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The red priestess's prophecy proved dead accurate when it actually mattered.
Rain started falling in a steady hiss.
The Myrish fleet had barely engaged when thick black clouds rolled overhead and the downpour began.
The sea trader wiped cold droplets from his forehead and burst out laughing. "Haha! There really is a storm!"
A heartbeat later a pirate catapult scored a direct hit and smashed one of his longships to splinters.
"Don't stop! Full speed ahead!" he roared, eyes shining with new hope. He ordered the fleet to push harder, drawing the pirates straight toward Pentos.
---
Daeron sat astride Caraxes on a bluff outside Pentos, watching the chase play out across the bay.
"Prince Daeron, when exactly do we join the fight?" Prince Rhaeton asked from inside his silk-curtained litter, unable to hide his nerves.
He had gone all-in on this alliance. Helping broker the Iron Throne–Myr pact had boosted his standing in Pentos. Pentos had supplied grain for the Grey Gallows battle and taken a share of the loot. Now he was addicted to the winning side.
He trusted the dragons completely. He believed they could crush anything. So when Daeron asked him to help trick Myr into luring the pirates, he had gone along without hesitation.
There was no royal fleet waiting in Pentos Bay. Only the storm Daeron had promised.
Daeron never took his eyes off the sea. "Relax. Let the rain fall a little longer."
"I'm worried the Myrish won't last."
Rhaeton glanced at the darkening sky. The cold rain on his palm seemed to prove the prince wasn't lying. Without the storm, Myr's tiny fleet would be slaughtered in hours. Pentos had no walls worth mentioning. The pirates would sack the city and slit his throat.
In truth, the other Pentoshi magisters were praying even harder for the storm. They wanted the pirates gone and the Narrow Sea quiet again. They also wanted to climb aboard the Iron Throne's ship for protection.
They had no choice.
Daeron saw the fear in the prince's eyes and spoke gently. "Don't worry. House Targaryen stands at the front. We won't let our allies fall."
CRACK!
Lightning split the sky right as he finished, lighting up his flawless side profile.
Rhaeton stared, stunned. For one ridiculous moment he felt completely, stupidly safe.
A dragon was a dragon.
Daeron ignored him. The moment the Myrish ships started getting surrounded he slapped Caraxes's neck and raised his voice. "Fly, Caraxes!"
Caraxes shook his long neck, slammed his crimson wings down, and launched skyward. The backwash of wind and rain slapped mud across the silk litter and straight into Prince Rhaeton's face. The prince yelped and ducked deeper inside.
"Hiss-graa—!"
The red dragon twisted like a serpent and shot out over the bay.
"Dragonriders really are terrifying," Rhaeton whispered, heart hammering.
The slaves and guards carrying the litter stumbled backward, soaked and trembling.
The rain grew heavier, as if the sky itself had cracked open.
The sea trader saw the red streak coming and laughed with pure relief. "The prince is here!"
"Lower the rams! Sink the Myrish dogs!" the pirates roared, closing in from three sides.
The Myrish fleet was moments from being rammed to pieces.
"Hiss-graa!"
A piercing dragon roar split the air. A crimson blur skimmed the wave tops like red lightning.
Caraxes leveled out, racing across the sea, the wind screaming past his scales. In seconds he was on top of the pirate swarm.
"Dragonfire!" Daeron leaned forward, voice sharp.
Caraxes's molten-gold eyes flashed. He opened his jaws, gathered a roaring ball of flame, and unleashed it.
The slaver captain from the Bay of Slaves heard the shriek, saw the red streak, and realized too late what was coming.
"No—no—!"
BOOM!
The red-black flame smashed straight through the galley, splitting the hull. The keel snapped with a sickening crack. The captain on deck was engulfed, vaporized into charred chunks that scattered across the waves.
The rest of the slavers leaped overboard like rats, hoping the sea would save them.
Daeron felt Caraxes surge beneath him. He leaned back as the wind and rain whipped his silver-gold hair.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes gave an ecstatic roar, wings thundering, speed climbing another notch. He climbed sharply, moon-crescent tail brushing the water, red scales glistening with rain.
Daeron wiped water from his face, leaned forward again, and shouted with pure joy. "Go, Caraxes!"
He knew it was the Golden Spur kicking in.
Caraxes became the pirates' nightmare. Flame after flame poured out in an endless stream. He moved so fast the heavy catapults and crossbows couldn't track him. Even the quickest hand crossbows missed.
