Chapter 1
From a Galaxy Far, Far Away
(90 AC – The night after the wedding of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen to Lord Corlys Velaryon)*
Zarek Solen had spent too many years fighting a war that refused to end.
Republic against Empire. Jedi against Sith. He had watched his master die in a bombardment. He had watched the rest of his friends die buying time for an entire planet to evacuate. When the chance finally came, he took his ship and vanished into the Unknown Regions. No more orders. No more endless war. Just empty space, strange worlds, and the quiet work of collecting seeds from every planet he touched.
Five holocrons sat sealed in a case beside him. One belonged to his old master teachings on how vast the Force truly was, and how rare abilities could awaken in those who listened. The others held forms and philosophies he practiced alone. He preferred flexibility and defense. Aggression had never sat right with him.
That night the Force pulled harder than it ever had.
He felt the barrier long before the sensors screamed. Darkness mixed with thin threads of light. Strong. Wrong. The moment the ship crossed it, systems began to fail. Hull plates warped. Alarms flooded the cockpit in red. The Force itself seized the vessel and dragged it downward like a fist closing around prey.
Zarek fought the controls, pouring telekinesis into every failing joint and cracked plate. It was not enough.
I'm going to crash, he realized. But I'm going to live.*
The last thing he sensed before impact was life—thousands upon thousands of lives—waiting on the world below.
Then everything went black.
Hours later, above the rocky coast, Princess Viserra Targaryen flew low on Deepfyre.
The blue she-dragon's scales drank the moonlight. Her deep-blue fire occasionally lit the waves. Viserra's long silver-white hair streamed behind her. She wore a low-cut black gown heavy with silver dragon embroidery, amethyst and silver jewelry gleaming at her throat and fingers. At nineteen she was still unmarried, still ambitious, and still quietly furious.
*Baelon,* she thought, lips curling. *You should have taken what I offered.*
She had been ordered to stay away from him after that night in his chambers. The rejection still burned. She would not become another Saera, rotting in some Free City. She would not be married off to some aging lord either. She needed something—leverage, power, a way to matter.
Deepfyre suddenly jerked in the air, wings beating hard. A low, uneasy roar rolled from the dragon's chest. Across the realm other dragons stirred. A distant boom cracked the sky.
Viserra's violet eyes narrowed. Something was falling.
She urged Deepfyre higher, then toward the coast.
Zarek woke to heat, smoke, and the stink of burning metal. His ship was a ruin. Water hissed against hot wreckage. His old Jedi robes—cream and white layered with worn brown armor plates—were scorched and torn. The geometric black tattoos beneath his eyes stood out sharply against olive-green skin. Short light-brown hair clung damp to his forehead. A neat goatee framed his mouth.
He moved quickly despite the pounding in his skull. From the storage locker he took a sturdy bag and filled it with the hardiest seeds—those that could survive almost any climate. The five beskar ingots went in next. The five holocrons. His lightsaber clipped to his belt. Nothing else could be saved.
A low growl stopped him at the twisted hatch.
Something large and scaly waited just outside. A long-necked dragon the color of deep emerald, spikes running down its back, green fire flickering behind its teeth. It was the same size as the great red beasts he had glimpsed through the Force—wild, strong, and strangely open.
Zarek reached out carefully.
The connection snapped into place like a lock closing. The emerald dragon closed its jaws, flared its nostrils, and pressed its snout lightly against his chest. Confusion and acceptance mixed in the bond.
Zarek exhaled. "Easy…"
A heavier wingbeat sounded above. Deepfyre landed a short distance away, blue scales gleaming, teeth bared. On her back sat Viserra, staring down at the green-skinned stranger who had somehow claimed a wild dragon of Westeros.
Her voice carried clear and sharp.
"What are you?"
Zarek stepped into the open, bag over one shoulder, lightsaber unlit at his side. He offered a small, charming smile despite the exhaustion weighing on him.
"It's a pleasure to meet you."
The Force shifted around the words, smoothing them into the local tongue without effort. He blinked once, then continued.
"I am what my people call a Mirialan. I see no point in lying. I do not come from this world, and I am already breaking several rules by speaking to you." He glanced at the sinking wreckage. "I would prefer your people not go looking for whatever technology remains. Most of it is destroyed."
Viserra's eyes narrowed with interest rather than disgust. A non-human who could claim a dragon. A man who had just lifted tons of twisted metal with nothing but will and sent it sliding into the deep water.
Deepfyre growled. The emerald dragon answered with a low warning rumble. Zarek laid a calming hand against the green scales, and both beasts quieted.
Viserra studied him for a long moment—green skin, strange tattoos, battered Jedi clothing, the quiet power rolling off him. Ambition stirred behind her violet eyes. A dragonrider who was not Targaryen. A man from beyond the known world. Useful. Dangerous. Interesting.
*I could use him,* she thought. *If I play this correctly…*
"You are coming with me," she said. "You have a dragon, and whatever you just did will be of great interest. I have plans for you."
She did not dismount. Trust was not yet part of the equation.
"Get on your dragon and follow. I will take you to the king and queen of this continent you have found yourself on."
Zarek looked at the emerald dragon. The bond felt permanent, solid, right. He climbed onto its back. The living heat of the creature, the raw Force singing through its body, was unlike any ship he had ever flown.
Viserra turned Deepfyre toward King's Landing. The blue dragon launched into the night sky.
A moment later the emerald serpent followed, great wings beating, carrying a weary Mirialan Jedi into a world of fire, blood, and dragons.