from his wings, he soared into the night sky, twisting his serpentine body.
No matter how the mercenaries aimed, they could no longer pose a threat.
From above, Daemon surveyed the burning structures below.
Once-grand pavilions and towers were now engulfed in flames. White stone walls were blackened by soot, and the streets were littered with charred corpses and rubble.
His gaze turned even colder as he noticed the growing number of garrison soldiers gathering outside the estate.
"Support the port," he commanded indifferently.
By shattering the city's security and forcing the garrison to defend the High Lord's estate, he had created the perfect distraction for his fleet's siege.
A shame—he hadn't managed to find that swine of a High Lord and feed him to his dragon piece by piece.
Screeeech!
Obeying the command, Caraxes let out one last burst of dragonfire toward the approaching garrison before soaring toward the port.
---
At the same time…
Dozens of warships broke through the patrol fleet's defenses, charging into Tyrosh's harbor with unstoppable force.
The blaring of war horns signaled an all-out alert, and defensive fortifications braced for a siege.
The patrol fleet in the surrounding waters rushed back, engaging the Iron Throne's navy in battle.
Within minutes, the port was engulfed in chaos and flames.
---
Three days later…
A deputy, forced to flee by Daemon, arrived at Lys aboard a smuggler's ship, immediately reporting the urgent news.
Daemon had launched an unauthorized war, forbidding any ravens from carrying messages.
The deputy rushed through the Disputed Lands to deliver the report.
The intelligence first reached the ears of the Sea Snake, who was stationed at the port, before swiftly spreading like wildfire to the Governor's Palace.
---
Lys, Western Ruins
Hundreds of armored sellswords stood in two neat lines, their heads held high, forming a wide passageway.
At the far end of the path lay a massive dragon, its scales as black as coal. It remained motionless, sleeping like a statue.
Step. Step.
From the other end of the passage, steady footsteps echoed.
Rhaegar, clad in a pitch-black dragonrider's suit, strode forward with unwavering determination.
"Prince, war has already broken out. You need to stay calm," Johanna said, her expression grave as she matched his pace.
"I'm not letting my emotions take over," Rhaegar replied coolly, his face betraying no hint of anger or joy.
He knew well that Daemon resented him—their grudge had been festering for over a decade.
But Daemon should not have acted out in such a reckless manner.
War was merely an extension of politics. Conquering a city didn't mean one could govern it.
Myr and Lys had only recently fallen under Targaryen rule, and their hold was still tenuous.
Rhaegar had no desire to continue a bloody conquest. Instead, he sought to stabilize the volatile situation through diplomacy.
If people on the continent of Essos remembered the "War of the Narrow Sea," it shouldn't be only for fire and blood.
They needed to recognize the Targaryens for their justice, discipline, and mercy as well.
Johanna quickened her pace, still lagging behind him. "The war has raged for three days already. Even if you go now, it won't change anything."
She assumed he wanted to stop the conflict or salvage what remained of the city's wealthy elite.
After all, the rich were the lifeblood of any Free City's economy—like geese that laid golden eggs.
"The situation has changed," Rhaegar said.
By the time they finished speaking, they had reached the end of the passage.
Standing beside the great black dragon's neck, Rhaegar ran his hand along its scales before climbing the rope ladder attached to its side.
Sensing his rider's familiar scent, the dragon—Feast—suddenly stopped snoring. Its piercing green eyes snapped open.
Instantly, a suffocating pressure filled the air.
For a moment, it seemed as if the very atmosphere carried a faint scent of ash, making it difficult to breathe.
Roooaaar!
Feast let out a low growl, its massive body shifting as it slowly stood up. With its jet-black wings and powerful hind legs, it crawled out of the ruins.
Hanging from the rope ladder, Rhaegar swayed slightly before climbing onto the dragon's back, settling into the newly forged black steel saddle.
After devouring Morgul, Feast had fallen into a deep slumber.
