The days on Dragonstone passed in a slow rhythm, measured by the rising and setting of the smoky sun, the ceaseless crash of waves against the jagged cliffs, and the constant murmur of the volcano's breath beneath the earth. Jake had grown accustomed to the island's harshness and its secrets, learning to move with deliberate caution and patience that his human mind had never known before. Though still no larger than a sturdy hunting dog, his body felt more powerful with each passing day. His muscles rippled beneath the black-and-red scales that gleamed faintly in the soft sunlight, and his tail, once a thin whip, now swayed with a stronger, more confident weight. Wings that had flapped awkwardly now held subtle grace, folding and unfolding with practiced ease even if true flight remained a distant dream. Each movement was slow and purposeful, the kind that bred strength and endurance rather than speed and showmanship. Jake's senses had sharpened in ways he could barely understand. His nostrils drank in every hint carried on the salt-tinged air, from the distant crash of waves breaking on hidden reefs to the faint, smoky scent that drifted down from the volcanic vents. His sharp eyes could spot the smallest movement a shadow flickering between rocks, a glint of scales on a distant ledge, or a seabird circling far overhead.
Each morning began the same way. Jake would crawl from the small cavern he called home, a warm nook carved deep in the cliffs near one of the steaming vents. The heat seeped into the stones beneath him, offering a constant, soothing warmth that reminded him of the fire growing inside. From this vantage point, he could see the endless stretch of grey-green sea meeting a sky heavy with smoke. The island itself was a labyrinth of black rock, twisted crags, and sharp ridges, shaped over millennia by fire and wind. This rugged landscape was both his shelter and his hunting ground, and he had learned its secrets well. He knew where the lizards liked to bask in the sun's weak light and where the seabirds nested in precarious ledges far above. Hunting was a slow, cautious process he could not yet rely on speed or strength but rather patience and cunning. More than once, he had spent hours waiting in shadowed hollows, watching a bird's movements, calculating the moment to strike with claws and jaws. Sometimes his fire sputtered uncertainly as he breathed a small plume of smoke to startle prey or warm himself, but he always kept his flames brief, aware that the larger dragons above would notice even a single flare.
The other dragons were always present in Jake's thoughts, though he had not yet seen one close enough to recognize. Their power lingered like a dark cloud above Dragonstone. He could smell their musk and fire on the wind, hear the faint beating of massive wings at dawn, and sense the subtle tremors they left in the rock when they landed or took flight. Caraxes, with his burning red scales and snake-like neck, was likely the most frequent visitor, and Vermithor, King Jaehaerys's great mount, could be heard in the distance on rare mornings when the air was clear. Above the Dragonpit, the great beasts rested and roared, a reminder of power Jake had yet to claim. For now, he chose to stay low, hiding in the cracks and shadows, blending into the smoke and stone. He had learned from the mountain's whispers that survival depended on patience, on biding time until strength caught up with ambition.
The nights on Dragonstone were starkly different from the days. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the temperature plummeted, and the thick clouds of smoke and ash clung low to the ground. The air grew damp with mist rising from the sea, and the faint glow of molten lava deep within the volcano cast an eerie, shifting light across the rocky landscape. Jake would curl up on the warmest stones near his cave, feeling the heat seep into his belly, a constant reminder of the fire that roared within but refused to burn uncontrolled. These nights were the times when his thoughts wandered, drifting to the memories of his human life a distant echo now, fragile and faint. He could no longer recall his name or the faces of those he had loved, but the passion that had driven him remained: the desire to be strong, to be powerful, to rise beyond the limits of his fragile new body. In these quiet moments, he often thought of the dragons of old—Balerion the Black Dread, the largest ever to soar the skies, and Vhagar, the Queen of All Dragons whose shadow darkened the battlefield. He was but a fledgling compared to them, yet the fire in his chest pulsed with the same ancient bloodline, the same untamed fury.
One afternoon, as the sun hung low behind a veil of smoke that thickened with the day's heat, Jake noticed a sudden stillness settle over the island. The usual chorus of seabirds quieted, and even the restless winds calmed as if holding their breath. The earth beneath him vibrated softly a warning pulse that ran through the stone and into his bones. His nostrils flared as a strange scent drifted on the breeze, sharp and metallic, mixed with the unmistakable tang of dragonfire but different from the volcano's breath. Something was near. Something vast and alive. His eyes scanned the horizon, catching the shadow of a great wing passing over the smoky sky far above the cliffs. It was a presence he recognized from countless dreams—the silhouette of a true dragon, vast and terrible. The creature circled slowly, as if testing the air, then vanished behind the mountain's jagged peaks.
Jake's heart raced, a mix of fear and exhilaration coiling tight in his chest. He retreated deeper into his cave, curling tightly against the warm stone as his fire flickered to life inside him. He breathed small plumes of smoke, watching the spirals curl and vanish into the darkening sky. The mountain seemed to hold its breath with him, the ancient power that hummed beneath the island awakening to his presence. He knew he was still small and weak, far from the great dragons whose shadows ruled the sky. But the ember inside him burned brighter with each passing day, feeding on the silent promise of growth and power.
As the days stretched on, Jake began to understand the subtle language of the mountain and the dragons that soared above it. The shifts in the wind, the vibrations in the stone, the faint patterns of smoke rising from hidden vents they spoke to him in riddles he was only beginning to unravel. The island itself was alive with voices older than the Targaryens, whispers of fire and flight passed down through generations of dragons. Jake could feel the pulse of that ancient song deep in his bones, calling him to rise, to claim his place among the legends. But he was patient. He would not rush into the light before he was ready. For now, he remained a shadow in the smoke a secret born of fire and stone, waiting for the day he would soar beyond the highest peaks and burn brighter than any dragon that had come before.
——
Try different paragraph sizes lol