Year 295 AC, Braavos
The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of dying embers.
Rhaella Targaryen's final breath still lingered in the air — soft, fragile, and gone far too soon.
Her body lay still on the narrow cot, a pale shadow of the proud queen she once was.
Daemon knelt beside her, his silver hair matted with sweat and tears.
He had not moved for hours.
When her chest stopped rising, something inside him broke — then… something else awoke.
A rush of visions.
A world of blood and fire.
Dragons soaring over King's Landing.
Men shouting "Fire and Blood."
And the words — the story — of a world he once thought was fiction.
Game of Thrones.
He knew the names.
Robert Baratheon. Ned Stark. Tywin Lannister.
And he knew the doom that would befall his family — Daenerys, his twin sister.
Slavery. War. Madness.
The memories came like a storm, crashing into his mind until he could hardly breathe.
Then came the faint shimmer before his eyes — not of madness, but clarity.
---
[System Panel Activated]
> Host: Daemon Targaryen II
Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian — King's Line (Pure)
Status: Awakened Soul (Reborn from another world)
Abilities: Fire Immunity | Dragonlord's Will | Command of Flame | Enhanced Body
Trait: Immortal Soul (Descendant Transfer)
Affinity Display Enabled
---
He stared at it, not in disbelief — but understanding.
The stories he'd read in his past life were not fantasy. They were prophecy.
And now, he was living inside them.
Daemon rose slowly, eyes like cold steel, and whispered to the corpse before him.
"Your death won't be in vain, Mother. I'll rebuild our House… not as a beggar, but as a god."
He turned to the small corner of the room where Daenerys slept, her tiny hands clutching a ragged doll.
For the first time since his awakening, a trace of warmth crossed his face.
Then it faded, replaced by determination.
"I won't let this world break her," he murmured. "Nor me."
---
Viserys's POV
The morning light crept through the shutters, casting pale stripes across Viserys's face.
He watched Daemon from across the cramped room, fear crawling through his veins.
There was something… different about his brother.
Daemon had always been strong, silent — but now there was a darkness behind his eyes.
A quiet, burning power that made Viserys feel small.
He remembered how Daemon hadn't shed a tear after their mother's body was carried away.
He just watched. Like a dragon waiting for prey.
Viserys wanted to speak — to demand what they'd do now that they were alone.
But when Daemon finally looked at him, that golden gaze silenced him.
In that moment, Viserys felt like the younger brother — not by years, but by fate.
---
Daenerys's POV
Daenerys was too young to understand death, but she felt its weight.
The emptiness where her mother's voice once was.
The coldness in her brother's embrace.
She followed Daemon everywhere, clutching his sleeve like a lost child.
He spoke little — but when he did, she listened.
Sometimes his words scared her.
Like when he told her, "One day, the world will kneel to you."
Or when he whispered, "Dragons never die."
She didn't understand what it meant.
But when he smiled — that strange, distant smile — she believed him.
---
Daemon's POV
Weeks passed.
They buried Rhaella in a shallow grave outside Braavos, under an old weirwood that had no place in this foreign land.
No songs. No prayers. Just the three of them — and the promise of vengeance.
Daemon spent his nights studying his System Panel, learning its secrets.
He discovered that it could track not only his abilities but also people around him.
---
[Affinity Scan: Viserys Targaryen — Loyalty: 24% | Fear: 61% | Envy: 15%]
[Affinity Scan: Daenerys Targaryen — Loyalty: 95% | Trust: 88% | Dependence: 100%]
---
He smirked coldly.
"Just as I thought," he muttered. "One weak, one pure."
He began to train his body in secret — moving with speed and precision no boy his age should have.
His blood burned with Valyrian fire. His strength grew daily.
When he swung a rusted sword through the air, sparks sometimes danced off the blade — not from steel, but flame.
The street urchins whispered of the "Silver Demon" who trained in the ruins at night.
---
New POV — Tycho Noho (Braavosi Moneylender)
Tycho Noho, a low-ranking banker of the Iron Bank, had seen strange things in Braavos — but none stranger than the boy.
A silver-haired youth who never begged, never feared, and whose eyes burned like molten gold.
He watched the boy train alone at dusk, movements sharp and deliberate.
Once, Tycho followed him — curious, thinking perhaps the child was noble-born in disguise.
But when he saw fire bloom briefly around the boy's hand, he turned and fled.
Some things, he thought, were best left to the gods.
---
Daemon's POV
The city reeked of filth and weakness — but he endured.
He stole books, read by candlelight, learned the language of merchants and assassins alike.
He watched the ships of Pentos, Lys, and Volantis and planned.
He remembered from his past life what would come — the fall of Robert Baratheon, the rise of Daenerys, dragons reborn from ash.
But not this time.
This time, he would be the flame that lit the world anew.
One night, as he stood atop the broken rooftop of their slum, he whispered to the sky:
"The world thinks the Targaryens are gone. But the last dragon still lives."
And as if the gods themselves heard him, the wind carried the faintest echo —
a sound that could almost be mistaken for a dragon's roar.