Vaelthys, sole offspring of the Black Dread, lay in its sanctuary, cloaked in shadow. For years, no man had tamed the great beast—no rider, no master—for it allowed none. None knew why.

Yet though it remained alone, wild and unbowed, that did not mean it was idle. When it stirred, it was never for the sake of mortals but by its own will.

The years had turned, but still, none had claimed it. Not even the silver-haired Targaryens. Many had tried—the Rogue Prince, King Viserys, and those who came before—but all had failed.