The morning sun bathed the Red Castle's parade ground in a warm, golden light. Today, Gaimon stood quietly to the side, observing the members of the Order of the Golden Fleece as they worked with impressive precision. One by one, they skillfully peeled the sheepskin off an adult goat, preserving the pelt intact. The scene was methodical yet strangely serene, a dance of practiced hands and ritualized motion.
When the goat lay bare on the ground, Gaimon gestured to the rest of the people, signaling them to disperse. The men stepped back, leaving him alone with the goat, its skin removed but its essence preserved. Gaimon's focus, however, was not on the goat. He raised his hand toward the bright blue sky above, letting the warmth of the sun brush against his face. The clouds drifted lazily across the horizon, white and weightless, mirroring the sense of anticipation that filled the air.
As his hand waved, a faint hissing sound came from above. It was subtle, almost lost in the wind, yet unmistakably deliberate. Gaimon squinted, following the direction of the sound, and a tiny black speck emerged against the vast expanse of blue. It moved swiftly, growing larger and clearer with each passing second until the shape of a dragon, magnificent and resplendent, appeared in the sky.
The people on the training ground remained calm. They had expected this. The dragon was no stranger—it was Bahamut, the platinum-scaled giant whose presence commanded both awe and respect. As Bahamut descended, the air stirred with his wings, a breeze that ruffled clothing and lifted strands of hair. Gaimon's voice rang out, full of warmth and excitement:
"Bahamut!"
At the sound of his name, the dragon altered its flight path, gliding gracefully toward Gaimon. The enormous creature hovered momentarily above him before landing with a gentle thud, sending a ripple through the ground beneath its massive feet. Gaimon approached slowly, his gaze fixed on the dragon. Standing before Bahamut now, he felt dwarfed by its sheer size—it was like facing a two-story building alive with power and majesty.
Two years had passed since Gaimon had hatched the dragon egg, and in that time, Bahamut had grown at an astonishing rate. According to meticulous measurements by the Dragon Guards, Bahamut's growth was four times faster than that of other dragons in the Targaryen family. Every scale, horn, and muscle had developed with perfection. Physically, he was more resilient, stronger, and more agile than dragons of comparable size. His flames burned hotter, his wings were sturdier, and his endurance surpassed all expectations.
Yet Bahamut's beauty matched his strength. His platinum scales shimmered like moonlight on water, and the sweeping horns atop his head curved with an elegant symmetry. Many who had seen him in recent years claimed he was the most magnificent dragon in the Targaryen family, rivaling even legends of the Valyrian era.
Now fully grown, Bahamut stretched eight meters from head to tail. When his wings spread wide, they measured an impressive sixteen to seventeen meters, casting a shadow that blanketed the parade ground. The Dragon Guards had confirmed that he was now capable of carrying a rider into flight without difficulty.
Despite his size, Bahamut remained deeply bonded with Gaimon. The dragon had been raised alongside him, nurtured by his hands and protected by his care. They had shared every meal, every rest, every small triumph and setback. This bond, stronger than any magical tie, ensured that Bahamut did not live in the Dragon Cave, as most dragons of the royal family did. Instead, he remained in the Red Castle, close to his master.
Even the Dragon Guards, experienced and disciplined, had brought up the matter with King Jaehaerys. They urged His Majesty to move Bahamut to the Dragon Cave for safety and protocol, but the king refused. He understood the unique bond between Gaimon and his dragon—a bond unlike any that could be controlled by blood or sorcery alone. Gaimon was, in every sense, a true dragon king, reminiscent of the ancient Valyrian rulers who had shared their lives with dragons, living as partners rather than masters.
As Bahamut lowered his head in greeting, Gaimon felt the familiar, affectionate nudge against his chest—a dragon's kiss, gentle yet packed with immense power. Though Bahamut's head alone could have crushed a man, Gaimon had grown alongside the dragon, his body conditioned by rigorous training and magical enhancement. The force was significant, but he embraced it without fear, returning the gesture with warmth and familiarity.
