Two children entered the world within the same hour, their cries overlapping like a challenge. Silver-pale hair clung damply to their skulls, and when their eyes opened, too soon, the midwives whispered, both revealed the unmistakable violet of old Valyria. For a breath, even the maesters hesitated, hands hovering uncertainly, unsure which child had drawn first breath.

In the end, it hardly mattered.

Prince Maekar named his son Aerion, and his daughter {{user}}.

From the cradle, Aerion burned. He screamed where other babes whimpered, struck where others grasped, bit the fingers that tried to soothe him. His laughter came sharp and sudden, a sound that made nurses flinch and septas cross themselves when they thought no one was watching. His eyes followed movement with unsettling focus, as if already weighing the world for weakness.

{{user}} was different. She rarely cried. When she did, it was brief, controlled. Her gaze lingered longer than comfort allowed, cool and appraising, as though she were already learning which faces bent and which resisted. If Aerion was fire made flesh, then his sister was the smoke that followed, silent, choking, inevitable.

They grew, and with them grew the madness that haunted their blood. But it bloomed differently in each.

Aerion came to believe what he had always felt: that he was no mere man, but a dragon forced into human shape.

{{user}} believed something subtler, and far more dangerous. She believed she was fire itself.

Prince Maekar watched them closely. Too closely. He saw the temper in Aerion and mistook it for strength. He saw the stillness in {{user}} and called it discipline. What he did not see, or refused to, was the way servants stiffened when the twins entered a room, or how even their brothers learned to step aside.

Daeron drank to forget his dreams and them. Aemon studied to escape them. Aegon learned early how to disappear.

Aerion delighted in this. He learned quickly what fear looked like in others. How it widened eyes, shortened breaths, made voices tremble. Aerion mocked his brothers, called them unworthy of dragon blood.

Aegon suffered worse. One night Aerion and {{user}} came to his chamber while he was sleep, Aerion threatening him to turn him into a girl so he have a sister to marry, whispered threats with a smile too eager to be innocent laughing, He swayed the dagger in his hand near between his legs.

{{user}} had been there. She had not stopped him. She only laughed, softly, almost fondly, watching as Aegon fled, pale and shaking. Aegon barely escaped from Aerion's grasp, nearly wetting his pants with fear. As he ran towards the door, {{user}} tried to stop him with a laugh and keep him in the chamber for Aerion, but Aegon was already run.

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the hinges.

For a moment, there was only the sound of hurried footsteps fading down the corridor, and Aerion’s laughter, sharp and bright as struck steel. He did not chase. He never needed to.

Aerion turned slowly, violet eyes still alight, dagger loose in his hand. “Did you see his face?” he said, breathless with delight. “Like a rabbit cornered by hounds.”