It won't be long before they start hunting calves and ponies," Daenerys said as she watched the scene unfold before her. The three young dragons swept through the courtyard like a living storm. The wild goats released from the Stormlands barely stood a chance, each one falling swiftly beneath claws, teeth, and dragonfire. Blood and flames marked the beginning of the dragons' reign.
"They will," Gendry replied, gently squeezing Daenerys's hand. "And one day they'll grow large enough for us to ride."
Dragons could consume several times their own weight in food every single day. Whether it was simply their insatiable appetite or the surge of magic flowing through the world that accelerated their growth, no one could say. What was certain was that these dragons were growing at an astonishing pace.
"In the south, they'll feed on cattle, sheep, horses, and pigs," Gendry said thoughtfully. "On the battlefield, they may feast on fallen soldiers. In the North, they'll find mammoths and direwolves. At sea, there are enormous fish and even sea monsters. They'll never lack food."
"We need to raise them properly," he continued. "Dragon training begins while they're young. It's natural for hatchlings to fight among themselves, but they must learn discipline. Like any powerful beast, if left unchecked, they'll burn villages and kill indiscriminately."
Daenerys nodded.
"They're our children."
Born from blood and fire, the dragons were precious to her beyond measure.
Gendry's understanding of dragons often amazed her. At times, she felt he knew more about them than any Targaryen king ever had.
"Balerion," Gendry called.
The black dragon immediately recognized its master's voice. Abandoning the half-eaten sheep, it spread its wings and flew toward him with an excited roar that shook the entire courtyard.
The sound alone was enough to send ordinary beasts into panic. Even the remaining goats locked inside their pens threw themselves against the wooden fences in terror.
Though only the size of a small pony, Balerion was far lighter than one. A dragon's body was built differently from that of ordinary animals.
Landing beside Gendry, Balerion rested one claw on his shoulder and another atop his head while wrapping its tail around his arm like an affectionate cat. Black scales shimmered with crimson highlights, radiating intense heat. The dragon smelled of sulfur, smoke, and burning embers. Its body felt like armor left beneath the scorching summer sun.
The creature was truly born of blood and fire.
Balerion soon noticed the Fire-Wielder ring on Gendry's finger. Drawn to its magical warmth, the dragon circled the ring several times before letting out a pleased rumble.
"That's enough," Gendry laughed, rubbing the dragon's crimson horn. "Go finish your meal."
Moments later, the green dragon Vhagar and the white dragon Viserion descended as well. Both were slightly smaller than Balerion.
After the black dragon left, the pair happily circled around Gendry and Daenerys.
Determining a dragon's gender was nearly impossible. Gendry was convinced Balerion was male, suspected Vhagar might be female, and remained completely uncertain about Viserion. Dragons could not be identified by appearance alone. The only true confirmation came when one eventually laid eggs.
"You need to be more careful," Gendry said, stroking Viserion's head. "Don't trust strangers so easily."
The white dragon gazed back with eyes like pools of molten gold. Among the three, Viserion possessed an almost innocent simplicity.
Each dragon had formed its own bond.
Balerion belonged to Gendry.
Vhagar favored Daenerys.
Viserion loved them both equally.
That was also the problem.
Its will was weaker than the others'. Anyone carrying Valyrian blood could easily earn its affection. Someone like Brown Ben Plumm might someday tempt it away, especially if a Dragonbinder horn ever appeared.
Gendry had already decided how to solve the issue.
He would train Viserion with strict discipline. In battle, the white dragon would avoid direct confrontations, remaining hidden until the perfect moment to ambush the enemy. Survival was more important than reckless bravery.
Fortunately, he possessed advantages others lacked.
The Fire-Wielder artifact, future binding magic, and perhaps even the Dragonbinder horn itself could all become tools to counter anyone who tried to steal his dragons.
"Vhagar, Viserion," Gendry said with a smile. "Go eat."
The white dragon leaped from his arm while Daenerys gently scratched Vhagar beneath the chin.
The three dragons returned eagerly to their feast.
Smoke poured from their nostrils as Balerion tore into roasted mutton with razor-sharp black teeth that sliced through flesh like polished daggers.
Once they finished one sheep, more goats were released into the yard.
None of the terrified animals even attempted to fight back.
The air quickly filled with the smell of burnt wool, sulfur, and roasted meat as dragonfire consumed everything around them.
Daenerys laughed while running among the dragons, watching her children feed.
Soon they would soar together through the skies.
Soon she and Gendry would ride into every great war side by side.
Turning toward Qyburn, Gendry asked, "Has Maester Marwyn arrived yet?"
Dressed in his plain gray robes, Qyburn bowed respectfully.
"He will come, Your Highness. Very few men within the Citadel understand magic as deeply as Marwyn. Unfortunately, those who study such things are treated as outcasts."
"The Citadel hates magic?"
"Yes. They dream of a world without dragons or sorcery. Men like Marwyn and myself are tolerated at best, distrusted at worst. Marwyn often calls the other maesters 'gray sheep.'"
Gendry looked toward the crimson comet hanging across the heavens.
