RHAENYS
They thought she didn't notice the trap.
Fools.
Rhaenys had flown dragons for sixty years. She knew when she was being herded. The Green ground forces—too thin on the western approach, too thick on the east. Obvious feint. They wanted her to attack the exposed flank, commit Meleys to a dive, and spring whatever ambush they'd prepared.
Let them try.
She urged Meleys lower. The Red Queen obeyed—ancient and powerful, crimson scales drinking the afternoon light.
Below, soldiers scattered. Tents ignited. Supply wagons exploded.
For Lucerys. For Rhaenyra. For the throne they stole.
A horn sounded. The Greens were organizing. Falling back toward the keep.
Not fast enough.
Meleys unleashed another gout of flame. Twenty men vanished in the inferno. Their screams lasted two seconds.
Then—golden light in the corner of her eye.
Sunfyre descended from cloud cover. Aegon on its back, armored in green and gold, crown somehow secured to his helm.
The boy-king himself. Brave or stupid.
Meleys turned to meet the charge.
AEGON
Fire.
That was all Aegon understood—fire above, fire below, fire everywhere.
Sunfyre and Meleys collided midair. Jaws snapped. Claws raked. The impact nearly threw him from his saddle.
Hold on. Just hold on.
He hauled on the reins, trying to direct Sunfyre, but the dragons were beyond guidance now. Primal instinct drove them—kill or be killed.
Meleys was older. Stronger. Her teeth found Sunfyre's neck, bit deep.
Sunfyre screamed.
Aegon screamed with him.
Going to die. I'm going to die up here and Aemond will get everything—
Then—impossible—the pressure released.
Meleys jerked sideways. Something had struck her.
ULF
The Rankyaku connected perfectly.
A compressed air blade, thirty meters long, cutting across Meleys's tail membrane. The tissue split. Blood sprayed.
First hit. Keep moving.
I wheeled Silverwing hard right. Meleys was turning, searching for whoever had hurt her.
Her eyes found me.
Oh shit.
The Red Queen's fury transcended reason. She abandoned Sunfyre, abandoned the battle plan, and dove at Silverwing with murder in her ancient heart.
"Climb!"
Silverwing obeyed. Wings beating furiously, we spiraled upward.
Meleys followed. Faster. Stronger.
She's going to catch us.
Fire bloomed behind us—I felt the heat on my back. Silverwing banked, barely avoiding the flames.
Think. Think. What can you do that she can't?
The answer came instantly.
I dropped my weight to 1kg and leaped off Silverwing's back.
For three seconds, I was airborne. Freefalling. The world spinning around me.
Silverwing barrel-rolled away. Meleys's flame shot through empty space where we'd been.
Geppo. I kicked against air itself. Changed trajectory.
Another Geppo kick. Rising now, not falling.
Silverwing circled back. I landed on her spine, increased weight to anchor myself.
Below, Rhaenys stared up at us.
Her face: shock. Confusion. A question forming on her lips.
That's right. I'm not normal.
AEMOND
Vhagar emerged from the clouds like judgment itself.
Aemond had waited for this moment. Patient. Calculating. Let Aegon play bait. Let the bastard harass. The killing blow belonged to Vhagar.
"Dracarys."
Blue-white flame erupted.
Meleys saw death coming. Tried to dodge.
Too slow.
Vhagar's fire caught her left wing. Scales blackened. Membrane burned.
Meleys screamed—a sound that echoed across the battlefield.
Rhaenys hauled on her reins, trying to retreat. But her dragon was wounded now. Slow.
Vhagar pursued.
Aemond smiled.
Grandmother. You should have stayed on Dragonstone.
ULF
The battle devolved into chaos.
Three dragons circling one. Fire everywhere. Soldiers below dying by the dozens as stray flames found them.
Meleys fought like a cornered beast. Her injuries slowed her, but desperation made her dangerous.
I circled on Silverwing, launching Rankyaku whenever I had clean angles. Most missed. A few connected—cuts to wing membranes, slices across scales.
Death by a thousand paper cuts.
She can't last. She knows it. She's just buying time.
But for what?
Then I understood.
Meleys wasn't trying to escape. She was trying to take someone with her.
Her target: Sunfyre. Aegon.
The golden dragon flew unsteadily—neck wound bleeding, one wing clearly damaged. Aegon clung to his saddle, barely controlling the descent.
Meleys dove.
No.
I pushed Silverwing forward, but we were too far. Too slow.
Vhagar tried to intercept—too massive to maneuver quickly.
Meleys's jaws closed on Sunfyre's wing.
Bone cracked. Sunfyre shrieked.
They spiraled downward together. Locked in death's embrace.
The ground rushed up.
Impact.
Dust and debris exploded outward.
ULF
I landed Silverwing a hundred meters from the crash site.
Soldiers were already running toward the wreckage. Screaming. Shouting orders.
Sunfyre lay in a broken heap, golden scales dimmed with blood and dirt. Still breathing—barely. Wings shattered beyond repair.
Beside him: Aegon.
The king had been thrown clear on impact. He sprawled face-down in the mud, armor crushed against his chest, legs bent at wrong angles.
Alive. Barely.
And above—Meleys circled. Wounded. Bleeding. But still airborne.
She was coming back to finish the job.
Not happening.
I assessed the distances. Calculated the angles.
Two hundred meters up. Meleys diving at seventy degrees. Aegon can't move. Soldiers too slow.
One chance.
I launched.
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