A fireball flew at high speed.
Silver Wing, failing to locate its target, suddenly sensed a powerful gust behind and swiftly turned to counter.
Boom!
The dragon's tail swayed effortlessly, and with agile movements, its massive body soared upward, dodging the fireball by twisting sideways.
"Roaaar!"
The vertical pupils of Silver Wing locked onto a gray shadow lurking in ambush. Fury ignited in its heart, and it chased relentlessly.
How dare a barely matured wild dragon challenge the might of a great dragon?
Even that wretched mud dragon wouldn't dare provoke it.
Whoosh!
Silver Wing accelerated rapidly, streaking across the sky like an emerald arc, charging forward while spewing orange-yellow dragon flames.
The gray shadow, shocked and terrified, never expected such a vast power gap between them.
Its wings flapped desperately as it tried to escape into the clouds.
However, Silver Wing knew Dragon Mountain far better than its foe. The dragon flames boiled away the endless mist, preventing any chance of hiding again.
"Roaaar?"
Exposed in the open air, the gray shadow braced itself, fighting back its fear, and spat out a fireball.
Fwoosh—
The fireball shattered into sparks the moment it touched the orange flames.
Silver Wing's eyes gleamed with ferocity. Its jaws opened wide as it dove downward, aiming to snap the wild dragon's neck in one decisive bite.
The gray shadow twisted desperately to escape, but it was too late.
It watched helplessly as the massive green dragon came hurtling down, its rancid dragon saliva pungent in the air.
In that split second, a single thought flickered through its panicked mind:
I don't want to die — I must fight back.
The resolve hardened.
The gray shadow abandoned its attempt to flee and let out an ear-piercing screech before hurling a blazing fireball three meters in diameter.
Roaaar—
At that critical moment, a deafening thunderous roar rumbled from the depths of a cavern.
An eerie green flame surged forth like a tidal wave.
The gray shadow instinctively lowered its head and tucked in its neck, narrowly dodging the strange flame that streaked over it.
The green inferno struck the charging Silver Wing head-on.
Boom!
Caught off guard, Silver Wing failed to evade and crashed directly into the eerie flames, which knocked it backward with immense force.
Stunned, the gray shadow turned to glance at the cavern.
A silver-haired figure astride a massive dragon calmly surveyed the sky.
"Glutton, take flight."
The gray shadow's pupils gleamed with astonishment as it quickly darted to the edge of the cavern, avoiding the lingering flames around Silver Wing.
Rhaegar raised the dragon whip and smiled faintly. "Gray Shadow, getting bold now, huh?"
Gray Shadow took it as praise, acting gleeful like a foolish deer.
Rhaegar's smile grew brighter before he lashed the whip across Glutton's back with a crisp snap.
"Don't block the entrance."
"Rooaar!"
Glutton shook its head in protest, its green vertical pupils filled with reluctance, though it remained wary of the whip.
Gray Shadow paused, noticing Rhaegar's peculiar appearance.
Silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, his pale complexion marred by traces of black flames at the corners of his eyes, exuding an unexplainable sense of kinship.
Rhaegar casually swept back his hair, revealing scales and horns on his forehead.
That twisted posture and sinister smirk formed an eerie yet regal appearance.
Before Gray Shadow could get a closer look, Glutton stepped out of the cavern.
The massive dragon leaped into the sky and flapped its wings.
Silver Wing quickly flew far away, avoiding further confrontation.
Glutton didn't pursue but instead circled back and forth above the cavern.
Standing high above, Rhaegar snapped the whip midair with a sharp crack, his voice commanding and irrefutable. "Move out!"
Roaar!
A low, listless growl echoed from the cavern.
The walls trembled as sharp fragments of rock tumbled down, scattering with a soft rustling sound.
A fierce bronze dragon head with a jagged crown emerged, its vertical pupils filled with a mix of defiance and frustration as it stared at the dragon rider above.
Snap!
Without hesitation, Rhaegar lashed the whip through the air again and sternly ordered, "Follow orders, Womisor!"
The sound of the whip cutting through the air made Womisor bare its fangs in frustration, but it grudgingly stepped out of the cavern.
Whoosh—
Powerful gusts swept through the air as the bronze behemoth ascended into the sky, searching for its mate.
Rhaegar maintained a cold expression, though the corners of his lips curled slightly.
The combination of the binding spell and dragon whip proved highly effective.
A few lashes had quelled the fiery tempers of two battling adult dragons, forcing them into a reluctant truce.
