All hope seems lost for Rhaenyra Targaryen, with Meleys dead and the greens stronger as ever she seems to have lost. Until one day a young girl and her sister change their fates forever when they come to fight with them, because with them come 2 ful...
Aemond Targaryen's grip tightened on the reins as he and Vhagar descended through the clouds, the familiar weight of fury simmering within him. It was midnight, and the world below lay blanketed in shadow—silent, unknowing, utterly defenseless. Only the faint lights of Sunspear marked the outline of the Dornish capital. They gleamed weakly, small embers in the dark, and Aemond relished the idea of snuffing them out. It was his declaration, his warning to the realm: any who defied the rule of Aegon would meet the same fate as those now gathering in fear below.
Aemond had readied himself for this; he could hear the heartbeat of battle, a pulse that matched his own. He leaned forward, and with a single command in High Valyrian, Vhagar roared, her bellow loud enough to split the heavens. The sound echoed across Sunspear, shaking every man, woman, and child from sleep and forcing them to gaze upward, wide-eyed and stricken. He circled the dragon around the city, Vhagar's vast wings casting shadows over every tower and courtyard below.
The first bolts came as soon as the defenders recovered. Great scorpion bolts whizzed past, their sharp tips gleaming in the moonlight. They were like needles against the dragon's scales, and Aemond sneered, twisting Vhagar left and right to evade the barrage. He commanded Vhagar to release a torrent of flame, obliterating the first scorpion. The flames leaped from the dragon's maw like a river of liquid fire, devouring the iron and wood and leaving nothing but blackened ash.
Below, Sunspear began to burn.
Buildings caught fire in rapid succession, flames licking up wooden structures, claiming every rooftop they touched. The inferno grew, spreading from building to building. The screams of soldiers and civilians alike rose with the smoke, twisting into a single cacophony of terror that sang directly to Aemond's heart. He watched them scatter, tiny figures racing through the streets, their paths blocked by flames or each other.
But then, in the midst of the destruction, Aemond spotted something—a shadow, vast and ominous, creeping across the night sky. His heart stilled as he turned Vhagar's head, narrowing his eyes as he studied the dark form approaching from the east.
It was another dragon.
The night concealed its true size, but Aemond saw enough to know it was enormous, as massive as Vhagar. The air around it seemed to ripple with dark energy, the dragon's form blending seamlessly into the blackness of the sky, save for a faint glow of acid-green that flickered around its mouth. Realization hit him, sending a chill down his spine: this was the Cannibal, an ancient terror from the very mountains of Dragonstone, a creature rumored to feast on other dragons.
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Aemond's pulse quickened. He had heard tales of this dragon but never dreamed it could be tamed, let alone used against him. Who dared to ride it?
