The Dragon's Dilemma

Prologue II

13 Years Ago

It had been over a year since Vaelora and her baby sister, Lyraella, had moved to Dragonstone, a place as unforgiving as it was mysterious. The once grand island now felt like a forgotten relic, hidden away in the mists of the sea, and in the depths of its ruins, Vaelora had learned to survive. Only six summers old, she had grown up faster than any child should.

But she had to.

Lyraella, just two years old, was a curious bundle of energy, toddling around with wobbly steps and grasping at everything in sight. Vaelora found herself constantly watching her, always alert to make sure her little sister didn't wander too far or touch something dangerous. There was no one else to look after them now.

In truth, it had been that way since their mother's passing.

Each day was a test of will. When summer turned to winter, their struggle for survival became all-consuming. Food was scarce on Dragonstone, and the land had grown colder and less forgiving. The fruit-bearing trees were barren, and even the fish seemed to avoid the frozen shores.

Vaelora scavenged as best she could, dragging Lyraella along when necessary, but most of her hunts for food ended in frustration. Sometimes, she'd spend hours in the woods, searching through the brittle undergrowth or the jagged rocks near the beach, only to return with a few berries or an underfed, half-dead fish. More often than not, she went hungry so Lyraella could eat.

Vaelora hadn't eaten in days, but she didn't care. Not about herself, at least. It was Lyraella who mattered, and even then, her baby sister was growing weaker. Vaelora could see it in the way her once-chubby cheeks had hollowed and her tiny arms seemed even smaller now, delicate as twigs.

Their shelter had also fallen to ruin. The small cottage where they had first taken refuge had collapsed under the weight of the heavy rains, forcing them to flee to a nearby cave. The cave was cold, bitter drafts sneaking through every crack. The wind howled through the nights, freezing their small, thin blankets. With the cold came sickness, and Vaelora feared that if Lyraella got sick, she wouldn't survive it.

She had to find another way.

One night, when Lyraella was fast asleep, curled into the few furs they had, Vaelora made a decision. She would find a dragon. It was the only solution. A wild dragon, unclaimed and dangerous as they were, could be her answer. She remembered her mother's tales—tales of their Valyrian blood, of the once-great House Selaerion. Her mother had told her that their blood was just as ancient and powerful as the Targaryens'. House Selaerion had dragons, too, in the days of Old Valyria, and Vaelora believed in her heart that if anyone could tame one now, it was her.

But first, she needed to find Lyraella a safe place to stay. She remembered Harrold, a fisherman who lived with his family in a small village nearby. His wife had raised children before, and she would know how to care for Lyraella while Vaelora went on her dangerous mission. The thought of leaving her sister, even for a little while, tugged at her heart, but she had no other choice.

"I'll come back for you, Lyria," Vaelora whispered one cold morning, stroking her sister's soft black hair as she slept. "I promise."

The search for the dragon took weeks. The first few days had been exhilarating—being away from the cave, the responsibilities, and for a moment, feeling like the child she still was. Vaelora ran through the wilderness with the wind in her hair, free from the constant pressure of caring for her sister. But soon, reality returned.