Especially Womisor—
This dragon, known as the "Bronze Fury," was infamous for rampaging uncontrollably when enraged.
Yet under Rhaegar's physical "persuasion," the Bronze Fury had transformed into a Bronze Calm.
Though external aid was involved, Rhaegar had succeeded in subduing its volatile nature.
"Roaaar!"
Glutton glared disdainfully at the pair of dragons and roared provocatively, asserting its dominance.
If not for its rider's restraint, Dragonstone Isle would have room for only one dragon.
Snap!
The dragon whip cracked across Glutton's dark scales with a sharp, echoing snap.
Glutton roared in pain, its vertical pupils filled with reluctance.
Rhaegar's expression hardened. "You've been hunting dragons on Dragonstone Isle again!"
Had he not arrived in time, the young dragon would've been doomed.
Glutton growled angrily, turning to glare at its rider, as if to protest:
That was a wild dragon, not a native of Dragonstone Isle!
Snap!
The whip struck once more. Rhaegar's tone was resolute. "It belongs to Dragonstone Isle—it's not a wild dragon!"
Any dragon that flew to Dragonstone Isle was a Targaryen dragon.
That was an unchanging truth.
Glutton's rage boiled over as it was repeatedly struck, filling its mind with fury.
It roared and cursed angrily:
You promised not to hit me! Liar!
After more than a decade of companionship, this was the first time Rhaegar and Glutton faced a crisis in their bond.
"You just need a good beating!"
The black flames in Rhaegar's eyes flared wildly as he relentlessly lashed the whip.
"Roaaar!"
Glutton, consumed by rage, carried its rider as it soared into the sky, plunging wildly through the clouds in a chaotic frenzy.
Vormithor and Silverwing: …
The mate dragon hid behind Dragonmount, watching as the dragon-eater thrashed about in a frenzy.
"Glutton, are you going through a rebellious phase?"
Rhaegar didn't fasten the chains. He held onto the hilt for stability but still found time to crack the dragon whip.
Man and dragon were of one mind, each understanding the other's intentions.
Whenever Glutton felt the urge to hunt young dragons, Rhaegar knew exactly what it was planning.
Dragons possessed intelligence no less than that of humans; they were far from being simple livestock.
Every dragon had its own unique nature.
Shadow's nature was timid and shy.
Vormithor's nature was irritable and uncontrollable.
And for Glutton, cannibalism was its true instinct.
When he was young, Viserys once spoke separately with Rhaenyra and the Rhaegar siblings.
"The idea that Targaryens can control dragons is nothing but an illusion."
"Dragons are creatures of chaos and disorder."
"Use dragons wisely, but never rely on them."
Rhaegar took those words to heart. And today, he finally understood the true nature of dragons.
The bond between the Targaryens and their dragons allowed them to ride them, but dragons were still driven by instinct. Under certain conditions, they would defy their rider's commands.
For instance, there was the unique relationship between the Sheepstealer and Aemond.
Aemond would order it to fly east, but the Sheepstealer would insist on going west.
Perhaps there were sheep to the west, or maybe it just wanted to tease its rider.
"Hiss—Graaah!"
Glutton paid no heed, weaving through the clouds, defying its rider.
Its instinct to devour dragons was innate and unchangeable.
Rhaegar wasn't angry. Instead, he laughed. "Alright, my friend, let's have a contest."
It felt like stepping back in time—eleven years ago—when man and dragon first met.
Glutton soared with all its might, and Rhaegar held on with an unyielding grip.
The struggle began.
Rhaegar's goal was clear—to temper Glutton's wild nature.
Its hunger for dragon flesh was a primal instinct, but it had to learn restraint.
Armed with his dragon whip and knowledge of binding spells, Rhaegar was confident he could accomplish this.
Crack!
The long whip lashed through the air, striking against blackened scales.
With every strike, Glutton let out a furious roar, resisting more and more violently.
But Rhaegar refused to let go, enduring this battle of wills between man and dragon with patience.
He never saw himself as Glutton's master.
Glutton was his companion, just like the harmonious bonds recorded in the histories of House Targaryen.
However!
Though there was no master-servant relationship, there had to be a hierarchy.
As the rider, Rhaegar had to take the dominant role in this partnership.
Glutton had to obey his commands.
Breaking their agreement—hunting young dragons on its own—was crossing the line.
Rhaegar would punish it accordingly and break this bad habit.
