Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 598: The House of Aurion

Time passed quickly, and three days slipped by.

The Smoking Sea lay shrouded in mist, with eerie howls echoing from all directions. Drizzling rain turned into a sudden downpour, the cold, piercing raindrops soaking everything in their path.

“Roar!”

A deep, thunderous roar shook the air, reverberating through the dark, charcoal-black wings of the dragon as it stirred the rolling clouds. Rhaegar, drenched to the skin, looked down at the fleet below. Twenty ships sailed ever closer to a cliff hidden within the thick fog.

“A little closer, my friend,” Rhaegar murmured, his eyes locked on the approaching shoreline.

After three days of calm sailing across the vast Smoking Sea, the fleet had finally reached the far side of ancient Valyria. This had to be the place the dragon spirit had guided them to.

“Roar...”

Suddenly, blue fire flashed within the dark clouds, followed by a piercing roar.

“Cannibal, hurry!” Rhaegar shouted, looking up as he caught sight of a vague dragon shadow.

The Cannibal’s green pupils flared with ferocity as it broke through the heavy clouds, roaring in response.

Crackling...

The rain intensified, now accompanied by jagged silver lightning.

“Roar...”

A streak of blue dragonfire shot past, grazing the side of the black dragon. With a loud boom, the Cannibal tilted its head, disoriented. A flash of blue light, like a bat, pierced the clouds and plunged into the murky sea below.

But this only enraged the giant beast.

The Cannibal’s side and neck, drenched in rain and emitting white smoke, showed no damage, but the pain and humiliation were undeniable, fueling the wrath of the wild dragons king.

“Quiet, Cannibal!” Rhaegar called out, his nerves on edge. He hadn’t expected the young dragon to attack.

“Roar!”

The Cannibal shook its head, and without hesitation, its massive body dove in pursuit of the tiny blue dragon.

“Control yourself!” Rhaegar’s face tightened as he pulled hard on the reins.

The Cannibal cast a glance at its rider, but instead of slowing, it accelerated, dark green dragonfire already burning in its throat.

How dare that young dragon strike first? It would have to pay the price—by enduring the wrath of a dragon far greater than itself.

Crackling.

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the dark curtain of rain. The young blue dragon revealed its true form, skimming just above the surface of the sea. Rhaegar fixed his gaze on the creature, a sense of wonder stirring within him.

The young dragon was cloaked in dark blue scales, its wing membranes a silvery white, resembling a storm-tossed seagull. Its body was well-proportioned, its flight smooth and powerful. Dragons came in various shapes and sizes, each reflecting their unique natural talents. Cannibal, Vhagar, and Vermithor were all large and bulky, while Dreamfyre, Silverwing, and Tessarion were more streamlined, making them adept at flying and maneuvering. Sunfyre was an exception—slender, with a long neck, lean body, and extraordinary endurance. Only two other dragons shared such a physique: Meraxes, one of the three dragons that founded the house, and its descendant, Quicksilver. Sadly, both silver-scaled dragons were long dead, leaving the golden Sunfyre as the last of its kind. Of course, Caraxes was also unique, a serpentine dragon unlike any other in the house’s brief history, resembling a Firewyrm with wings.

“Roar!”

The blue and green dragon screamed in terror, speeding across the sea, driven by fear of the Cannibal’s putrid scent. It knew if it didn’t escape, it would surely die.

“Roar!”

The Cannibal dove first, its massive body overshadowing the smaller dragon, its enormous jaws slowly opening.

Boom!

Dark green dragonfire rained down from the sky, falling like ashes and forming a misty halo of fireflies. Each spark sizzled on contact with the rain, turning into white-hot smoke. In an instant, the pungent smoke coalesced into a mushroom cloud, and the remaining dragonfire struck the young dragon with lethal speed.

Roar!

The young dragon screamed in agony as the dragonfire penetrated its scales, igniting a blaze across its body. The Cannibal’s green eyes gleamed with a fierce hunger as its enormous body swayed, preparing to devour its prey.

“Steady, Cannibal!”

Sensing the danger, Rhaegar quickly pulled the reins, trying to adjust the dragon’s course. Without a dragon whip, it was difficult to control the enraged beast.

"Snap out of it!” Rhaegar shouted, his black robe rippling as he shifted into his dragonborn state. Dark scales and horns appeared on his forehead, and black flames flickered around his body.

