"No!!"
"Don't block the way, run quickly…"
Everyone's hair stood on end as they frantically pushed and shoved, fleeing in sheer despair.
Boom—
Golden dragon flames surged forward with unstoppable force, cutting a brilliant trail through the narrow path and leaving a shimmering golden mark across the red mountain rocks.
Some people barely had time to lift their heads before catching their final glimpse of life.
A monstrous, fully grown dragon appeared before them, its body covered in bronze scales and its wings coated in a rough brown membrane. Its menacing form radiated danger.
The Bronze Fury — Vormisore
"The Seven Hells!"
The moment they laid eyes on the bronze dragon, the onlookers froze in terror, their faces slack as they met the dragon's fiery wrath.
Zzzlap! Their features were reduced to unrecognizable charred remnants in an instant.
High above, a booming shout echoed through the air.
"Vormisore, dragon fire!"
Hiss-kaa!
The bronze dragon let out a deafening roar, its colossal body—spanning over a hundred meters—diving from the sky. Its abyssal jaws unleashed searing golden flames that scorched everything in their path.
Cries of anguish and despair reverberated throughout the rocky mountain landscape for a fleeting moment before fading into eerie silence.
All that remained were scorched corpses scattered across the ground.
"Well done, Vormisore."
Viserys's face flushed with excitement and pride, his exhilaration unmistakable.
At this moment, he wore black steel armor with a crimson cape draped across his back. At his waist hung the ancestral sword Blackfyre.
The armor concealed his aging physique, while the dark steel added an air of grim determination. Paired with the dragon-winged helmet and Blackfyre at his side, he seemed twenty years younger—like a fearless, battle-hardened dragon rider.
Hiss-kaa!
Vormisore's vertical pupils gleamed coldly as it mechanically flapped its wings, scouring the terrain for any straggling mercenaries attempting to flee.
Once spotted, they were immediately incinerated by dragon fire, the bronze fury living up to its infamous name.
"Ha! Let's go!"
Viserys grinned broadly, exuding confidence. "There are plenty more enemies who'd love to witness the wrath of the Sleeping Dragon."
As he spoke, his chest heaved violently, and he wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead.
It wasn't due to the heat but rather the sheer adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Breathing heavily, Viserys muttered to himself with a smile, "Fighting on dragonback is still a bit too intense for me."
But damn, it was cool.
Hiss-kaa!
Like a bronze sun, Vormisore streaked across the sky, fierce and swift, soaring toward the opposite side of the mountain range.
According to intelligence reports, a large group of mercenaries had gathered at Bone Road and needed to be thoroughly cleared out.
...
Three days passed in a blur.
Masses of refugees struggled through the steep and treacherous Bone Road, crowding in front of a narrow fortress.
The fortress, built between towering rocky cliffs, stood over a dozen feet high, its massive bronze gate firmly barring entry.
The cliffs flanking the fortress were riddled with honeycomb-like shooting holes, constantly aimed at any potential attackers.
Beyond the fortress loomed a towering castle, its structure seemingly grafted onto the mountainside and stretching skyward into the clouds.
This was Black Harbor, the stronghold of House Tondelyon.
Hiss-kaa!
A bronze dragon emerged from the castle, circling above with a frigid gaze as it scanned the refugees below.
The crowd swelled relentlessly, blocking the fortress and posing a serious threat to its defensive formations.
Seeing the dragon hovering above, the refugees remained expressionless, too numb to cry or even attempt to flee.
Occasionally, a child would let out a brief wail, only to have an adult quickly cover their mouth.
These people had nothing left.
No food. No hope.
Their only option was to gather at the fortress along Bone Road, enduring the scorching sun as they waited for fate to decide their end.
Unbeknownst to them, a pervasive sense of despair silently spread through the air, heavier and more suffocating than the dragon above them.
Hiss-kaa—Hiss-kaa!
Suddenly, two distant dragon roars echoed across the sky.
