Twin Flames of the Blood
Chapter I – The Forgotten Vault
POV: Rhaenyra Targaryen
Dragonstone had always whispered to her.
Two moons before the royal hunt in King's Landing, Rhaenyra walked the lower vaults beneath the castle — older than Aegon's Conquest, older even than the painted table.
She should not have been there.
But she was restless.
Her father, Viserys I Targaryen, prepared to celebrate his son's nameday. Lords gathered. Rumors thickened. And Rhaenyra felt something slipping — something in the blood.
The vault door was fused black stone. No lock. No seam.
Only High Valyrian carved in ancient script:
When ice devours flame and dragonblood thins,
Call the twins beneath the skin.
Rhaenyra pressed her palm against the stone.
It burned.
The wall split open.
Inside lay a chamber of obsidian glass… and two figures resting in sculpted fire.
Silver hair.
Unburned skin.
Sleeping.
Her breath caught.
Targaryens.
And beneath them, etched into black stone:
Aenarion and Daenerys, First of the Twin Flames.
To wake when blood calls blood.
The air trembled.
And somewhere far above, dragons screamed.
Chapter II – The Call of Blood
POV: Daemon Targaryen
Daemon was mid-flight on Caraxes when it struck him.
A pull in the chest.
Like a hook made of fire dragging him toward Dragonstone.
Caraxes shrieked — not in fear.
In recognition.
Across the Narrow Sea, every dragon bonded to Targaryen blood felt it.
Syrax reared.
Meleys roared at Driftmark.
Seasmoke refused food.
In King's Landing, even hatchlings clawed at stone.
Daemon landed hard in the courtyard.
"What sorcery is this?" he muttered.
Then he felt it more clearly.
Not sorcery.
Blood.
Something ancient had stirred.
And every dragonlord knew it.
They gathered without summons.
Chapter III – Beneath the Stone
POV: Aenarion (MC)
Sleep was not darkness.
It was waiting.
I felt centuries drift past like embers in wind.
Conquest.
Civil war.
Mad kings not yet born.
And then—
A touch.
Dragonblood against stone.
The seal cracked.
I felt Daenerys stir beside me.
It is time? she asked.
No, I replied slowly.
Too soon.
The prophecy had been woven for the Long Night.
But the blood had called anyway.
Above us, dragons roared in chorus.
The chamber fractured.
Light pierced the dark.
And for the first time in nearly a century—
I opened my eyes.
Chapter IV – The Awakening
POV: Daenerys
The girl staring down at me looked like me.
Not exactly.
But enough.
Silver hair. Violet eyes. Pride barely restrained.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
I rose from the stone slab.
Flames peeled from my skin like silk.
"A memory your house forgot," I answered gently.
Behind her, footsteps echoed.
King Viserys entered with guards — and froze.
Two figures wreathed in living fire stood in a chamber that should not exist.
Daemon followed.
His eyes widened — not in fear.
In hunger.
"You are Targaryen," Viserys breathed.
"Yes," my brother said, stepping forward. "Before your Conquest. Before your crown."
The dragons outside roared louder.
They knew us.
They remembered.
Chapter V – The Ancient Prophecy
POV: Viserys I Targaryen
The scroll was older than the Citadel's oldest copy.
Hidden beneath the stone slabs they had risen from.
He read aloud with trembling hands:
When dragon fights dragon and blood drowns the throne,
When brother turns blade and fire stands alone,
The First Flame and Last Light shall wake,
Not to conquer — but to break.
Viserys lowered the parchment.
"Dragon fights dragon…" he murmured.
Daemon smirked darkly.
Rhaenyra stiffened.
Civil war.
The words lingered like poison.
"You were meant for the end of the world," Viserys said to the twins.
"Correct," Aenarion replied calmly.
Daenerys' gaze softened.
"But you will need us sooner than that."
Chapter VI – The Third Voice
POV: The Blood (Ancient Presence)
They awaken too early.
The river of time bends.
I am older than Valyria.
Older than dragons.
I am the memory of fire in blood.
The twins were woven into prophecy for winter's return.
But ambition calls them now.
Dragon shall fight dragon.
The Dance approaches.
The twins can end it.
Or worsen it.
Choice remains theirs.
Time fractures around their immortality.
The hunt approaches.
A king will bleed.
And the realm will begin to burn.
Chapter VII – Two Moons Before the Hunt
POV: Aenarion
King's Landing stinks of politics.
We arrived two moons before the royal hunt for Prince Aegon's second nameday.
The court whispers.
Some kneel.
Some stare in terror.
Rhaenyra watches us constantly.
She senses it too — the coming fracture.
We can stop it, Daenerys tells me silently.
Yes, I reply.
But should we?
Civil war may strengthen them through fire.
Or annihilate them entirely.
At the feast, Daemon approaches us privately.
"If dragon must fight dragon," he says softly, "which side do you choose?"
I smile faintly.
"We do not choose sides."
Daenerys steps forward, her presence radiant.
"We choose survival."
Outside, every dragon in the Dragonpit roars at once.
The Call of Blood still echoes.
The realm trembles.
And the Dance of the Dragons waits to begin.