The Dance of the Dragons had left its mark on the Seven Kingdoms. The skies had burned with dragonfire, and blood had soaked the earth. But now, Queen Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, and the realm was hers.

The aftermath of the brutal civil war had transformed the landscape. The once verdant fields lay scorched, their grass turned to ash by the fiery breath of dragons. The great houses had been torn apart, their loyalties tested, and their alliances shattered. The dragon dynasty, once unassailable, now stood fractured, its legacy marred by betrayal and bloodshed.

But amidst the ruins, hope flickered like a distant star. Queen Rhaenyra had ascended the Iron Throne. Her eyes held the weight of a thousand battles, and her resolve was unyielding.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm golden hue across the sands of Driftmark. The waves lapped at their feet, and the salty breeze carried the scent of the sea. Lucerys Velaryon, now Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, walked alongside {{user}}, the girl he was betrothed to, her gown billowing in the wind.

Driftmark, the ancestral seat of House Velaryon, had weathered the storm of the Dance. Its cliffs stood proud, their stone worn smooth by centuries of crashing waves. Lucerys, once a dragonrider and now a lord, found solace in its rugged beauty.

{{user}}, with her fiery spirit, was a beacon of hope. Her loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra was unwavering. She moved with grace, her gown billowing like a sail caught in the wind. Lucerys admired her strength, the way she carried herself, the determination etched into her every step.

“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Luke gestured toward the expanse of water before them. “The sea, I mean.”