Looking down, Daemon saw the ink-black bay below. Angry waves battered the jagged reefs, letting out a muffled roar. Above him, the evening clouds were being torn apart by a violent force!
A colossal beast unfurled crimson wings that blotted out the sky, generating a windstorm that whipped Daemon's silver hair into a frenzy.
A loud, reckless, and vibrantly youthful laugh tumbled down the cliffs with the sea breeze:
"Faster! You lazy bones! Caraxes! The herring shoals off Driftmark are going to get away!"
Daemon's blood froze in his veins.
He jerked his head up. The young dragonrider atop the crimson beast had silver-gold hair flying wildly in the wind and deep purple eyes that shone like morning stars in the twilight.
That build, that hair, those eyes...
If not for the youthful, arrogant face, he was looking at a mirror image of Daemon Blackfyre at sixteen!
Daemon Targaryen!
As the name of the crimson dragon, "Caraxes," thundered in his ears, the cold name from history books transformed into flesh and blood before Daemon's eyes. The scene overlapped cruelly with the phantom dragon shadow he had seen in his dying moments!
"He's there! Seize him!"
The angry shouts of pursuers and the clang of weapons were closing in behind him, cutting off his retreat.
Daemon looked desperately at the surging sea, only to see another figure riding a scarlet dragon, diving home from the horizon like a burning meteor! The dragonfire it spewed painted the evening clouds in rolling waves of blood!
Ahead, an oblivious ancestor sharing his name soared through the sky on a crimson dragon; behind, armed guards blocked every path of escape.
Cornered, the madness and resolve deep in Daemon's bones ignited! Without hesitation, he leaped from the cliff, plunging toward the dark, churning ocean below!
Wind roared in his ears. The weightlessness of the fall felt all too familiar, as if Bloodraven's fatal arrow was tearing through the air toward him once again. The broken piece of silver chain clutched in his palm suddenly grew hot, searing his skin like a branding iron!
The freezing, briny water swallowed him instantly, piercing his marrow like a thousand needles of ice.
The pulsing black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder erupted with an even brighter dark red glow the moment it touched the water. It was so hot that the surrounding seawater hissed, steaming into eerie wisps of white smoke.
Just as his consciousness began to blur and salt water flooded his lungs, a woman's voice—urgent and powerful—cut through the roar of the waves:
"Take my hand!"
A slender but strong hand grabbed his flailing arm in the water!
With immense force, he was hauled out of the freezing depths!
His soaked body slammed onto a hard, warm, scaled surface—the back of the scarlet dragon!
Daemon coughed violently, expelling seawater as his blurry vision slowly focused.
The black-haired beauty who had saved him was kneeling before him. Her wet black hair clung to her cheeks, and her pale violet eyes were filled with shock, curiosity, and an indescribable tremor.
The dragon beneath her gave a low rumble but kept its massive body hovering steadily above the waves, showing no sign of rejection or rage at the stranger on its back.
"What is your name?" The black-haired beauty's voice carried a strange, penetrating quality, cutting clearly through the sea breeze.
Daemon tightened his grip on the bloodstained mother-of-pearl curveblade he had refused to drop. Its cold touch helped him focus his chaotic thoughts.
Memories of the royal dragons from the King's Landing archives flashed through his mind. The scarlet dragon beneath him was undoubtedly Meleys, the "Red Queen." And the woman before him—black hair, but with the pale violet eyes of pure Valyrian blood... Combined with the jailer's gossip, her identity was obvious.
Gasping for air, he gave the name etched into his soul: "Daemon... Daemon Blackfyre..." His voice was hoarse, but distinct.
"Daemon? Blackfyre?" Rhaenys Targaryen frowned, the confusion in her pale violet eyes deepening. "Are you sure your last name isn't 'Waters'?"
As she spoke, she reached out, gently but firmly brushing the wet silver hair from his forehead. She scrutinized his pale but undeniably handsome face, particularly those deep purple eyes. This face... why was it so familiar?
"Come to think of it, it was Meleys and I who found you in the reef crevices the other day," Rhaenys continued, her sharp gaze analyzing his every micro-expression. "You were burning with fever, unconscious, and you had this on your shoulder..."
Her fingertips lightly grazed the black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder, which still glowed faintly. The pulsing seemed to weaken slightly at her touch. "I just didn't expect Corlys to throw you into the lower dragonglass cells..." There was a hint of suppressed anger in her tone.
"It was the name... my father gave me..." Daemon blurted out.
Perhaps it was the only warm touch he had felt since the freezing water, or the concern and scrutiny in her eyes—something he hadn't seen in a long time. Or maybe it was just the lingering instinct of this teenage body. In his exhaustion and confusion, he subconsciously gave a vague but fatal answer.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake, but it was too late.
Rhaenys froze. Father?!
That pure silver hair and those purple eyes... the profile that was nearly identical to the portrait of her father, Prince Aemon, as a boy... and the almost instinctive, knightly restraint he had shown on the cliff edge when he disarmed the guard... it all felt frighteningly familiar.
A terrible, heart-trembling, yet wildly hopeful thought struck her mind like lightning: Could it be... could you be...?
Just then, Daemon coughed violently from the seawater in his lungs and unconsciously cursed in High Valyrian: "...Valar morghulis..." (All men must die). The voice was soft, but she heard it clearly.
The whisper hit Rhaenys like a hammer! She remembered! She remembered clearly that when she was very young, her father, Prince Aemon, had used that ancient phrase to teach her about the weight of life. This was not something an ordinary thief or pirate from Lys would know!
Shock, doubt, grief, and an almost absurd hope warred in her eyes.
Beneath them, Meleys seemed to sense her rider's intense emotional turmoil and let out a low, soothing rumble.
This she-dragon, known for her fierce temperament, was showing unprecedented tolerance for this sudden stranger radiating a strange bloodline resonance.
The silhouette of Dragonstone castle cast a massive shadow in the twilight. The waves battered the cliffs, sighing eternally.
Rhaenys took a deep breath, forcing down her surging emotions. Her voice carried a complex mix of feelings as she formally introduced herself:
"I am Rhaenys. Rhaenys Targaryen." Her gaze locked onto Daemon's eyes, as if trying to pierce his shell and see the truth of his soul. "Now, tell me, who are you really? Or rather... whose child are you?"
The sea breeze whipped her wet black hair. The giant shadow of Dragonstone loomed over them. In the salty wind, the gears of fate began to turn with a heavy, unfamiliar sound.
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