Whether it was the nourishment from consuming another dragon or Rhaegar's evolving bloodline, the beast had grown significantly in just two weeks.
The specially crafted harness had snapped under the strain, and the old iron saddle had been shaken loose and broken.
Thus, Rhaegar had sought out craftsmen to forge a new dragon-riding set.
Boom!
Feast's cold, unfeeling eyes scanned the surroundings.
With a single casual flap of its wings, it sent rubble flying and caused the ground to tremble.
Johanna wanted to ask more questions, but the dragon's overwhelming presence frightened her into silence. She dared not approach.
"Calm down, buddy."
Rhaegar soothed the cold and indifferent dragon before lowering his head and giving an order: "Notify the Sea Serpent to deploy a mid-sized fleet of 3,000 men and 20 ships. Send them to Tyrosh immediately."
"Yes, my prince."
It was Johanna's first time seeing a dragon up close. She stared in frozen tension, looking up in awe.
Rhaegar turned back and patted the dragon's back. "Let's go, buddy!"
Daemon had slaughtered his prized pig in advance—he wouldn't let the city he had taken fall into jeopardy.
"Hiss—screech!"
The Devourer leaped into the sky, piercing through the thin clouds.
"Hiss—screech..."
A second, sharper cry echoed in response as a pale gray dragon's shadow followed nimbly behind.
Tens of thousands of eyes in the city watched in unison, fear rekindled in their hearts at the sight of the dragons. Memories of a city reduced to ashes by dragonfire resurfaced.
The Devourer looked truly sinister—its jet-black scales made it seem like a dark god descending upon the world.
Trailing behind, the gray shadow appeared almost ghostly, like a pale specter.
This journey would end in fire and ruin.
---
Tyrosh
"Hiss—screech!"
Caraxes let out a piercing shriek, weaving through the city and unleashing torrents of dragonfire, spreading destruction in all directions.
Daemon sat atop the dragon's back, his armor pockmarked with dents from arrows and bolts. His expression was as cold as ice.
The city's skyline was lined with over a hundred towering structures, each armed with scorpion ballistae, all aimed at him and his dragon.
Whoosh!
A steel spear shot through the air, narrowly missing Caraxes' broad wing.
Daemon scanned the area and gave a command. "Burn that tower down!"
Caraxes shot forward, hovering above the targeted tower before unleashing a surge of dragonfire.
"Aahhh!"
"Shoot! Fire, now!"
Under the relentless flames, the stone walls of the tower grew scorching hot. Fire roared through doors and windows, consuming the defenders hiding inside.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…
As one tower fell, several others retaliated in unison, launching a volley of steel spears toward the dragon.
"Hiss—screech!"
Caraxes swiftly evaded, abandoning the charred blackened tower to ascend rapidly into the sky.
Three continuous days and nights of relentless attacks had taken a toll, even on the dragon.
From the slowing rhythm of Caraxes' wingbeats, it was clear the beast was exhausted.
Daemon noticed this and spoke in a low voice. "Caraxes, we're leaving."
He, too, had gone three days and nights without rest. His bloodshot eyes burned with exhaustion.
Hearing the order, Caraxes let out a triumphant cry, swiftly disengaging from battle and vanishing into the clouds.
---
At the port, fires raged violently.
Boom!
A catapult launched a fiery stone, crashing heavily onto an enemy warship.
At this moment, Daemon's fleet had been forced out of the harbor, locked in brutal combat with the Tyroshi fleet on open waters.
Both sides unleashed their full arsenal—catapults and scorpion bolts flying freely, turning warships into splinters. Blood and gore stained the decks.
The vast blue sea had become a churning meat grinder.
"For the Iron Throne!"
A knight roared hoarsely, leaping from ship to ship with his sword raised.
"All men must die!"
A mercenary bellowed in response, eyes burning with greed for gold as he fought with reckless abandon.