Two dragons emerged from the horizon beneath a canopy of dark clouds—one black, one pale blue—dancing and chasing each other as though performing a synchronized aerial ballet.
Whoosh—
The black dragon dove sharply from the sky, skimming dangerously close to the rocky cliffs, its gleaming claws shattering protruding rocks along the way.
Rhaegar, clad in black robes, spoke softly, "Glutton, stop frightening the refugees."
Hiss-kaa!
The black dragon's eerie green eyes flickered as it soared toward the unmistakable Black Harbor.
"Stay put," Helena commanded sternly as Dreamfyre spread its shimmering pale blue wings, their surface glinting like fragments of sky and cloud.
Helena's small face was tense as she occasionally glanced at the foul-smelling refugees below.
"A dragon…"
"The Targaryens…"
The refugees stirred as they watched the dragons and the young riders atop their backs with awe and fear.
With dragons guarding the fortress, no one could break through Bone Road.
Despair deepened in the hearts of the refugees, chilling them even under the blistering sun.
Before long, the dragons disappeared from sight, vanishing into the unseen, untouchable Black Harbor.
...
Black Harbor — Courtyard
Vormisore was the first to land, occupying the limited open space within the courtyard.
The Gluttonous and Dreamfyre dragons landed just outside the courtyard. The towering black basalt walls, standing over ten feet high, seemed almost like simple countryside walls, barely able to contain the powerful hind legs of the two massive dragons.
With a slight tilt of their heads, the dragons peered over the deep and unfathomable moat, surveying every corner of the outer courtyard.
Rhaegar removed his hood and dismounted.
Boom—
The city gates slowly creaked open as a group of soldiers stepped forward to greet him.
"Rhaegar, my child!"
Viserys strode forward in large steps, his expression filled with joy.
"Father, are you well?"
Rhaegar smiled slightly and approached.
Viserys grasped his eldest son's arm, giving it a firm squeeze, his face beaming. "It's truly wonderful that you've come."
They had exchanged messages beforehand—Rhaegar needed to resolve the troubles in the Stormlands first.
"Father."
Helena climbed down from the dragon and ran forward with a bright smile, embracing him.
Encased in armor, Viserys could only awkwardly return the hug through the cold steel, sighing in mild frustration. "Helena, you should have stayed in King's Landing."
Since her maiden's festival, his youngest daughter had fled to Harrenhal.
After returning to the Red Keep, she had secretly made her way to the Stormlands.
Helena furrowed her delicate brows, reflecting for a moment. "I was looking for a blue island but ran into my brother first."
"You mean Tarth?"
Viserys paused, a hint of confusion flashing across his face.
Tarth was one of the many islands off Westeros's coast.
Located north of Shipbreaker Bay, it was separated from the mainland by a narrow strait.
The island was breathtaking, featuring mountains, lakes, plains, and secluded valleys.
Because of the surrounding azure waters, it was often called the Sapphire Isle.
Helena looked momentarily lost in thought, speaking vaguely, "I only saw a blue island."
"Then you should go there and see for yourself."
Viserys raised an eyebrow, noticing that his daughter's moments of disorientation were returning.
He had never believed Helena possessed the gift of dragon dreams.
Dragon dreams were supposed to be triggered through visions—appearing indirectly, yet steadily.
Helena's cryptic ramblings seemed more like fleeting, fragmented images flashing through her mind.
"Father, let's talk inside," Rhaegar interjected.
Viserys quickly nodded. "Yes, of course. I've asked Earl Simon to prepare a feast."
Standing nearby, the elderly Simon Dondarrion, Lord of Blackhaven, gave a slight nod, impeccably dressed as always.
He was a proud man, deeply concerned with maintaining appearances.
Accompanying them were the twin Kingsguard knights, Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, ever vigilant at the king's side.
The brothers bowed their heads respectfully. "Prince. Princess."
Rhaegar smiled and led Helena by the hand toward the castle.
Helena looked somewhat sullen, her freckled face scrunching up like a small bun.
As they walked, Rhaegar reassured her, "We'll head to Highgarden later—cheer up."
