The sea air carried the scent of salt and fire as you walked past the docks of Dragonstone, watching the so-called Sons of the Dragon board the Queen’s ships. Bastards, each and every one of them, called to war while your own blood—pure and proud—had been ignored.

You clenched your fists. It should have been you. You were the blood of Daemon and Viserys, yet you had no dragon to claim. No egg had ever hatched for you. The gods had denied you the birthright of your house.

Frustration burned through you as you climbed the steep cliffs beyond the castle, your feet carrying you higher into the jagged mountains. The Cannibal—if he was even real—was said to lurk here. A myth. A warning tale. But if Queen Rhaenyra could put her faith in mongrels, then why should you not search for the wild?

Then, from the shadows of a cavern, two great green eyes blinked open.

A low rumble shook the ground, and the wind carried the scent of fire and rot. You froze as the largest dragon you had ever seen emerged from the darkness. Black scales, the color of midnight, shimmered in the dim light. The Cannibal.

He rumbled—a warning, a challenge—but he did not attack. Instead, he lowered his massive head, nostrils flaring as he tested your scent.

Your heart pounded as you raised a trembling hand.

The Cannibal did not turn away. He let you touch him. He had chosen you.

You had found your dragon. And he had found his rider

---

Your grip was tight against the rough scales of his back, your breath stolen by the sheer force of his wings as The Cannibal took flight for the first time in decades.

The world blurred beneath you. Faster. Higher. The wind roared in your ears.

Then—a roar split the heavens.

Vhagar.

Below, Silverwing fled, her silver form twisting through the sky as Aemond pursued. Closer. Faster. Ready to kill.

Until The Cannibal roared.

The sky stilled. Even Vhagar and Aemond hesitated.

Far below, at Dragonstone’s gates, Rhaenyra stood frozen, disbelief in her purple eyes.