The great hall of the estate was heavy with the scent of old stone and smoldering incense. Syra Vhassar entered with measured steps, her dark robes whispering against the floor, eyes flickering like embers beneath her hood. The head of the house, a stern man marked by years and duty, awaited her by the hearth. He was of the lower end of the dragon lords she dealth with.

She inclined her head slightly. "I come bearing visions borne of blood and fire. After the ritual, I saw Valyria—great and shining—then a darkness fell as if life itself had ceased." She paused, violet eyes searching his face. "But for some reason the vision named your son, I believe it holds some meaning."

The dragonlord’s brow furrowed. "You would have me believe this is prophecy? My son hasn't even fully tamed his dragon."

Syra’s gaze did not waver. "A question I carry with me. I must speak with the boy, whose blood threads through that vision, I need my answers."

The guards moved swiftly to fetch the young dragonlord, the weight of fate settling in the charged silence between them.