A storm in the north | cregan stark

3

Atop the ancient mountain's summit, a colossal three-headed golden dragon reigned supreme, its majestic form silhouetted against the tumultuous sky. The dragon's scales glinted with a brilliant gold, catching what little sunlight managed to pierce through the storm clouds. Each head, adorned with elaborate horns and eyes that seemed to gleam with an otherworldly intelligence, scanned the world below.

The mountain itself seemed to bow in reverence to the dragon's grandeur, its jagged peaks accentuating the mythical aura that enveloped the scene. Beneath, a fierce storm raged, with thunder echoing through the valleys and lightning streaking across the darkened sky. The chaotic elements mirrored the dragon's dual nature—both awe-inspiring and fearsome.

As the dragon spread its immense wings, they stretched across the horizon, even casting shadows on the stormy clouds. With each powerful beat, bolts of lightning shot forth, illuminating the sky in a dazzling display. The dragon's roar, a mighty symphony of authority, reverberated through the mountain, causing the ground to tremble as if an earthquake had stirred. The very earth seemed to quake beneath the dragon's overwhelming presence.

The once oppressive darkness of the stormy sky began to shimmer with light as the dragon's radiant wings streaked the heavens with brilliant hues. The rugged landscape below, briefly bathed in an ethereal glow, revealed its intricate contours, transformed by the dragon's magic.

In this dramatic fusion of mythical might and elemental fury, the three-headed golden dragon stood as a formidable guardian atop the mountain—an embodiment of the raw, untamed forces that shaped both the heavens and the earth. For those fortunate enough to witness this spectacle, it became a legend, a testament to the boundless wonders of nature and the magic that lay within.

Aelora stirred from her sleep, the remnants of a vivid dream still vivid in her mind. For weeks now, the same dream had visited her since she acquired the dragon egg. As she woke, her gaze instinctively fell on the precious treasure resting beside her. The egg, glowing with an otherworldly light, seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

She reached out to cradle the egg, a comforting routine in her waking hours. But as her fingers touched its surface, an unexpected jolt of pain, like a bolt of lightning, surged through her hand, causing her to pull away quickly. Startled, she examined her hand, expecting to find some mark, but there was nothing.

Shaking off the strange sensation, Aelora tried again to take the egg in her hands. This time, it felt ordinary, devoid of any strange energy. Relieved, she nestled the egg closer, finding solace in its presence. Perhaps it had just been fatigue playing tricks on her senses. With the enigmatic artifact cradled securely in her arms, Aelora drifted back to sleep, reassured by the comforting illusion of safety the dragon egg provided.

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In the morning light that streamed into the grand dining hall of the Red Keep, the Targaryen family gathered for a rare, leisurely breakfast together. The hall was alive with the warmth of the sun and the cheerful chatter that temporarily set aside the weight of politics and court intrigue.

King Viserys, his regal demeanor softened by the morning light, leaned forward with a nostalgic smile. "Aelora, do you remember the time we went to Dragonstone, and that sudden storm rolled in? You held onto your dragon egg as if it could ward off the thunder."

Aelora, only ten but with memories that felt both distant and vivid, laughed softly. "Oh, I remember. I was so frightened. And then Helaena decided to try and control the wind with her hands. The storm felt even fiercer!"

Helaena, her cheeks flushing slightly at the memory, grinned mischievously. "Well, I thought if I could make the wind dance, it might turn the storm into a spectacle rather than a fright. It wasn't very successful, but it did make for a memorable day."