"Good boy," Gaimon whispered, brushing a hand along Bahamut's gleaming scales. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but… would you take me to the skies today?"
Bahamut responded with a deep, resonant roar that echoed across the parade ground. His massive head tilted slightly, acknowledging the request. He understood Gaimon's words—not just their meaning, but the excitement and trust behind them.
Yet before the flight could commence, there remained one essential task: the installation of the dragon saddle. The Targaryens' saddle technology was sophisticated, designed not merely to support a rider but to control flight direction, secure mounting and dismounting, and ensure perfect harmony between dragon and rider. A saddle was not merely an accessory—it was an extension of the dragon itself, a crucial tool for safe and controlled flight.
Under the watchful eyes of the Dragon Guards, Gaimon signaled Bahamut to lower his massive head. His hands moved with practiced precision, calming the dragon as the guards fitted the saddle. Bahamut remained still, perhaps sensing the purpose of the ritual, or perhaps simply trusting Gaimon and those around him. The process was smooth, almost serene, as silver-haired guards worked efficiently to secure the final chains and fastenings.
Once the installation was complete, a Dragon Guard approached Gaimon, speaking in the melodic cadence of High Valyrian:
"Your Majesty, Dragon King, the saddle is secure. You may attempt flight. If adjustments are required, we can make them."
"Understood. Thank you," Gaimon replied, his voice steady yet brimming with anticipation.
He approached the dragon's side, eyes rising to the long ladder sliding from Bahamut's back. It reminded him that despite the dragon's immense size, today Bahamut was manageable. Still, a small thought crossed his mind: if Bahamut were to grow as large as Vhagar, would climbing a ladder each time become necessary? Yet even that small concern could not diminish his excitement.
Today, he would ride a dragon for the first time. He would feel the wind in his hair, the lift of enormous wings beneath him, and the raw power of a creature older and wiser than any human. He would soar above the Red Castle, above the training grounds, above the rolling fields and distant hills. The very thought made his heart race.
Gaimon took a deep breath, his hands brushing Bahamut's shimmering scales, feeling the heat and power thrumming beneath them. With a soft command, he began to climb. The dragon remained steady, wings tucked, eyes locked on him with trust and recognition. Every movement was careful, deliberate, yet fluid. He could feel the connection—the invisible tether of loyalty, magic, and mutual understanding binding him to the great beast.
When he reached the saddle, he sat with a mixture of reverence and exhilaration. Bahamut shifted slightly beneath him, testing the balance, and Gaimon felt the immense strength coiling like a spring beneath him. It was a feeling unlike any other—a combination of anticipation, power, and awe. The world below seemed simultaneously vast and distant.
As he settled into place, Gaimon whispered again, "Shall we fly, Bahamut?"
The dragon lifted his head, nostrils flaring as if to smell the wind, then released a roar that was both challenge and affirmation. The ground trembled as he flexed his muscles, wings stretching wide and majestic. And then, with a powerful leap, Bahamut lifted into the sky.
The wind roared around them, the Red Castle shrinking below like a toy, and Gaimon felt the pure joy of freedom. His hands gripped the reins, his heart racing, and for the first time, he truly understood what it meant to be a dragon rider. To control this living, breathing force of nature, to feel the power of wings slicing through the air, and to trust a creature of such magnitude—this was a connection beyond words, beyond magic.
The sky was theirs, and nothing could compare to the exhilaration of flight. Together, Gaimon and Bahamut soared higher and higher, leaving the training grounds behind, leaving the worries of the world below, and embracing the limitless horizon above.
For two years, they had grown, learned, and bonded. And today, that bond would be tested in the skies—a promise between dragon and rider, unbreakable and eternal.
Gaimon grinned, feeling the wind whip against his face, the sunlight glinting off Bahamut's scales, and whispered, "To the heavens, Bahamut. Show me the world from above."
And with a mighty flap of wings, the dragon roared in agreement, lifting them further into the endless blue, where freedom, power, and destiny awaited.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)