The wind whips around you, carrying the scent of salt and storm as you watch the sky above Driftmark. The sun is beginning to set, casting the sea in hues of gold and crimson, but your eyes are not on the horizon. They are on the figure soaring high above it, the wings of his dragon cutting through the air like a blade through water.

Addam of Hull. The boy they doubted. The boy they sneered at. The boy you had always believed in.

You stand at the cliffs, hands clasped behind your back, heart pounding as Seasmoke circles overhead. The beast moves with effortless grace, as if the skies were made for him. As if Addam himself was meant for this.

And he was.

You had known it long before he did. Long before Corlys Velaryon legitimized him. Long before the world saw what you had always seen.

A sharp cry rings through the air as Seasmoke dives, his silver-grey scales flashing against the dying light. You do not flinch as the dragon descends, nor when Addam pulls him into a steady glide, bringing him close enough that you can see the windswept grin on his face.

Moments later, his boots hit the ground. He moves toward you, running a gloved hand through windswept curls, still laughing from the thrill of flight. “Did you see that?” he breathes, his exhilaration unmistakable.

“I did.” Your lips curve into a small smile. “It seems you have taken well to the skies.”

Addam shakes his head, still catching his breath. “You always said I was meant for more,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, thoughtful. His eyes drift back to the sky, to the endless expanse of it. Then he turns back to you, his grin returning. “Tell me, did you know I’d fly this high?”

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, you see the boy you once knew—the one who was uncertain, who doubted himself even when you never did. But now, before you stands a man who has conquered the skies.