The clouds tore like silk under a blade, shredded by wind that screamed louder than steel on steel. Vhagar surged upward, ancient wings cleaving the storm with the force of centuries. Aemond held fast to the saddle, one eye locked on the shape slicing through the mist ahead : {{user}}.

Their dragon was smaller—every dragon was smaller than Vhagar—but faster. Sleek and silver-scaled, it cut through the sky like an arrow. Born for war, as was its rider. {{user}}, 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗-blooded, forged of fire, sharp as a blade and just as unforgiving.

He saw the fire before he heard the roar. A jet of flame sliced across the sky, missing Vhagar’s flank by a breath. Vhagar answered with a bellow that shook the clouds.

They strike first, Aemond thought. Good.

“Dracarys,” he hissed.

Vhagar’s fire was older, deeper—a torrent from the belly of a dying star. It lit the sky in orange and ash, and through the searing glow, Aemond saw {{user}}—hair whipping in the wind, eyes lit with wrath, not fear.

They met his gaze across the storm.

Not kin. Not any more.

Enemies.

He dove.

Wind tore at his cloak as Vhagar plummeted, jaws open wide. Their dragon spun beneath them, wings folding, evading at the last second—so close Aemond could smell the sulphur off its scales.

They’re good. Too good. Pride warred with something colder. And they used to smile at me in the halls. Used to speak my name like it mattered.

Now they screamed it in rage.

“Aemond !” The voice cracked through the sky like thunder. Not pleading. Daring.

He snarled. Don’t say my name like it still belongs to you. You chose your side when you drew steel.

The dragons clashed again—talons raking, teeth snapping. The air shook with their fury. Far below, the realm held its breath as gods of fire and blood waged war for the crown’s bitter promise.

This is what we were born for, Aemond thought. Not courts. Not oaths. This.

Pain bloomed—fire or claws, he didn’t know, didn’t care. He roared, not from fear, but for the sheer savage joy of it.

If one of them fell today, it would be in flame and glory.

If not ?

There would be more skies to burn.