Before long, fifteen minutes had passed.
"Hiss—Graah…"
Glutton panted heavily, its flight slowing, its movements growing steadier.
It still couldn't shake its rider off.
Just like eleven years ago, when Rhaegar clung to it like an unshakable shadow.
Rhaegar's smile faded. He lightly tapped Glutton's back with the dragon whip, catching his breath. "You can't get rid of me, my friend."
From the moment he first mounted this dragon, Glutton was bound to be ridden for life.
"Roar…"
With a low growl, Glutton descended onto Dragonmount.
"Hiss?"
From a cave halfway up the mountain, a black-and-red young dragon cautiously peeked out, observing the situation.
Silent as a shadow, Grey Ghost glided in and perched atop the cave, watching the young dragon from above.
When it came to stealth, no dragon could match it.
Survival demanded it!
Atop Dragonmount—
Glutton lay on the ground, panting heavily, its scorching breath beating against the darkened rock.
Rhaegar shed his dragon-riding form, smoothing his tousled hair as he silently watched Vormithor and Silverwing circling overhead.
That bonded pair had long resided on Dragonstone, their combined strength formidable.
For many reasons—
Glutton had a hostile relationship with the elderly couple, and in recent years, clashes between them had become frequent.
It couldn't be helped—Dragonstone was only so big.
One Dragonmount wasn't enough to house three fully grown dragons.
Even Vhagar, the oldest of them all, had migrated away from Dragonstone, now dwelling near Tarth and the Gullet.
"If the Dragon Horn exists, could it command all dragons?"
Rhaegar mused over the thought, gripping his dragon whip as he silently pondered.
Dragon-riding tools were useful—anyone with real experience knew that.
"Looking back, the Dragonlords of ancient Valyria were once just a group of shepherds on a peninsula."
Rhaegar glanced at the long whip in his hand, a plan forming in his mind.
Crack!
The whip snapped sharply. Rhaegar beamed with a smile. "Glutton, take flight!"
Screech!
Though unsure of the situation, Glutton still obeyed the command. Stretching its wings, the dragon leaped from the mountain peak.
Under Rhaegar's guidance, man and dragon soared toward the quarreling "old couple" hovering midair.
Snap! Crack!
The whip lashed out repeatedly—some strikes landing on the dragons, others slicing through empty air.
Rhaegar's expression shifted. Now, he looked like a shepherd tending his flock as he hollered, "Move it!"
Roar!
Screech...
Wormysore let out a dissatisfied growl, while Silverwing was struck by the whip.
Irritated by both the whip and the intimidating presence of Glutton, the two great dragons reluctantly spread their wings and soared higher.
Glutton led the way, with the two other dragons trailing slightly behind, entangled in their squabble yet following obediently.
Rhaegar was delighted, reveling in his task. He guided the dragons down the mountainside, cracking the whip near a cave entrance as he commanded, "Fly together!"
Screech!
A gray shadow flinched in surprise.
Moments ago, it had watched as three mighty dragons were whipped into submission. Their obedient behavior made it clear—they wanted to avoid another lashing.
"Skree?"
A young black-and-red dragon tilted its head hesitantly, unsure of what to do.
Rhaegar shot it a glance and snapped the whip through the air with a loud crack, issuing a stern warning: "Follow orders!"
Startled, the little dragon shivered and quickly leapt from the cave, flapping its blood-red wings to catch up.
Finally, Rhaegar had a chance to properly observe the wild hatchling. Startled, he exclaimed, "Balerion?"
The black scales combined with red wing membranes made it look like a replica of Balerion.
"Hmm, you'll be a Targaryen dragon from now on," Rhaegar declared with gleaming eyes, pointing the whip at the hatchling. "Since you were almost eaten by Silverwing and have these crimson wings, I'll name you Iragax."
He grinned. "Nickname: Bloodwing."
Iragax tilted its head and obediently followed behind the gray shadow, utterly clueless.
It didn't understand a word of what had just been said—it was merely a hatchling that had recently hatched from its egg.
Its size might be impressive, but that was just due to rapid growth.
Satisfied, Rhaegar urged the flock of dragons and the hatchling to soar through the skies.
Balerion was unique—one Balerion was enough for House Targaryen.
Iragax, however, was named after an ancient Valyrian deity, one associated with death and the gatekeeper of the underworld.
A subordinate deity, part of the same pantheon as Balerion, the god of death.
The name suited this black-and-red hatchling perfectly.
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