"The dragons have returned. Surely they can't continue pretending nothing has changed."
"They've noticed," Qyburn answered. "But the Citadel is patient. If they're temporarily powerless, they'll simply wait. Those who control the Citadel are scholars devoted entirely to reason. They're stubborn, cautious, and incredibly knowledgeable. They'll remain quiet until they believe the Dragon King has become vulnerable."
He paused before continuing.
"I also suspect the Citadel possesses a hidden library—one filled with forbidden knowledge unavailable to ordinary maesters. Many Targaryen maesters and scholars once researched magic, yet those who pursued such studies were quietly pushed aside and forgotten."
Gendry smiled coldly.
"Then I'll deal with them myself."
Maesters understood medicine.
Which meant they understood poison.
They wrote letters.
Which meant they understood politics.
Many great lords relied on them because they could barely read themselves.
Perhaps only sword and dragonfire could reveal the truth hidden beneath the Citadel's polished image.
Anyone who threatened his dragons would lose their life.
Qyburn continued.
"Regarding Crow's Eye... Euron Greyjoy was exiled two years ago by his brother, King Balon, after seducing Victarion's salt wife. Balon forbade him from returning to the Iron Islands while he still lived."
"No one knows where Euron sails now?"
"Very few. His ship, Silence, appears and disappears like a ghost."
"He leaves no witnesses," Gendry said quietly. "Perhaps he gains favorable winds through blood sacrifice, much like the red priests. He may have traveled as far as Ibben or Asshai."
"I'll continue investigating," Qyburn promised.
"What about Dragonstone?" Gendry asked. "Have we discovered anything about the Stone Dragon?"
Qyburn shook his head.
"No, Your Highness. Dragonstone is covered with dragon statues. Every staircase, chimney, doorway, and wall bears dragon carvings. But stone remains stone."
He hesitated.
"If the legends are true, perhaps a Stone Dragon isn't merely a statue. Perhaps it's a construct awakened through blood sacrifice. Even so, such a creature could never truly rival a living dragon."
Gendry repeated the ancient prophecy softly.
"When the stars bleed and the Long Night comes, Azor Ahai shall be reborn amidst smoke and salt, and awaken dragons from stone."
Another prophecy echoed in his mind.
"The Prince That Was Promised shall be born amidst smoke and salt beneath a bleeding star."
Though slightly different, both legends seemed to describe the same savior.
Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had devoted his life to those prophecies.
A woods witch once foretold that the promised prince would descend from Aerys and Rhaella. Their marriage produced Rhaegar, who first believed himself to be the chosen one before later deciding the prophecy referred to his son, Aegon.
Melisandre had made similar mistakes.
She believed Stannis Baratheon was Azor Ahai reborn.
She was wrong.
If the "land of smoke and salt" referred to a place of death and rebirth, perhaps Jon Snow fit the prophecy far better than Stannis ever could.
Yet Melisandre insisted the future had merely become clouded.
Someone powerful had altered destiny itself.
Qyburn spoke again.
"Nearly every civilization remembers the Long Night. Every culture tells of a hero who ended the darkness. In Asshai, he is Azor Ahai, wielding the flaming sword Lightbringer. In the North, they remember him simply as the Last Hero."
He lowered his voice.
"The Red Priests in Volantis already proclaim that you are Azor Ahai reborn. They say the Storm King rose from smoke and salt to reshape the world. They claim darkness will fall before you, death itself will kneel, and those who sacrifice themselves for your cause shall rise again."
"They've even declared the rulers of Volantis to be servants of the Long Night."
Gendry frowned.
"The Red Temple's support is a double-edged sword. It strengthens my legitimacy, but it can also paint a target on my back."
"Even so," Qyburn replied, "their influence across Essos is enormous. If the Red Temple declares for you, cities like Pentos and Volantis will tremble."
He continued.
"And after the defeat on the Blackwater, the world has become increasingly unstable."
Gendry nodded.
"Whether the red comet truly is Lightbringer or not, we cannot ignore the possibility that Stone Dragons exist."
He looked toward the horizon.
"Keep watching Oldtown, the Iron Islands... and especially the Wall."
If king's blood or other sacrifices could awaken dragons—or something even worse—those places demanded constant vigilance.
Living dragons were not the only supernatural creatures in the world.
There were legends of Stone Dragons.
Ice Dragons.
Sea monsters.
The horrors lurking within the ruins of Valyria.
Compared to those, even direwolves seemed insignificant.
Whenever dragons appeared, others inevitably sought power to oppose them.
If they couldn't steal dragons themselves, they would seek monsters capable of killing them.
Euron Greyjoy and the terrifying sea creature said to follow him remained among Gendry's greatest concerns.
"A black eye," Gendry murmured, "with ten great arms stretching across a sea of blood..."
Qyburn bowed once more.
"As you command, Your Highness. Wherever danger appears, we'll find it before it finds us."
Gendry watched his three dragons circle through the smoky sky.
Everyone wanted a savior.
Everyone wanted a Dragon King.
But there could only be one.
"I don't need a savior," Gendry said calmly.
"I am the savior."
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