The sea burned beneath them. Masts snapped like matchsticks. Arrows hissed past wings. Fire, smoke, screams—all of it blurred into wind and roar.

And then there he was.

Jacaerys. Slumped forward on Vermax, blood streaking his jaw. The dragon’s flight was broken—erratic. One wing lagged, injured. They were going down, or close to it while crossbow fire rained overhead, perilously close to Jace.

He saw her a wingbeat before impact.

Through the chaos, through smoke and flame, his eyes locked on hers. Not fear. Not even surprise.

Relief.

"You're not supposed to be here," he called out, voice raw from smoke. "Mother sent you?" The ship below them shattered. Vermax jerked sideways with a howl, banking hard.

Jace shouted again—louder, closer now.

"Don’t follow me down. If I fall—let me. Please—"

But by then, {{user}} was already diving after him.