Tessarion's wings cut a bright arc across the morning sky as she descended toward Bloodstone Isle. Dust billowed in spirals when the blue queen landed, folding her gleaming wings against her flanks. Prince Daeron slid from her saddle with the grace of long practice, brushing the grit from his cloak as he strode toward the man awaiting him.
Arryk , harbormaster and de facto steward of the young colony, bowed quickly. Surprise flickered across his face.
"Where is my brother?" Daeron asked, still catching his breath from the flight. "I bring tidings he will want to hear at once."
Arryk straightened. "His Highness flew for Tyrosh Island at dawn. If you have commands for us, my prince, I will see them done."
Daeron shook his head. "No commands. Only news. The support fleet is nearing the Stepstones, less than a hundred miles off."
Arryk's eyes widened with a relief so raw it seemed to drain the tension from his shoulders. "Is it the Lannisters? Or House Hightower?"
"Both, in a sense," Daeron replied, lifting a hand to illustrate the size of the force. "A combined fleet. Mostly Hightower ships, but Redwynes, Peakes, Fossoways, Mullendores, half the Reach has come to lend its banners. I counted at least fifty cargo hulls before turning back."
"Fifty?" Arryk let out a shaky laugh, a sound bordering on disbelief. "Seven save us. I can draw breath again."
For weeks he had lived as a man chased, by deadlines, shortages, and Aegon's relentless expectations. Four thousand souls made their home on Bloodstone Isle, and it seemed every task demanded three times that number. Warehouses needed raising, a port needed shaping, walls needed marking, the sea lanes needed patrolling. And over it all loomed the simple fact that the Lord of the Stepstones could hardly rule from a camp of tents.
Arryk ran a hand down his face. "If the prince means to build a castle, I should like a roof first."
Daeron's answering laugh was soft. "When brother returns, he will have no shortage of hands. Until then, do what you can."
Above them, clouds swirled, gold flashing at their rims. A heartbeat later, Sunfyre broke through the white mass like a falling star, scales blazing in the sun. His wings beat with a proud, thunderous rhythm.
Aegon leaned low over the saddle.
"Faster, Sunfyre."
The dragon answered with a hissing roar, his great body tightening as he surged forward, the air tearing in his wake.
Tyrosh soon surfaced on the horizon, purple rooftops, serpentine canals, and the pale scars of recent battles. Aegon intended to hunt the rebel army before sundown, but there was no harm in delivering a greeting to Tyrosh first. After all, he had been away for some time. It would be rude not to remind them of his affection.
Especially, he thought with a thin smile, since they missed me so dearly.
Deep beneath the shattered outskirts of the city, Nekania froze. A faint tremor rolled through the stone, subtle, then unmistakable. A roar. It was a dragon's roar.
"Not again," he muttered, face paling. "Not again-"
The warning came too late.
Sunfyre swept low over the outer ruins, so low his talons nearly scraped the broken walls. He did not dive. He did not circle. He simply opened his jaws.
Dragonfire washed across the ground in a blinding sheet of gold.
Men died before they understood they were aflame.
From the shadow of a collapsed tower, a new sound answered the carnage: a shrill, slicing whistle.
A dozen great bolts shot upward, iron shafts as long as spears, launched by hidden scorpions. The trap had been laid well… for any lesser beast.
Sunfyre twitched before Aegon even saw the glint of metal. Their minds were one; the dragon felt danger, and so did he. Every hair on Aegon's arms lifted. He yanked the reins, Sunfyre rolling sharply, the bolts screaming past his wings.
"Cunning vermin," Aegon spat. "They learn to hide."
Sunfyre snorted, as though insulted by the attempt.
They climbed higher, the wind thinning as the city shrank beneath them. Tyrosh's defenders shouted curses skyward, left with nothing but the stench of scorched bodies.
Aegon had made his greeting. There was no reason to linger.
He guided Sunfyre toward the island's interior, following half-remembered maps. The fields ahead gave way to rising terrain, the Lango Highlands, a natural fortress pressed against the sea. A single road wound upward like a scar. Every other approach was sheer rock or breaking surf.
From above, Aegon saw the battle unfolding.
Slaves marched in ragged ranks up the road, driven forward by overseers stationed on the higher ledges. At the summit, the rebel host battered vainly at the defenses, blood streaking the stony pass.
Aegon narrowed his eyes. "Truly? You call yourselves rebels, yet cannot win the loyalty of the slave soldiers standing beside you?"
Still, someone among them had wits enough to strike at the Highlands. That alone made them more promising allies than the Tyroshi elite.
"Very well," he murmured. "Let us help you make your case."
He shifted in the saddle, leaning forward.
Sunfyre answered instantly.
The great golden wyrm folded his wings and plunged.
No roar announced him. Silence was deadlier.
The slave soldiers held their lines, unaware, until the world above them turned gold.
Dragonfire crashed down in a sweeping arc.
Those caught in its heart died without pain, the flames consumed flesh and bone too swiftly. But the ones brushed only by its edge screamed as they fell, rolling in agony, unable to extinguish the living fire that clung to them.
"Dragon!"
The overseers recoiled. Panic twisted their faces, then fury. They had no scorpions, no bolts, nothing that could wound a dragon. Their power ended where the sky began.
Sunfyre climbed again, circled, and descended in a second pass, flames licking across the defensive ridge. The line wavered. Buckled.
And broke.
The rebels, their throats raw from shouting, surged forward with renewed ferocity. Where moments ago they had struggled to gain a foothold, now they swept into the torn ranks like wolves scenting blood.
"We take the masters!" one cried, voice hoarse. "Kill them all!"
"Seize their grain! Their gold! Their land!"
Aegon heard none of it. He had already turned Sunfyre away from the melee, angling toward the manor perched behind the defensive rise, an estate fat with grain stores, cellars, and wine.
Let the rebels drown the overseers in their own blood. Aegon had no interest in their vengeance. What mattered was ending the slave masters' ability to resist, and in war, fire was always the swiftest argument.
Sunfyre descended upon the manor like the judgment of the gods. With a casual sweep of his head, he set the first granary ablaze. Flames leapt hungrily from roof to roof, finding ripe grain and tinder-dry straw. The fields beyond caught next, rows of crops withering into ash before the smoke had time to rise.
Wind tore at Aegon's cloak as he guided Sunfyre across the burning estate. Below, men fled, some dropping buckets, others abandoning livestock as they scattered in blind terror.
Aegon spared them no more thought than a man might spare ants.
This, he thought, is the cost of defiance in the Stepstones.
Sunfyre circled once more, the heat of the spreading inferno warming even the air high above. Aegon watched until the manor collapsed inward, the timbers smoldering.
Only then did he tug lightly at the reins.
"Come. Our work here is done."
Sunfyre beat his wings, rising smoothly into the sky. Behind them, smoke coiled upward in black ribbons, marking the fall of yet another Tyroshi stronghold.
Ahead lay the rebels, victorious for the moment, but directionless. And behind them, ships from Oldtown, Redwyne vines, and half the Reach sailed steadily toward Bloodstone Isle.
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A/N: Aegon's ambition has begun to stir.As his power grows, so do his foes, traitors, and enemies rising with blades already drawn.
Will he truly succeed… or be crushed before he can claim it all?
If you want to find out, read ahead on Patreon.19 advance chapters available, the first 2 are free.
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