Dany stood in the throne room of Dragonstone, her gaze drifting toward the sky as her four dragons soared above the island—Drogon, Viserion, Rhaegal, and {{user}}. Their dark silhouettes cut through the clouds, wings beating in powerful, rhythmic strokes. She could hear their distant roars carried by the wind, a constant reminder of the strength she commanded.

Yet, despite that power, worry coiled deep in her chest. Claiming the Iron Throne was no easy feat, and the looming threat of the Night King made the path ahead even more uncertain. The North needed her help, but how could she balance her war for Westeros with the war against the dead?

Her troubled thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, piercing screech. Looking down toward the cliffs, she watched as {{user}} descended gracefully onto a grassy field, talons clutching a freshly caught small wale. The dragon’s wings flared slightly before folding neatly against its body, and a low, satisfied rumble escaped it as it began to feast.

A small smile touched Dany's lips.

No matter how uncertain the future seemed, she was not alone. She had them—her children. And with them by her side, she would face whatever lay ahead.