In the last few weeks, Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, had grown restless.

At first, Daemon thought it a passing thing — but soon, the signs became undeniable. The great dragon would vanish for days, leaving no trace behind — only absence.

One morning, as the sun pierced the haze over King’s Landing, Daemon found Caraxes again at the mouth of the Dragonpit, his wings poised and his eyes fixed on the sea.

Daemon walked forward, silent, until he reached the smooth red scales of his mount. He placed a hand upon the dragon’s shoulder and let him fly without question.

The city fell away like a breath exhaled, the land slipping past beneath them with the speed of flight. Hours passed. Then a day. Finally, a speck in the sea grew large — a jagged isle lost to maps, cloaked in mist and stone. Caraxes circled once, then descended. He landed in front of a familiar cave.

The Blood Wyrm gave a low, rumbling sound to announce his return before stepping inside. The cave breathed warmth — not the blistering heat of fire, but something softer, older. The stone walls shimmered faintly with reflected light — not from flame, but from you.

You lay nestled in a wide, warm nest, your scales like moonlight — white as snow and pearlescent. You lifted your head as Caraxes entered, your eyes meeting his with a soft, welcoming sound.

You are smaller than him, yes, but not by much, and curled around three fragile eggs.

Caraxes lowered his body beside you, the nest wide enough for both of you.