On the first night of the assault, the fleet successfully stormed the harbor, landing a large force onshore.
However, the city's defenses proved too strong, forcing the attackers to retreat under heavy resistance.
Even with Daemon and Caraxes dominating the skies, they couldn't break through the relentless barrage of scorpion bolts.
With no other options, they turned their focus to burning the city's inner structures.
"Hiss—screech!"
Caraxes soared through the air, its vertical pupils scanning the enemy ships flying the banner of the Triarchy before exhaling another torrent of dragonfire.
Boom!
The flames engulfed the ships. Mercenaries on the decks shrieked in agony, their bodies set ablaze as they leaped into the sea in a desperate bid for survival.
Daemon watched coldly, showing no mercy as he commanded the dragon's fiery assault.
Caraxes didn't discriminate between friend and foe. It spewed fire with reckless abandon, pushing the brutality of the naval battle to its peak.
This merciless tactic soon sparked chaos among their own ranks.
A young officer, silver-haired and dark-skinned, a lesser branch of House Velaryon, shouted up at Daemon, "Prince! We can't take the harbor—let's retreat for now!"
In war, one must seize momentum. The first assault carries strength, the second weakens, and the third collapses entirely.
After three days of relentless battle, the soldiers had barely any time to rest. Their exhaustion was unimaginable.
Rather than throwing away more lives, it was better to withdraw and regroup.
But Daemon's expression was dark—he refused to listen. His mind was set on fighting to the end.
His men could die. Dozens of warships could burn.
Even his own life, and Caraxes' life, were expendable.
He would not return in disgrace.
Not even if he drowned in the sea, not even if he bled out every last drop.
His pride would not allow him to accept defeat.
"Hiss—screech!"
Caraxes sensed its rider's determination, shrieking as it dove and unleashed another surge of dragonfire upon the enemy fleet.
Its flames burned ceaselessly, as if its strength knew no bounds.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Under the relentless bombardment, a gap was finally forced open in the enemy's defenses. They no longer dared to face the bloodthirsty dragon head-on.
"Charge! Take the harbor!"
Seizing the opportunity, the Iron Throne's fleet quickly adjusted course, pushing back the enemy as they stormed toward the port.
Warships docked, grappling hooks latched onto the shore, and soldiers poured out in waves.
Daemon and Caraxes led the charge, taking point against the twenty-odd scorpion ballistae aimed directly at them.
One man, one dragon—both fearless, determined to carve a bloody path forward.
"Scorpions, ready!"
On the watchtower, mercenaries braced themselves, their faces grim as they aimed their massive weapons at the oncoming crimson beast.
Daemon's eyes gleamed with madness, his hoarse voice breaking the silence.
"Dragonfire!"
"Fire!!"
Caraxes unleashed a torrent of blazing flames.
At the same time, a rain of steel spears shot forward.
The two forces collided head-on.
At the brink of life and death, there was no retreat.
"Dragonflame!"
Suddenly, a clear and sharp cry rang out, disrupting Daemon's resolute thoughts.
"Hiss—Gaaah!!"
A thunderous roar exploded like muffled thunder as a massive green dragon stormed into the battlefield. A surge of orange-yellow dragonflame, thick with smoke, rained down from the sky.
The dragonflame descended with overwhelming force, like a long-dormant volcano suddenly erupting.
In a flash, dozens of steel spears melted away completely, reduced to pools of molten iron.
"Hiss—Gaaah…"
From within the roaring flames, Korakshu burst forth, carrying Daemon—completely unharmed.
Daemon was momentarily stunned, turning back in shock.
In that brief glance, he caught sight of Lannar's resolute face.
"Roar…"
Vargarhal let out a deep, earth-shaking growl. Its colossal body loomed like a mountain as it unleashed a torrent of raging dragonflame.
The scorching heat melted stone and liquefied iron, engulfing nearly half the port in its fiery onslaught, sweeping through everything in its path without restraint.
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