The dragon's natural fire magic and the spur's speed boost turned him into something unstoppable.
"Hahaha! The prince is here!" the sea trader tore off his fine robe and laughed like a madman.
He wanted to stop and wait for the royal fleet so they could finish the pirates together.
But Daeron dove past and bellowed, "Go! The storm's coming!"
The sea trader snapped back to reality. While the pirates were busy dodging dragonfire, he ordered the Myrish ships to race into Pentos Bay.
The moment they crossed the breakwater he froze.
Where the hell was the royal fleet?
Weren't they supposed to trap the pirates together?
A lookout on the pier waved signal flags: dock immediately.
Daeron had given strict orders. The moment the Myrish ships reached port they had to tie up and drop anchors.
The sea trader's stomach dropped. He'd been played again. He shouted, "Dock! Dock now!"
He wasn't stupid. He understood. There was no fleet. Just one dragon and the storm.
---
BOOM!
The wind howled. The storm had fully formed. Lightning clawed across a black sky like an angry god.
The pirates, already exhausted from dodging Caraxes, finally felt the rain hammer their faces and realized what was happening.
"Turn! Run!" a Lysene pirate captain screamed, grabbing the wheel himself.
Below deck, thirty oarsmen rowed for their lives.
Fear of nature beat greed and hatred. Every pirate ship spun and fled in every direction—toward Pentos, Dragonstone, the Disputed Lands, anywhere.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes kept diving, rain or no rain, burning ship after ship.
The pirates wanted to run?
Daeron didn't let them. He chased them down.
Ten minutes later the storm was a monster. Caraxes's flames weakened in the deluge. The speed boost faded.
Daeron yanked the reins. "Back, Caraxes!"
He had a dragon. He could fly to safety.
The pirates on the open sea had nowhere to hide.
---
Two days and one night the storm raged.
On the third morning the first sunlight broke through.
Daeron stepped out of the prince's palace and found Caraxes curled in the courtyard, covered in mud and leaves.
"Hiss-graa—!"
The red dragon opened molten-gold eyes, shook himself off, and lowered a wing so Daeron could mount.
Daeron stroked the long scarlet neck, fed him a few stored deep-sea fish, and swung up.
Behind him Prince Rhaeton and the sea trader emerged with a crowd of officials, merchants, and nobles.
As Caraxes stood, Daeron rose with him, looking down on them all.
Morning light poured over the courtyard, wrapping rider and dragon in gold.
Rhaeton couldn't meet his eyes. He clutched his sleeves, terrified.
The latest reports had come in: the storm had swept half the Narrow Sea. More than two hundred pirate ships were gone. Only broken planks washed up on distant beaches.
"The prince who predicted the storm used it to destroy his enemies' fleet," Rhaeton whispered.
He remembered the day Daeron had flown dragons straight into Pentos and felt ice crawl down his spine.
Illyrio had tried to scheme against this man's family. The fool had been begging to die.
Daeron scanned the crowd, then looked straight at the sea trader. His voice was warm. "Trystane, I'm sorry I kept you in the dark again. Your courage in this war impressed me. If you still want to talk alliance, send someone to King's Landing. You'll be received with honor."
War wasn't about killing everyone. It was about making more friends and fewer enemies.
The Triarchy had always looked greedy and stupid. But Myr had fought well today. It was time to stop seeing them as pirates and start treating them as real partners.
"I will consider it seriously," Trystane said, offering neither yes nor no—only calm calculation.
Daeron gave Prince Rhaeton a respectful nod, then urged Caraxes skyward. The red dragon climbed into the bright morning, heading west across the Narrow Sea.
He had urgent business in King's Landing.
As it happened, on the night the storm struck, one of the three dragon eggs in his inventory had finally stirred. It couldn't hatch while stored, so he needed to get home—somewhere safe, warm, and perfect for a new dragon to be born.
Rhaeton watched the red speck vanish into the sky and murmured, "When word of this battle spreads, the Dragon Prince's name will echo across the world."
"Terrifying," Trystane agreed, face pale. "I thought they named the red dragon Caraxes after some old legend. I never imagined rider and dragon could wage a war at sea more fearsome than the sea god himself."
They had read the storm, then weaponized it.
In a single stroke Prince Daeron Targaryen had wiped out at least a third of the naval strength on two continents.
Trystane's voice dropped to a whisper. "No wonder House Targaryen was always called the family closest to gods."
After today, no one in their right mind would ever fight the Dragon Prince at sea again.
It would be suicide.