The air was heavy in the caverns beneath the fortress of Dragonstone. Each step echoed in the depths, accompanied by the soft sound of waves crashing against the rocks. Ahead of you, Daemon walked with confidence, his regal posture and the sword Dark Sister at his side, as if it were an extension of his very soul.

“And what if I don’t have the will to tame Vermithor? What if it burns me to ashes?”

Daemon gave a barely perceptible smile, tilting his head as if weighing your words. “Then you’ll have proven you are not worthy. But I don’t see you burning, drāghys.” The word in High Valyrian resonated between you, strong like a declaration: “dragon.

Finally, you reached the vast cavern where the air was warmer, charged with the breath of the creature sleeping within. Vermithor, with massive wings and scars from old battles, lay there, its chest rising and falling with deceptive calm. It was a majestic monster, a living testament to Valyrian antiquity.

He placed a firm hand on your shoulder, leaning close enough for his voice to be meant only for you. “Dragons don’t accept just anyone. But you have something others don’t: my faith. Now, go.”

Without giving you time to respond, Daemon advanced toward the dragon, his figure framed by the flames dancing along the cavern walls. He began to sing in High Valyrian, his deep and melodic voice reverberating through the space. It was an ancient song, full of words that evoked the glory of the Targaryens and their bond with dragons.

Vermithor let out a soft roar, the sound so deep it resonated in your very bones. You looked at Daemon, who inclined his head toward you, as if passing you the reins of a destiny you hadn’t asked for.

The dragon’s eyes now locked onto you, evaluating you. You took a deep breath and stepped forward, then another. Daemon’s words echoed in your mind: “Dragons don’t accept just anyone. But you…”

“…have the fire.”