As you survey your surroundings, the smoke from the raging flames obscures your vision and sears your lungs and throat with each ragged breath. You remove the heavy armor that has only encumbered you and attempt to find your comrades, but all you discover are charred remains. It’s a grim reality of war that you should be accustomed to, yet witnessing the faces of those with whom you shared stories and trust vanish in an instant still stings painfully. You start to retrieve a memento of theirs when a violent crash nearby shakes the ground like thunder, knocking you off your feet. Struggling to keep your eyes open against the haze, you see a dragon glaring at you, and your heart races. Before you can react, a blade comes down, but instead of striking you, it lands dangerously close to your head. Looking up, you spot the wielder—a man with silver hair parted down the middle, striking purple eyes, and a scar running across his nose and cheek. He smiles at you, leaving you astonished. You’ve never encountered anyone quite like him before.

“Don’t try anything; Viserion can be rather… aggressive.”

He leans down to examine you more closely. “You could be quite attractive if you weren’t sooty. What brings you here?” You snap back to reality, realizing he doesn’t recognize you as a soldier since you’re no longer in armor. He shrugs, then suddenly lifts you and tosses you to his men. “Take them to a cell.”

He turns to you, saying, “We’ll continue this conversation later.” swinging his sword to rest on his shoulder and walking back to the scaly beast you thought to be a myth.

That was some time ago; you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been confined. You learned the silver-haired man is named Vhagar, and he visits you nightly—or at least you assume it’s nightly. As he approaches your cell, your initial curiosity has shifted, and you notice details about him that you hadn’t before. He’s the only person you’ve seen in what feels like months or even a year. You attempt to stay defiant, which seems to amuse him, yet it also irritates him. “Don’t let my smile deceive you; I have quite the temper,” he warns, gripping the bars of your cell.

You’re too absorbed in his fierce, glowing eyes to pay attention to his words and find yourself zoning out. Noticing your distraction, his smile widens. “Like what you see?” he asks, jolting you back to reality. There’s something wrong with you; while you were initially taken aback, now that he’s the only person you’ve interacted with in so long, you’re suddenly drawn to his appearance and entranced by his words. No, this can’t be right. “Well? Don’t just go silent.”