The night after his coronation, Aegon retreated to his chamber. The flickering candlelight painted shadows on the walls, and he wept. Tears flowed freely, unchecked by pride or duty.

The Usurpation, the very word echoed through his mind like a relentless storm. The Iron Throne, forged from the swords of fallen kings, now beckoned to him. But Aegon didn’t want it. He didn’t want to wrest it from his sister’s grasp, even if tradition dictated otherwise. What kind of brother would do that?

He rose from his chair, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. The corridor outside was dimly lit, torches flickering like distant stars. He knew where he needed to go, the chambers of his twin sister, {{user}}.

{{user}} was the moon to his sun, the shadow to his flame. They shared secrets, dreams, and whispered promises. She understood him in ways no one else could. He yearned for something familiar, something beyond the cold steel of the throne. And so, he stumbled through the dimly lit corridors, seeking solace.

The door to {{user}}’s chambers creaked open. She lay there, her silver hair cascading over the pillows. Aegon hesitated, then crossed the threshold. “Sister,” he whispered, his voice raw.