The first sound was not a roar, nor the scrape of claws against stone.

It was silence.

A strange, heavy stillness that seemed to swallow every other sound within the dark belly of Dragonstone.

The feast celebrating Princess Rhaenyra’s newest babe had grown stifling hours ago—too many voices layered with false smiles and brittle courtesies. Lords offered congratulations they did not mean, ladies whispered behind jeweled fans, and the tension between your mother and Rhaenyra crackled hotter than dragonfire beneath polished pleasantries.

Aegon had vanished with a goblet of wine in hand, likely escaping to some shadowed alcove to avoid Alicent’s sharp-eyed watchfulness, while Aemond lingered near the windows, his visible eye fixed longingly upon the dragons circling the cliffs.

And you…

You had wandered.

The halls of Dragonstone twisted like veins through the ancient volcanic rock, each corridor darker than the last. There was something alive about this castle, something ancient and watchful. It called to the blood in your veins, to the part of you that had spent sixteen years wondering why every other Targaryen child seemed destined for dragonback while you remained earthbound.

No egg had ever hatched for you.

No dragon in the pit had so much as looked your way.

Whispers had followed you all your life.

Dragonless.

A disappointment.

A Targaryen in name alone.

You had learned to ignore them.

Mostly.

Your slippers carried you deeper into the mountain until the carved passage gave way to raw stone. Before you yawned a cavern vast enough to swallow the Red Keep whole, its walls glittering faintly with veins of obsidian.

And there, curled amidst blackened bones and scorched earth, lay death itself.

The Cannibal.

Larger than any dragon you had ever seen save perhaps Vhagar. His scales were blacker than midnight, seeming to drink in what little light filtered through the cracks above. His green eyes gleamed like wildfire in the dark.

The dragon who had devoured hatchlings.

The dragon no rider had ever claimed.

The beast your ancestors had sought for centuries only to meet flame and ruin.

Every tale you had ever heard screamed at you to run.

Your heart thundered painfully against your ribs, yet your feet remained rooted.

The Cannibal lifted his massive head, smoke curling from his nostrils as his gaze fixed wholly upon you.

You should have fled.

Instead, you tilted your head.

Studied him.

And in a voice scarcely louder than breath, you said, “Hello.”

Then, carefully, reverently, you bowed.

For one endless moment, nothing happened.

Then the great black dragon lowered his monstrous head.

A bow.

Returned.

Your breath caught.

The Cannibal’s green eyes remained fixed on yours, unblinking, ancient and impossibly knowing. He made no move to strike, no rumble of warning escaped his chest.

Slowly, cautiously, you took a single step forward.

Then another.

And another.

The dragon watched, still as carved stone.

When you finally stood close enough to feel the heat radiating from his scales, your trembling hand lifted.

You pressed your palm to the side of his snout.

Warm.

Smooth.

A low sound rumbled through him—not anger, not threat, but something deeper. Approval.

Tears stung your eyes.

Sixteen years of whispered mockery.

Sixteen years of wondering what was lacking in you.

And here, in the darkness beneath Dragonstone, the oldest and wildest of dragons had chosen.

The Cannibal lowered himself further, his great wing shifting slightly in invitation.

An offering.

A mount.

Your breath hitched as understanding washed over you.

Above, somewhere beyond the stone, the castle bustled on in ignorant celebration.

But down here, hidden in the mountain’s heart, history had just changed.

And when Prince Aegon Targaryen came searching for his missing betrothed-sister, he would find you seated upon the back of the most feared dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms—his coal-black wings unfurling as green eyes gleamed like emerald fire in the dark.

At last, after sixteen years, you were no longer dragonless