The Cannibal's pitch-black head rose, its eyes burning like green fire, fixed dead on Daemon Blackfyre.
Saliva dripped from its massive fangs, etching small pits into the dragonglass floor with a sizzling sound. Its scales were as black as a starless night, and when its wings were folded, they nearly obscured half the cavern.
Sulfur crystals hung from the stalactites on the cavern ceiling, trembling under The Cannibal's breath before crumbling into powder and dusting Daemon Blackfyre's silver hair.
Daemon Blackfyre stood his ground. His twelve-year-old body looked incredibly frail in the giant dragon's shadow, yet he remained as immovable as a dragonglass pillar driven into the earth's core.
The brand on his right shoulder seared like a red-hot iron. The blood vessels beneath his skin throbbed violently, resonating eerily with the low, thunderous rumble emanating from The Cannibal's chest.
He suddenly remembered the vibration he felt on Redgrass Field when the sword Blackfyre pierced Donnel Arryn's shield—it was the collision of metal and will. Now, the same contest was playing out between him and this vicious dragon.
"You've been chained too?" Daemon Blackfyre asked in a low voice. The sound echoed in the cavern, carrying a rasp that didn't belong to a boy his age.
He didn't know why he said it. Perhaps it was because he saw a reflection of his own violence and unwillingness in The Cannibal's green-fire pupils.
A muffled sound rolled in The Cannibal's throat, like a beast whose tail had been stepped on.
It lunged forward suddenly, its massive head hovering directly above Daemon Blackfyre. The sulfur scent in its breath was thick enough to solidify, scorching his skin.
Daemon Blackfyre could even see the semi-rotten fragments of dragon scales wedged between its teeth—trophies, perhaps, from devouring its own kind.
Just then, the red light of the brand exploded!
Dark red streams of light crawled up Daemon Blackfyre's neck to his cheek, igniting two flickering flames within his deep purple eyes.
The Cannibal's pupils contracted sharply, as if seeing a familiar illusion. Its massive body actually shrank back slightly.
The sound of cracking stone came from the depths of the cave as the dragon pawed the ground uneasily, gouging deep trenches into the dragonglass floor that shimmered with broken silver light.
"I know the taste of captivity." Daemon Blackfyre's voice rose sharply, the commanding presence he had used to lead cavalry charges on Redgrass Field breaking through the limits of his teenage throat. "Wings locked in chains, people pointing at your spine calling you a monster—" He violently tore open his soaked collar, revealing the hideous black dragon crest on his shoulder. "Look! We both bear the brand!"
The Cannibal let out a deafening roar. This time, there was no aggression, but rather a tremulous note of pain.
Its massive wings suddenly unfurled, generating a gale that knocked Daemon Blackfyre stumbling backward. But just as he was about to fall, the dragon gently hooked his belt with a front claw—the movement was as clumsy as a fledgling learning to fly. The sharp claw tip grazed the fabric but didn't harm a hair on his head.
Daemon Blackfyre seized the fleeting chance. He leaped up, following the momentum of the dragon claw, his fingers digging into the gaps between the scales on The Cannibal's neck—the scales there were relatively soft, scarred by old wounds that looked like they had been cleaved by a massive weapon and then healed over.
"ROAR!" The Cannibal jerked its head up, trying to shake off the tiny human. Daemon Blackfyre wrapped his arms tightly around the dragon's neck, his fingernails digging into the tender flesh of the scars. The intense pain made black spots dance before his eyes, but it also awakened a ruthlessness deep in his bones.
He remembered how, on Redgrass Field, with three poison arrows in his chest, he had gritted his teeth and driven Blackfyre into the scorched earth—pain was never a reason to retreat, only a whetstone to sharpen the will.
The red light of the brand and the scars on The Cannibal's neck glowed simultaneously, like two ignited blood fires.
Daemon Blackfyre felt a surge of scalding power flood into his body through his arms, intertwining with the warrior's arrogance in his soul.
He was no longer Daemon Blackfyre, nor was he this twelve-year-old body. He was a will fused with this black dragon, breaking free from all shackles.
"Fly!" he roared into The Cannibal's ear, his voice carrying the edge of Blackfyre cleaving through enemy lines. "Show those who call you a monster what you really are!"
The Cannibal let out a dragon roar that tore through the clouds. It was no longer the wail of a trapped beast, but the roar of breaking chains.
Its claws pushed off the ground, and its colossal body smashed through the rocks of the cavern ceiling, carrying Daemon Blackfyre straight into the sky. The sulfur mist was split apart by the dragon's body, forming a swirling grey pillar. Moonlight poured down through the breach, illuminating Blackfyre's flying silver hair and The Cannibal's ink-black scales.
Just then, the roar of Caraxes came from outside the cave.
Daemon Targaryen, riding on the back of the scarlet dragon, was circling anxiously above the crater.
When he saw The Cannibal burst through the ceiling, his heart nearly leaped out of his chest—he expected to see blood and gore, but instead saw the silver-haired boy firmly clinging to the black dragon's neck, his right hand gripping a dragon horn, his left hand raised high as if conducting a storm.
"Daemon!" Targaryen's shout was half shock, half uncontainable excitement.
He commanded Caraxes to accelerate. The red dragon understood, chasing after The Cannibal as it soared into the sky. The rhythm of its wingbeats still carried the shadow of Aemon's riding style from years ago.
Two dragons began a chase across the night sky. Caraxes was as fast as a meteor, a talent it had possessed since earning the nickname "Blood Wyrm." Aemon had once ridden it to set a record of circling Dragonstone three times in just a quarter of an hour.
But The Cannibal's explosive power was astonishing. Every beat of its pitch-black wings brought a sharp sound of tearing air, like a giant axe cleaving the night.
Blackfyre, clinging to The Cannibal's back, watched Caraxes's scarlet silhouette trace a fluid arc in the moonlight. He suddenly understood why the world called this dragon the "Blood Wyrm"—as it swept through the air, the red light reflecting off its scales truly looked like a stream of flowing blood, swift and scorching.
"Uncle Aemon said Caraxes's tail tip could knock down a lark!" Targaryen's shout was broken by the wind. He suddenly leaned low, and Caraxes dove like an arrow from a bow, its tail tip grazing The Cannibal's wing and sending up a shower of sparks.
Blackfyre laughed loudly and patted The Cannibal's neck. "Then let him see who the real King of the Sky is!"
The Cannibal suddenly flipped over, its massive body carving a black arc in the air to dodge Caraxes's assault. Simultaneously, it opened its mouth and spewed a jet of pitch-black dragonfire—the flame wasn't as dazzling as Caraxes's red fire, but it carried a bone-piercing heat. It collided with a cumulus cloud, instantly vaporizing it into steam.
Caraxes flew through the rising white mist, its claw lightly tapping The Cannibal's spine, as if responding to this contest that transcended life and death.
---
Baelon stood for a long time at the stone window of the Hall of Dragonfire, his cloak covered in sulfur ash that had drifted in. He had just coughed his heart out; the poppy syrup offered by the maester had been waved away and knocked over, the dark liquid spreading across the black stone floor like a pool of congealed blood.
But right now, he forgot the coughing, forgot the pain under his ribs, and even forgot that he was the Prince of Dragonstone.
His gaze was locked dead onto the two giant shadows weaving in the night sky. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, making his old wounds ache in throbs.
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