"A wild dragon?" Aegon's brow furrowed.
In the crags of Dragonstone, only three names carried that title: the Grey Ghost, the Sheepstealer, and the dreaded Cannibal. What puzzled Aegon was Sunfyre. Usually, the "Golden Sunbeam" was a territorial firebrand, yet the Dragon Spirit had remained strangely quiet.
"Take me there," Aegon commanded, moving with a purpose that left his guards scrambling. He nearly collided with Helaena and Daeron in the courtyard.
"Aegon, the guards say it is massive," Helaena said, her voice tinged with a dreamer's caution. "Dreamfyre is restless."
"It's huge, Sire," the guard added, his face a mask of pale sweat. "Nearly the size of the Princess's dragon."
Similar to Dreamfyre? Aegon calculated. If it was that size, it wasn't the hatchling-eating Cannibal. But what wild beast had the gall to provoke the Stepstones' central power? Between Sunfyre's growing lethality and Dreamfyre's veteran grace, even Vhagar would hesitate to pick a fight here.
"Helaena, with me," Aegon said. "Let's see what this interloper wants."
"I'm coming too!" Daeron shouted, running toward Tessarion.
Aegon reached out and snatched his younger brother by the ear. "You? Tessarion is a blue sparrow compared to a wild adult. Do you want to be a mid-air snack? Stay down."
"Ow! I'm sorry! Let go, brother!" Daeron squealed as his face turned crimson.
Aegon released him with an irritable huff. Wild dragons were untamed lightning—unpredictable and vicious. One snap of an eighty-year-old jaw and Daeron would be nothing but blue scales and bone.
Sunfyre and Dreamfyre tore into the sky, their shadows racing across the jagged rocks of the southern peaks. A distant, muddy roar echoed from the north.
Aegon leaned into Sunfyre's neck, the wind whipping his silver hair into a frenzy. As they crested a ridge, he saw it: a dragon with scales the color of wet earth and wings like scorched leather.
Sheepstealer.
In the histories Aegon knew, the "Mud Dragon" was a beast of eighty years, a survivor that lived on the fringes. Aegon urged Sunfyre to close the distance. Helaena followed closely, her violet eyes narrowed.
As the three dragons circled under the moonlight, the brown dragon suddenly banked and descended toward a clearing. Sunfyre and Dreamfyre landed opposite it, kicking up a storm of volcanic ash.
Aegon remained vigilant, hand on Blackfyre's hilt, but Sunfyre did something unexpected. The golden dragon lowered his neck, nudging Aegon to dismount. There was no murderous intent in the dragon's bond—only a strange, familiar recognition.
Aegon stepped onto the ash and froze.
The rider sliding off Sheepstealer's back was disheveled, covered in soot and sea salt, looking more like a shipwrecked sailor than a high lord. It was Hugh Hammer.
"Hugh?" Helaena gasped, her surprise mirroring Aegon's.
The massive blacksmith strode forward and collapsed onto one knee, his head bowed low. "Your Highness. Please... allow me to explain."
"Explain?" Aegon looked at the towering Mud Dragon behind the man. "How in the name of the Fourteen Flames did you tame the Sheepstealer?"
Hugh recounted the tale—the encounter in the wake of the Cannibal's attack, the dying beast, and how he had spoken to it in Higher Valyrian. He spoke of a "connection" that had snapped into place with just a few words of the ancient tongue.
Aegon stared at him. Hugh's bloodline was purer than he'd realized. Taming a wild, eighty-year-old dragon wasn't a matter of luck; it was a matter of essence. If the bastards of the world realized it was this simple, the sky would be thick with low-born dragon riders within a moon.
"Your Highness, I never meant to... to take what wasn't mine," Hugh stammered, his voice thick with fear. "I am a bastard. I know my place."
The silence stretched. Sheepstealer, sensing his master's rising panic, craned her neck and let out a protective, warning hiss.
"Hiss!"
Sunfyre didn't hesitate. The golden dragon reared up, his fifty-meter frame casting a massive shadow, his throat glowing with the heat of a thousand forges. Dreamfyre joined him, her wings flared in a terrifying display of ancient dominance. They were a unified front of gold and silver-blue, ready to tear the Mud Dragon apart if she made a single move.
Hugh's face went white. He was a dragon rider now, but he was staring at the peak of Targaryen power.
Aegon stepped forward, his boots crunching on the ash. He reached out and gripped Hugh's shoulder, pulling him to his feet.
"Hugh, I am glad you came to me," Aegon said, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of a King. "But I don't like it. I don't like that you thought you had to hide this. I don't like that you didn't trust me."
"Your Highness, I—"
"Quiet," Aegon cut him off. "Did I treat you poorly before you had a dragon? Did I look down on your birth when you were swinging a hammer for me? I have ways to make a bastard a Lord, but I cannot make a liar a friend. I trust you, Hugh. I need you to trust me back."
Hugh looked ashamed, his massive shoulders slumped.
"You are a Dragon Knight now," Aegon continued, his eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp intensity. "You have the power to choose your own path. You could fly away and never look back. But hear me: do not become an obstacle to my throne. Do you understand?"
The threat was veiled in silk, but as Sunfyre let out a low, vibrating growl behind them, the message was clear: Friend or foe, your fate is tied to mine.
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