THE SKY ABOVE ROOK'S REST
Three dragons rose to meet them.
Not one. Not two. Three.
Meleys—crimson scales gleaming, Rhaenys recovered and vengeful.
Moondancer—young and pale, ridden by a girl barely fifteen.
And Syrax—golden and massive, Rhaenyra herself in the saddle.
Trap. I knew it was a trap.
"They planned this!" I shouted across the wind. "Pull back! Regroup!"
But Aemond was already diving. Vhagar screaming toward Syrax with ancient fury.
Hugh followed, Vermithor roaring challenge at Meleys.
And Aegon—
Sunfyre hung suspended, uncertain, as his rider stared at the enemy formation with wine-dulled shock.
Rhaenys saw the hesitation. Saw the weakest link.
Meleys dove at the golden dragon.
AEGON II
This isn't what the songs described.
Fire everywhere. Dragons screaming. The sky itself burning.
Aegon tried to command Sunfyre, but the words came out wrong—slurred, panicked, meaningless.
Then crimson scales filled his vision.
Meleys.
The Red Queen crashed into Sunfyre with killing force. Claws raked golden scales. Teeth found the joint where wing met body.
Sunfyre shrieked. Twisted. Fell.
Aegon felt the world rotate—sky becoming ground, ground becoming sky.
I'm going to die.
The thought was almost peaceful.
Then impact.
ULF
I saw them fall.
Golden dragon and crimson locked together, spiraling toward the earth like a meteor. Aegon's screams cut through even the battle's roar.
I could save him. Dive. Intercept. Buy him time.
But Aemond was outnumbered. Vhagar fought Syrax and Moondancer simultaneously—the ancient dragon powerful but slow against two nimbler opponents. One mistake and Aemond died.
Hugh struggled against Meleys's assault—Vermithor wounded, bleeding, being driven back.
Save Aegon, lose the battle. Win the battle, lose the king.
Three seconds to decide.
I chose.
"Naejot!" I drove Silverwing toward Aemond's position. "Dracarys!"
Silver fire erupted across Moondancer's flank. The pale dragon shrieked, broke off her attack on Vhagar.
I felt more than saw the impact behind me—Aegon and Sunfyre hitting the ground.
Whatever happens, I can't help him now.
THE MELEE
Seven dragons. Seven riders. One sky.
The battle became chaos.
Silverwing and Moondancer circled each other—the young Black dragon fast but inexperienced. I feinted high, dove low, and Silverwing's jaws closed on Moondancer's tail.
The pale dragon screamed. Twisted free. Fled toward the ground.
One down. Not dead, but out of the fight.
Hugh and Meleys crashed past—bronze and crimson locked in mutual destruction. Rhaenys fought with the precision of sixty years' experience. Hugh fought with rage and desperation.
Neither gave ground.
Aemond and Vhagar pressed Syrax—the largest dragon in the sky against Rhaenyra's mount. Fire streamed between them. Claws raked. Blood fell like rain.
And on the ground below—
Golden scales. Not moving.
I couldn't look. Couldn't afford the distraction.
Sōvēs. Naejot. Fight.
Silverwing banked. Climbed. Dove again.
I kicked—
Rankyaku.
The air blade sliced across Syrax's wing membrane. Not fatal, but enough. The golden dragon faltered, dropped.
Rhaenyra screamed a command. Syrax pulled away, fleeing toward the coast.
Two down. One to go.
RHAENYS
The Queen Who Never Was fought with nothing left to lose.
Meleys bled from a dozen wounds. Rhaenys herself had taken a burn across her shoulder, flesh blackening beneath melted armor.
But she'd brought down the king. Seen Sunfyre crash. Seen Aegon thrown from his saddle.
Worth it. Whatever happens now, worth it.
Vermithor lunged. She dodged—barely. Meleys's damaged wing struggled to maintain altitude.
Then silver appeared above.
The White bastard. The one who'd let her escape at the first battle. The one who'd shown mercy when none was deserved.
Not this time.
"Dracarys!" she screamed.
Meleys's flame erupted upward.
ULF
Fire washed over us.
Silverwing banked hard—not fast enough to avoid completely. Heat seared my left side, leather smoking, skin reddening.
Tekkai.
I hardened what I could. Let the worst of the fire wash past.
When it stopped, Meleys hovered before us. Rhaenys's eyes locked on mine.
"You should have killed me the first time."
"I showed mercy."
"Mercy is weakness." She raised her hand. "Dracarys."
I kicked.
Rankyaku.
The air blade struck Meleys's wounded wing at the joint. Severed membrane. Severed muscle.
The Red Queen screamed.
Began to fall.
THE GROUND
Meleys hit the earth like a comet.
The impact shook the battlefield. Trees exploded. Dirt erupted.
Rhaenys was thrown clear—I saw her body tumble, armor dented, silver hair streaming.
Then Vhagar arrived.
Aemond's dragon landed atop the fallen Meleys with crushing force. Ancient jaws closed around the Red Queen's throat.
One bite. One tear.
Meleys died.
Rhaenys, trapped beneath dragon corpse and dragon killer, didn't rise.
The Queen Who Never Was. The Last Dragon of the Old Generation.
Dead.
AFTERMATH
I found Aegon in a crater of golden scales.
Sunfyre had taken the worst of the impact—wings shattered, body broken. The dragon still breathed, but barely. Each exhale was wet, labored.
Aegon lay beside his mount. Armor crushed. Legs bent wrong. Face burned where dragonfire had caught him.
But alive.
"Help..." His voice was a whisper. "Help me..."
I knelt. Checked his injuries.
Legs shattered. Ribs broken. Burns across forty percent of his body. He'll never walk right again.
But alive.
"You're going to be fine, Your Grace."
A lie. We both knew it was a lie.
"The battle..."
"Won. Rhaenys is dead. Rhaenyra fled. We won."
Something like relief crossed his ruined face.
"Then it... was worth it..."
He passed out.
I stood. Looked at the carnage around us.
Meleys dead. Moondancer fled. Syrax fled. Sunfyre crippled. Vermithor wounded. Vhagar triumphant.
We won. But at what cost?
Hugh landed nearby, laughing despite his injuries. "That's how it's done! That's fucking war!"
Aemond circled overhead, surveying his victory.
And I stood among the corpses, wondering if any of us would survive the next battle.
The Dance of the Dragons continued.
Everyone was losing.
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