"Oh~"
Helena murmured absentmindedly.
She had seen a fishmonger on the blue island and was curious about its meaning.
Soon, the group reached the castle courtyard.
Roar…
Vermithor crouched low to the ground, lifting his horned, fearsome head. A deadly aura radiated from his massive body.
Rhaegar took the opportunity to study the bronze-scaled beast.
After days of hunting down mercenary intruders, Vermithor was brimming with energy, regaining much of his former ferocity.
Viserys exhaled lightly, a note of pride in his voice. "Vermithor is a true warrior—stronger than I ever imagined."
Dragon riding in battle was an entirely different experience from parading through the skies.
Rhaegar's gaze fell on his father. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Viserys had sustained wounds, and his stamina might not hold up.
Viserys waved a hand dismissively, exuding confidence. "Don't worry about me. Just a bit exhausted, but the wounds are fine."
At first, he had feared that the strain of battle would reopen his injuries, embarrassing him in the midst of war.
To his surprise, he had remained completely unharmed—Vermithor alone had been more than enough to dominate the battlefield.
As they talked, they entered the castle.
Blackhaven stood atop a cliff, its walls facing the Boneway draped in layers of creeping vines, resembling a cascading green waterfall.
Inside the grand hall, the thick walls and greenery filtered out the sunlight, cooling the air instantly.
The old earl instructed the servants to prepare a lavish feast.
Just as they were about to take their seats, a man hurried in.
"Your Grace, the military supplies have been fully inspected."
Tylan, drenched in sweat, reported his findings between gasps for air.
He had sprinted all the way here, his golden hair slightly disheveled, his clothing faintly reeking of sweat.
It was a stark contrast to his usual meticulous appearance.
Viserys inquired briefly about the situation and gestured for him to sit.
Tylan nodded gratefully and made sure to acknowledge Rhaegar with a respectful greeting.
On the surface, he served the king, but in reality, the crown prince was his true superior.
Rhaegar returned the greeting with a slight smile, surprised to see Tylan here.
Then again, it made sense.
The royal palace in Dorne was being built near the border, positioned behind Blackhaven at the entrance of the Boneway.
As the overseer of construction and a former member of the Small Council, Tylan's temporary deployment here was logical.
Taking advantage of the moment before the meal began, Tylan delivered a private report.
"Blackhaven has two thousand infantry, eight hundred archers, twenty-six knights, and a stockpile of wildfire and other siege defense supplies."
"Outside the walls, at least ten thousand Dornish refugees have gathered. Several narrow paths have become prime targets for mercenaries, but His Grace has personally ridden Vermithor to destroy them all."
Rhaegar listened carefully, analyzing the balance of power between the enemy and their forces.
The most crucial issue was clear—Blackhaven had no reinforcements.
The armies of Storm's End, aside from those supporting the Kingdom of the Three Daughters, are currently focused on eliminating the remaining forces of Dorne.
It will take at least a month to completely restore order and be able to dispatch reinforcements.
But that's not a concern.
The terrain of Black Harbor is treacherous and tightly controls the Boneway. A force of just 3,000 soldiers is enough to block an army of 100,000.
Moreover, with Father and Wormysor holding the fort, it's practically unbreakable.
As Rhaegar's thoughts raced, he realized that the Prince's Pass was where reinforcements were most urgently needed.
The Prince's Pass lacked the natural defenses of the Boneway, and Nightingale Castle didn't have an experienced commander like Count Symon to oversee it.
Never underestimate Symon Dondarrion.
Despite his shamelessness — having once participated in Rhaenyra's suitor tour — this old man was a seasoned veteran who had often fought against the Dornish in his youth.
His military achievements far surpassed those of Royce Caron and the late Count Swann.
As the attendants served the meal, everyone began eating.
Viserys took a sip of wine and suddenly spoke in a grave tone, "The Sea Snake, having lost his son, has already mobilized the fleet from the Stepstones and is advancing toward Plankytown."
(End of Chapter)