After a forbidden night with Ser Criston Cole, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen is forced by her father, King Viserys, to drink the moon tea and protect her honor. To shield her image further, she weds Ser Laenor Velaryon, and together they move to Drift...
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Present Time
Fourteen Flames Temple, Valyria
Oh, dear Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
It was the only thought that flickered through Dahlia's mind as she beheld them—two blazing red eyes, reptilian and immense, burning like the fire of a thousand wild infernos compressed into twin orbs. They floated closer through the darkness, their light searing, their gaze heavy with both fierce destruction and... something else. Curiosity. Even wonder, as though the creature behind them regarded her with more than hunger.
Dahlia could not move. Could not speak. Could not even breathe. An unseen force clamped down on her body, locking her in place. Her veins iced over, cold as razors, as though a thousand knives dragged themselves through her blood. Her mind screamed at her body to move—
Move, Dahlia. Move, damn it!
But she remained rooted, frozen like prey.
The rattle of chains scraped closer and closer, each sound reverberating through her bones.
Is this a basilisk? her frantic thoughts spiraled. Am I petrified? Am I... am I dead?
The eyes drew nearer, and only then did she grasp their true size. Each was colossal—at least four times larger than the basilisk's she had faced at Hogwarts. And though they shared the serpentine slit of a snake, they were not the same. Snake eyes were cold, cunning. These eyes blazed with something more—calculated, raging, alive with fiery intelligence.
Then the voice came.
Byka perzys dāria! Skorkydoso bōsa nyke waited syt aōha arrival va these magical yn desolated tegor hen aōhon!
The words rumbled inside her skull, deep and rough, like fire forced through stone.
And suddenly, the force holding her broke. Air rushed into her lungs in a ragged gasp. Her knees trembled, her arms shook like jelly, and her heart thundered so hard she thought it might burst from her chest.
"Who are you?" Dahlia heard herself whisper—not aloud, but in her mind, the words flowing in that strange, foreign tongue that seemed to bind itself to this land. "What are you?"
The great red eyes narrowed, glimmering with something almost playful as they tilted to one side. "You already know, little one. Deep down, you know. As for who I am—since the moment I hatched, I was never given a name. I was hoping... you might give me one." The voice rumbled with warmth and a strange hope that caught her off guard.
Hatched. Eyes like burning coals. The stench of brimstone and ash. The realization struck her like lightning.
"You're... a dragon," Dahlia said, her voice firm, though her chest trembled. She held its gaze, refusing to look away.
