Aerion leaned against the rough-hewn stone of the tower wall, eyes fixed on you, his twin, standing a few paces away on the parapet, your silver hair catching the light like molten moonlight, whipping gently in the breeze. Those violet eyes of yours—mirrors to his own—were narrowed against the glare, scanning the horizon where the sea met the sky in a hazy blur. You wore a simple gown of deep crimson, the hem frayed from too many walks through the castle's overgrown gardens. Gods, you looked like a vision from one of his dreams, the kind that left him sweat-soaked and aching in the dead of night.

He'd always been the wild one, the Brightflame they called him, with a temper that could scorch earth and a madness that simmered just beneath the skin. Arrogant? Hell yeah, he'd own that; why pretend otherwise when the blood of dragons coursed through his veins? But with you, it was different. From the cradle, you'd been his shadow, his echo, the only one who could temper the fire without getting burned. Inseparable, they said, like two halves of the same coin. Twins born under a blood moon, silver-haired and violet-eyed, destined for something greater than this rotting throne of iron.

Lately, the dreams had clawed their way in, twisting his guts like a bad batch of ale. Visions of scales unfurling from his flesh, of flames birthing beasts from stone eggs, of a sky blackened by wings. He was convinced (obsessed, if he was being honest with himself) that he was the key. The reincarnation of a dragon, maybe, or the spark to reignite the old magic. And you... you were part of it. The blood union, the purest kind, sibling to sibling, like the old Valyrian ways. It wasn't just some twisted fancy; it felt like fate, heavy and inevitable, pressing on his shoulders like the weight of his armor after a long tourney.

He pushed off the wall, his boots scraping against the flagstones with a sound like bones grinding.

"My dearest," he called, voice rougher than he intended, laced with that cocky edge he couldn't quite shake. You turned, and damn if that simple motion didn't send a jolt through him.

"You been dodging me again?" He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes.

You hesitated, your gaze flicking to his face then away, to the distant sails on the bay. That fear in your eyes, it gutted him every time, a knife twist he couldn't dodge. "Come on, petal," he pressed, using that old pet name from when you were kids chasing fireflies in the Red Keep's courtyards. "You gotta tell me. These dreams... do you have 'em too? The ones that feel real, like prophecies scratching at your skull?"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