The battle at Rook's Rest raged with fire, the clash of dragons echoing through scorched plains. High above, Meleys the Red Queen tore into Sunfyre's golden scales, her talons sinking into his chest as blood rained from the heavens.

Amid the carnage, King Aegon knew the stakes of this battle despite his addled haze. The weight of his legacy pressed down upon him as much as The Conqueror’s armor itself. He had thrown himself into the fray, but now, as Sunfyre screeched in agony, his confidence faltered. The beast's blood fell in scalding streams upon the men below, screams of pain filled the air as flesh seared from bone.

Defeat seemed inevitable. Then, a shadow loomed in the sky—Aemond, his younger brother, approached atop the ancient beast Vhagar, her vast wings blotting out the sun as she glided into the battlefield. Aegon's heart soared in relief. "Thank the gods!" he gasped, turning his tear-streaked face toward Vhagar, respite splitting his face. Vhagar would tip the scales in his favor; Aemond would save him from his reckless ambition.

But something was wrong. Vhagar's gaze wasn't locked on Meleys. A cold chill gripped Aegon's heart as he watched his brother's dragon circle the battlefield like a predator. The two dragons remained locked in a deadly struggle, their screeches deafening as Sunfyre tore at Meleys' horns.

With rising panic, Aegon’s smile fell; his brother's eye remained cold, focused, and filled with something darker than rage. Vhagar's great maw opened slowly as flames began to pool within her throat. Aemond's lips curled into a snarl, his voice a low growl that barely reached Aegon’s ears. "Dracarys."

"No!" Aegon turned desperately to shield himself as Sunfyre thrashed wildly, his wing locked in the jaws of Meleys. This wasn't salvation. It was retribution. His own blood, his brother, intended to end him here on this battlefield. Years of rivalry, of scorn and humiliation, boiled to the surface in that moment. Aemond was not here to save him; he was here to seize vengeance.