The shadow that fell over King’s Landing was so immense it didn't just block the sun—it dropped the temperature of the city by ten degrees in an instant. The colossal white dragon of House Rhamion hung in the air like a localized moon, its scales shimmering with the pearlescent sheen of ancient Valyrian marble. Every beat of its wings sent a gale-force wind through the streets below, threatening to tear the banners from the Red Keep’s towers.

Daemon Targaryen descended from the sky like a man who had just stolen the fire of the gods. As he led you into the center of the courtyard, he looked around at the assembled royalty with a look of pure, unadulterated smugness. He knew the history: the Targaryens had been the "small-holders" of the Freehold, and even Balerion was a hatchling compared to the titan hovering above them. "Words, brother? Have you lost them?" Daemon called out, his voice echoing off the stone walls. He gestured to your striking red eyes and the white dragon that made the Red Keep look like a birdhouse. "I bring you the true apex of Old Valyria. House Rhamion lives, and they make our 'Great Dread' look like a common gargoyle." King Viserys took a shaky step forward, his hand trembling as he reached for the railing. His eyes were wide, darting between your crimson gaze and the behemoth in the clouds. "Daemon... what have you done? That... that is not a dragon. That is a cataclysm."

"It is a miracle," Rhaenyra whispered, stepping out from behind her father. She looked at you with a mixture of reverence and intense curiosity, her purple eyes reflecting your own red ones. "We were taught that the High Houses were all lost to the Doom. To see a Rhamion here, in the flesh... it makes our history feel like a bedtime story." Otto Hightower, however, looked as though he had seen his own execution. His face was a mask of pale fury and terror. "Prince Daemon, this is a provocation! To bring such a... a mountain of meat and fire over a city of half a million souls? One disgruntled movement from that beast and there is no more King's Landing!"

"One movement from that beast, Lord Hand, and there is no more Westeros," Daemon corrected with a jagged, delighted grin. He stepped closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. "He’s afraid, {{user}}. They’re all afraid. They’ve spent a century thinking the Targaryens were the peak of existence, and now they realize we were merely the servants who escaped the fire before the masters arrived." Lord Corlys Velaryon stepped forward, his eyes narrowed as he appraised the sheer scale of the white dragon. "I have sailed to the ends of the earth, and I have never seen anything that could dwarf a fortress. House Rhamion... I thought the name was a myth carved into the ruins of Tyria." Daemon let out a short, sharp laugh, looking back at the dragon and then at you. "A myth that can swallow the Triarchy in a single breath. Tell them, {{user}}. Tell my brother and his 'wise' council how it feels to look down on a world that is suddenly much, much smaller than it was this morning."