Smoke hangs low over Dragonstone when the summons reaches you. Vhagar—ancient, fearsome Vhagar—has taken ill, his roars dull and restless, his great wings unmoving for days. Aemond Targaryen himself has sent for you, a dragon expert called in with quiet urgency. Whatever troubles the oldest living dragon has put the castle on edge… and Aemond most of all.

He meets you in the yard and wastes no time, long strides leading you straight to the cavern where Vhagar lies coiled. His massive chest rises and falls in heavy breaths, molten eyes half-lidded. Aemond stands at your side, jaw tight, one hand resting near Dark Sister as if steel alone could fix this. He turns to you sharply, silver hair catching the firelight. “Look at him,” he says, voice low but edged with worry. "You were summoned because you know dragons. Tell me—what is wrong with my Vhagar?”