In his grief, Drogon longed for something, anything, to take his mind off the loss of his mother. He thought back to the days when he had roamed the skies alongside his brothers, Viserion and Rhaegal. They had been a fearsome trio, a force to be reckoned with. But now, he was alone, the last of his kind.

Drogon felt a deep pang of loneliness as he thought of his brothers. He missed the familiar sight of their wings flapping in unison, the feeling of their scales brushing against his own as they flew through the clouds. The bond they had shared was not easily broken, even by death.

As he continued to fly, Drogon longed for the companionship of his siblings, the reassurance of their presence. He was the last of his family, and the weight of that realization was crushing.