The sound of a giant creature moving through stone echoed through the Dragonpit, drawing all eyes to the shadowed tunnel. Morghul's massive black head emerged first, cutting through the darkness. The dragon's scales were a deep ashen black, streaked with patches of red across his body and wings.
He was not a dragon of beauty, like the Red Queen, Sunfyre, or even Syrax. His visage was cruel and jagged, crowned with sharp, curved horns that ran from the top of his skull down his neck, some curving forward to align with the line of his snarling jaws. Every movement radiated aggression, and he lashed out at any dragonkeeper who came too close, teeth bared and claws scraping the stone.
For a hatchling of only seven years, Morghul was enormous—already three times the size of dragons his age. The elder dragonkeepers had said that his growth was unprecedented, unlike anything they had ever seen. They likened the reason to his appetite, which was as formidable as his growth; he ate with such greed that his belly often bulged.
Morghul's snarling face softened the moment he spotted his rider. His massive black head lunged forward, and he pressed his snout against Maekar's chest. Maekar ran a hand along the dragon's neck, scratching where he could without injuring himself on the pointy horns, while Ser Criston Cole instinctively stepped back, remembering all too well how vicious Morghul could be to anyone else.
With a calm motion, Maekar patted the top of the dragon's head. Morghul lowered his body, folding his limbs to allow the prince to climb onto his broad back. Maekar fastened the belt around the saddle, securing himself in place, his movements precise and practiced.
Once everyone had stepped back, granting them the space Morghul needed, Maekar's voice rang out:"Fly, Morghul."
The dragon raised his head to the sky, letting loose a harsh, unholy screech that echoed through the Dragonpit. He surged forward, then flapped his wings with astonishing speed. Within seconds, the Red Keep and the cobbled stones of the yard shrank beneath them as Morghul soared into the open sky, a dark shadow against the rising sun.
Soon, Maekar and Morghul were above the clouds, the world below reduced to a patchwork of shadow and light. The dragon finally leveled off, ceasing his climb. Maekar gazed at the setting sun, imagining the warmth and awe a normal boy might feel at such a sight. 'A beautiful view… unfortunate that I cannot appreciate it.'
Maekar remembered the true purpose of these flights. Patting Morghul's neck, he spoke in High Valyrian."Let's start, Morghul."
The dragon seemed to understand immediately. He began beating his wings with furious strength, flattening his head, body, and tail to cut through the air like a black arrow. Wind whipped past them as Morghul nearly reached his top speed.
Maekar then leaned sharply to the left. The dragon responded, banking violently. The maneuver, at such velocity, could have broken the wings of a less mature dragon. But Maekar felt nothing for Morghul's discomfort. Before the dragon could recover, Maekar, using their deep connection, projected his will: 'climb as high as possible.'
Morghul growled, annoyed from the earlier turn, yet Maekar's unyielding focus overrode any resistance. The dragon screeched, then obeyed, raising his massive head and slicing through the skies with renewed force.
'Such a volatile dragon,' Maekar thought. 'No matter how many times I try to command him without my ability, he resists. Were it not for Dragon Link, he might have burned me alive. But that is exactly what I need. A ferocious dragon. One that obeys only through strength… and loyalty born of bond.'
Soon, no matter how hard Morghul beat his wings, he could climb no higher. The air had thinned too much, and his wings, though strong for his age, were too small to lift him further.
Maekar nodded from his perch on the dragon's back, observing their altitude. 'He improves by the day,' he thought. His growth rate, his enormous appetite, and the relentless exercises I push him through—no dragon would endure such strain voluntarily—all of it is strengthening him immensely.'
He scratched along Morghul's back, a faint touch that barely betrayed the connection already linking their wills. Then, softly, almost as if speaking to himself, he uttered the High Valyrian command:"Dracarys."
Morghul roared into the sky, opening his maw wide. The back of his throat glowed a deep, burning red before a torrent of flame erupted, scorching the air for meters ahead as they surged forward. Maekar felt the heat singe his skin, but their speed ensured no lasting damage to either rider or dragon.
A few seconds later, Morghul's instinct pushed him to end the stream of fire. But Maekar, reaching through their dragon-link, commanded the flames to persist. The dragon growled in mild annoyance, yet obeyed, holding the fiery torrent as instructed, the power and precision of their bond driving the feat to its peak.
A minute passed before Morghul coughed, the torrent of fire fading into a thick, black smoke. The dragon closed his massive maw and flexed it as if to shake off fatigue, then turned his head back to glance at his rider, grumbling low in annoyance. Maekar ignored it, as always, thinking, 'Smart boy, if I showed an ounce of sympathy, he would have thrown me off instantly. Yet my unforgiving nature seems to suit him well.'
Pressing his body forward, Maekar gave the subtle signal. Morghul screeched, tucking his head, folding his wings, and plummeting like a black missile toward the ground.
They broke through the clouds, slick with moisture, and the wind tore at Maekar's face, forcing him to tuck his head as the Blackwater Sea drew closer beneath them. Just before Morghul's head would have struck the water, he straightened, unfurling his wings like sails catching a sudden gale.
The maneuver was brutal; the strain on his muscles made a cracking sound that reminded Maekar of knuckles snapping under pressure. Morghul screeched, a sound sharp and painful, yet Maekar's eyes scanned his shoulders. 'Nothing appeared seriously damaged. Not much harm,' he thought coldly. 'Just a bit of joint stress. A good meal and rest will fix it.'
Knowing Morghul's limit, Maekar used their bond to issue the next command. 'Turn around. Head back.'
"Get hurt today in training, but not tomorrow in another dragon's jaws."
Seemingly understanding, Morghul let out a deafening roar that echoed across sky and sea, then beat his wings with renewed vigor, slicing through the air as if fueled by Maekar's will itself.
Maekar and Morghul touched down on the Dragonpit grounds with all the subtlety of an elephant on wheels. Morghul slumped to the ground, utterly spent. Maekar leapt from his back with ease.
The dragonkeepers approached cautiously, wooden staves in hand, intending to drive Morghul toward his pit. Maekar raised a hand, stopping them."Leave him here," he commanded. "And bring him a sheep."
The keepers exchanged uncertain glances."But, my prince… Morghul had his dinner just a few hours ago," one protested.
Maekar's gaze did not waver."I am aware. But do as I say. Morghul seemed hungry to me. And if no one wishes to lose their life to his flames, leave him be. Once he is satisfied, he will move to his pit on his own."
Unable to deny a prince, the keepers sighed. One of the younger men hurried off to fetch a sheep.
Maekar knelt briefly by Morghul, his voice low but firm in High Valyrian:"Eat and rest as much as you wish."
The dragon growled in acknowledgment, then closed his eyes to rest, his massive form heaving slightly with each breath.
Maekar then turned to Criston Cole, who had rushed back when a guard spotted Morghul approaching the Dragonpit. Cole handed Maekar the reins of the same horse he had ridden hours earlier. The steed, seeming uneasy from the lingering scent of dragon, reared slightly, trying to lift its front legs. Maekar merely observed, unsurprised. He knew the effect dragon scent had on horses.
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I will be posting a chapter a day; I have another original story that I also update daily. check it out on my page or search for Magus: Seeking Supremacy.