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Game of Thrones White Dragon Rising
Game of Thrones The Sun Dragon Descends
"Ha! Ha! Ha!"
Gaemon clung to the saddle on Bahamut's back, the roaring wind whipping past his ears. He gripped the handholds with white-knuckled force, leaning forward until his chest pressed flat against the dragon's scales, trying to help his mount cut through the air even faster.
The scorching heat wave behind them clung like a curse, refusing to let go.
Just as the searing blast was about to swallow Bahamut's tail, Gaemon felt his stomach drop. He looked ahead—Bahamut had reached the crater's rim.
Without hesitation, the platinum dragon leaped off the edge like a diver plunging from a cliff.
The sudden free-fall sent Gaemon's blood surging. In that heart-stopping instant he glanced back and finally saw what had been chasing them: deep black flames ringed with eerie green light, twisting and malevolent.
Bahamut used the drop to his advantage. As they plummeted, he spread his wings just enough to turn the fall into a controlled glide.
Then, riding the air currents, he flapped powerfully and climbed back toward the open sky.
Only now, with his body stabilized, did Gaemon have time to look back at the crater. The black flames had slammed into the rim and detonated in a roaring explosion several meters wide. The blast scoured the rock clean—stone, gravel, everything was obliterated in an instant.
Gaemon's heart pounded with lingering terror. If Bahamut had been even a heartbeat slower, they would both be dead.
His fire resistance had grown strong enough that ordinary flames could barely touch him—he could almost call himself "the Unburnt." But after seeing that blast, he knew even he would have stood no chance against those black flames.
The fear quickly gave way to towering rage. Whoever had attacked them would pay.
As his fury burned, the black flames began to fade. The attacker must have realized it had missed its prey.
The retreating fire cleared the thick white mist around the crater, finally revealing the creature hidden within.
"Black!"
Obsidian scales, a body covered in jagged bone spikes, and sheer monstrous size—there was no mistaking it.
A black dragon.
Gaemon and Bahamut hovered silently in the sky, eyes locked on the beast below, both radiating pure killing intent.
The black dragon slowly closed its fanged maw and raised its massive head—easily as tall as a man. Its green pupils fixed on Bahamut with the cold, hungry gaze of a predator.
Gaemon knew exactly who this was.
The Cannibal.
Of all the dragons in House Targaryen, only two were black. One was Balerion the Black Dread, still kept in the Dragonpit beneath King's Landing. The other was this wild dragon living on Dragonstone—The Cannibal.
Gaemon had seen Balerion up close. The ancient beast's colossal size was unforgettable. But ever since Balerion returned from the ruins of Valyria, he had been weak. The terrible wound across his belly—caused by something unknown—had never healed.
The Dragonkeepers had tried everything, but nothing worked. Gaemon himself had examined the wound during one of Balerion's long sleeps. It wasn't a simple injury. It was a combination of physical trauma, an unknown toxin, and powerful magic. The wound and the foreign magic had formed a symbiotic bond with Balerion's own healing power. Without overwhelming magical strength, there was no way to purge it.
At the time, Gaemon's magic had been too weak to help, so he had set the matter aside.
This black dragon was much smaller—roughly fifty to sixty meters long, similar in size to Vermithor the Bronze Fury right now.
The moment Gaemon recognized the attacker, he also understood its target.
It wanted Bahamut.
Watching the Cannibal slowly prowl the crater rim, Gaemon had no intention of retreating. Bahamut was only twenty-six meters long—barely a third the Cannibal's size. Yet Gaemon felt no fear.
Before reaching the volcano, he might have chosen to flee and fight another day. But now, as a Level 6 sorcerer with Bahamut at his side, losing was no longer an option.
The Cannibal seemed to sense that its prey had no intention of running. Its earlier disappointment vanished, replaced by fresh excitement. A target that didn't flee? This was new.
As one of Dragonstone's dominant wild dragons, the Cannibal had ruled the island unchallenged for years. The largest Targaryen dragons were kept safely in King's Landing, leaving the Cannibal free to roam and devour any young dragons or eggs it found.
It had spotted Bahamut while hunting and immediately marked the platinum dragon as its next meal.
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