My sisters' eggs hatched the following week.
Visenya's was a stormy silver-blue. Rhaenys' gleamed gold and white like soft sunlight on cream.
Each was placed beside them just as mine had been. The rituals were followed. The room was silent.
And as the eggs cracked — the magic deepened.
Visenya's dragon emerged fierce and silent, with silver talons and eyes like winter lightning. Her tattoo formed across her upper back: a serpent-like dragon etched in frost-blue ink that glimmered faintly.
Rhaenys' dragon sang as it hatched, coiling around her gently. Her mark was smaller, resting just below the nape of her neck, glowing warm like dawn.
[Soulthread Formed: Visenya — Dragon: Vaelion]
[Soulthread Formed: Rhaenys — Dragon: Meraxes]
[Mark of the Flameborn — Secondary Tier Applied]
Though their tattoos were smaller, the energy was unmistakable.
We were not three children. We were a prophecy walking.
Triplets. Marked. Bonded.
The maesters called it an omen. The servants called it divine.
And the whispers began.
"Three heads of the dragon, born as one."
"Their union is fire and fate."
"The Old Blood rises."
Even then — even then — they spoke of marriage. Of divine union. Of old Valyrian ways reborn.
They weren't wrong.
We were gods in waiting.
And I would lead them all.