“Roar!”

The Cannibal was forced to lift its head, flapping its wings as it changed course, releasing the small snack it had nearly claimed.

“Behave!” Rhaegar commanded firmly, steering the dragon towards the cliff by manipulating the reins. By now, the fleet had docked, and the crew was searching for a way to land.

"Roar..."

The young blue dragon, narrowly escaping, disappeared into the night. The Cannibal’s green pupils glowed with resentment as it shook its head violently, emitting a low growl.

“Land!”

Rhaegar ordered, gripping the reins tightly as he wrestled with the dragon. After a fierce struggle, the Cannibal growled irritably, folded its wings, and headed towards the cliff. A wise dragon knows when to bide its time. Sooner or later, it would taste the young dragon.

“Hmph!” Rhaegar snorted, glancing back at the spot where the young dragon had vanished into the distance. There was nowhere else for it to run—it was trapped by the land and the sea. He could always resume the hunt when the storm passed.

Crackling.

Amid the thunder and lightning, the Free Cities were washed by the relentless rain, giving them an eerie, ghostly appearance.

Crackling.

Suddenly, several crooked arrows shot out from the shadows, aiming for Caraxes as it soared through the stormy sky.

"Roar!"

Caraxes glanced down, ready to flap its wings and dodge, but the arrows were easily blown away by the fierce winds—no more of a threat than twigs snapped from a branch.

Daemon’s expression darkened. He drew his blade, Dark Sister, and shouted, “Be on guard! Someone’s in the city!”

"Roar!"

The Cannibal had just landed, but upon hearing the warning, it immediately took off again, diving toward the ruined Free Cities, which lay in shambles beneath a blanket of scorched earth.

Rumble!

The ground trembled slightly as a noise echoed from a nearby corner.

“Dracarys!” Rhaegar’s face turned ashen as he gave the order.

"Roar!"

The Cannibal unleashed a torrent of dragonfire, sweeping across the crumbling city walls and turning the rainy night into a green inferno. In the light of the flames, a tattered flag became visible atop the wall. Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed as he recognized it—a dragon with wings spread wide like those of an eagle, its head tilted as if poised to take flight.

As the dragonfire blazed past, the flag wavered and fell.

Suddenly, several hunched figures emerged from the shadows. They were clad in rags, with silver roots of hair visible beneath their tattered hoods. Their movements were strange, a mix of hunching and stooping.

Rhaegar stared in disbelief, his voice tinged with shock. “The House of Aurion?”

...

Across the Narrow Sea, in Pentos, the night was dark, the sky adorned with scattered stars. Autumn had arrived, bringing with it a chill that permeated the air. The cold night wind blew, causing the bonfires on the sea to flicker unsteadily.

Whoo-hoo-hoo!

A fleet bearing the emblem of a golden balance on its masts was returning. The once-proud flag now hung in tatters, a clear sign of a defeated army.

“Speed up! We’re almost at the harbor!”

A commander with gray, curly hair shouted, his voice trembling with tears of excitement. His eyes reflected a mix of relief and desperation—no one could truly understand the fear that gripped him, knowing the Lord of Light was watching. The ugly brownish-mud dragon had incinerated Braavos’ purple fleet, leaving the Bay of Crabs filled with wailing and burning corpses.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

The commander’s voice cracked as he urged the crew on, his entire body shaking with fear.

Whoosh!

Just then, a gust of cold night wind swept through, extinguishing the torches on the warship. The commander's spirit tensed, and he slowly lifted his head, his movements stiff with dread.

A pair of amber pupils glared coldly from above.

“Roar!”

The cobalt blue dragonfire ignited, dispelling the darkness that loomed overhead. Tessarion’s eyes were icy and merciless, his wings beating powerfully as he hovered in the air.

“Dracarys!”

The boy’s command rang out, piercing the still night.

“Roar!”

Tessarion wasted no time, unleashing a torrent of dragonfire.

“Ahhh!”

The commander was caught in the blast, his head and face engulfed in flames. He screamed in agony, covering his burning head, but within seconds, his body went rigid and he fell silent.

The other sailors stood frozen in place, paralyzed with fear, awaiting their inevitable end as the dragon circled above, ready to bring death.