Far to the east, low on the horizon, a red comet blazed across the sky — blood-red, fire-red, trailing a dragon's tail. The massive star left a long, glowing streak behind it.
Everyone saw it. Every single soul on the battlefield — Andals, Dothraki, Tyroshi, even the Dornish — tilted their heads and stared at the comet carving a bloody wound across the heavens.
The septons who had been praying over the dead soldiers froze. The old septas mourning the fallen Andals stopped mid-prayer. Everyone just… looked.
A red comet. A sword weeping blood. A burning sword. An ancient omen.
Red was House Targaryen's color — black and red.
"That's King Viserys's star," High Septon Uther shouted, voice cracking with joy. "It marks His Grace's great victory! The gods themselves have raised their banner in his honor!"
"The gods' banner! The gods' praise!" the other priests cried out, blowing their horns until the sound rolled across the plains like thunder.
It was the star of victory. It promised that Viserys would crush every enemy.
The moment the comet appeared, the massive victory and that impossible sky-sign wrapped Viserys in a halo of divinity.
The pyre was stacked high with kindling, dry grass, and bodies. Fragrant oils had been poured over the corpses to make them burn hotter.
Flames started small and quick — little fire-mice skittering across the oil, leaping from bark to branch to leaves. Then they grew into twisting fire-serpents, hissing and roaring, heat so fierce it drove people back.
The flames spiraled, danced, chased one another, climbing higher and higher until the whole stack was a roaring tower.
The air itself seemed to melt in the heat, shimmering like liquid in the night.
Viserys listened to the wood crack and pop. He watched the fire swallow the dead and the living.
The flames closed over the last living man — black-hearted Myles Toyne. His voice turned into a trembling wail, high and thin and full of agony, until it finally died.
"Harry," Viserys said quietly.
"I'm here, Your Grace." Harry Strickland stood ramrod straight — probably the most soldierly he'd ever looked in his life.
The homeless exile didn't look like much of a warrior. Fat, round head, pale gray eyes, thinning hair combed over a bald spot. He'd only gotten the job through seniority. The lion was supposed to have taken command. Harry was basically just a glorified accountant.
Every Golden Company officer's life hung by a thread right now.
"Myles disappointed me," Viserys said. "Don't make the same mistake."
"I understand." Harry saw the dragonfire in the king's violet eyes. In that moment he understood true dragon-rage.
Sweat beaded on Harry's face. Death was so close he could taste it.
No time to mourn Myles. Myles had died for his own obsession. Right now they had to worry about staying alive.
The khals and Tyroshi could die. Even the entire Golden Company couldn't stand against dragonfire.
"Keep your men in line," Viserys told him. "I'll decide what to do with them later."
The Golden Company was too big to keep together anymore. They'd have to be broken up, reassigned, scattered. But that wasn't the urgent problem tonight.
Viserys felt the magic in the air surge — a tidal wave of raw power rolling across the world, ready to shatter every chain that had held it back.
This was the moment. The turning point they'd all been waiting for.
"What a beautiful trap," the Red Viper murmured, staring at the burning body of black-hearted Myles. "Dying for it… well, he got what he wanted."
Blackheart Myles, fat Illyrio, Varys — layer one.
Then they'd fooled the Griffin into spinning in circles, even convinced the boy he really was a dragon.
With the Griffin as protector, the boy's claim had looked legitimate. And everyone knew Jon Connington's talent and loyalty.
Oberyn had thought Doran was the king of patience and endurance. Turns out Varys, Illyrio, and Myles had been playing an even bigger game.
Viserys watched the fire-serpents twist and said calmly, "I let him go. He was already dead inside."
The plan to restore the Iron Throne had split into two camps. William Darry and the Dornish had backed Viserys and his siblings.
Myles Toyne, Magister Illyrio, and Varys had backed their own scheme — the boy they called Young Griff.
The Dornish had never even heard of the boy. They'd always stayed focused on Viserys and Daenerys.
Later, in the cold winds of winter, the Griffin would write to Doran begging for help.
Prince Doran would reply with deep suspicion: "If my sister's children still live, we would weep with joy… but what proof do we have this is truly Aegon?"
"I used to think Varys was nothing but a scheming little shit," the Red Viper said thoughtfully. "Now I see he wanted the royal family tearing itself apart."
Back then, the rift between Aerys and Rhaegar had been public. Rhaegar moving his wife and children to Dragonstone alone had caused an uproar.
Aerys's madness had gotten worse after Varys arrived.
"He's Brightflame and Blackfyre blood," Viserys said, eyes on the flames. "He hated us with everything he had."
The fire climbed higher, swallowing the dead — the khals, the pregnant woman, the witch, the Griffin, the boy. Soon the flames wrapped around all of them.
Their clothes caught fire. For one brief second they looked like they were wearing flowing orange silk, gray smoke curling off them.
"Your Grace… how did you know?" the Red Viper asked carefully.
"I dreamed it," Viserys answered honestly. "I saw the battlefield, the Griffin and the Black Dragon planning to stab the Red Dragon in the back."
Oberyn nodded. Another Dragon Dreamer.
Dragon dreams weren't exactly secret among the highborn — especially not to a man as well-read as the Red Viper.
But Viserys's dreams seemed far more reliable than Rhaegar's. Rhaegar's dreams had destroyed him.
"He wasn't a true dragon," Viserys said, watching the boy's body burn. "True dragons don't burn."
"He was the last Black Dragon," Oberyn sighed.
Viserys kept his eyes on the dragon eggs he had placed at the very top of the pyre, right beside the dragon's nest. He never looked away.
The flames kept rising. The red comet burned overhead. The eggs stayed dark.
Fire melted flesh down to bone. The eggs glowed faintly inside the inferno… but they didn't hatch.
A king, an unborn child, a sorceress.
Drogo and Jhaqo had both been khals — kings in their own right. Young Griff had a drop of royal blood. Jhaqo's slain pregnant wife and the witch who'd died for a false prophecy. The Griffin and the boy. Myles — still half-alive when the fire took him.
Dead, living, half-dead.
Viserys had gathered every ingredient the old rites demanded… and still nothing big happened.
He smelled roasting human flesh. It smelled exactly like the horse-meat they'd roasted on the battlefield.
Smoke thickened. People started coughing and backing away.
Orange flames roared up, whipping the black-and-red banners with hell-wind. Wood cracked and popped.
Glowing embers rose from the smoke like a thousand newborn fireflies drifting into the endless night.
The fire brought heat and power beyond measure. The flames spread huge, burning wings.
Most people couldn't take it anymore. They stumbled back. Even the Red Viper retreated.
"Your Grace, we should move," Oberyn called.
Only Viserys stayed where he was.
He was the dragon.
Targaryens could stand more heat than most men — they loved scalding baths — but they weren't immune to fire. Daenerys's miracle had been a once-in-a-lifetime event.
Viserys, as a fire-mage, could endure even more… but he still wasn't completely fireproof.
"Crabb, my little squire," Viserys ordered. "Bring me a fresh set of clothes."
"Yes, Your Grace!" Crabb ran off.
Do I have to be the final spark myself? Viserys thought. I carry true dragon blood. I am the fire-tamer.
The flames danced in front of him, spinning, singing — orange and yellow and beautiful beyond words.
All the dragon eggs stayed perfectly still.
Viserys could see red sparks swirling in the fire — the sign of fire-magic waking up. One step more. Just one step.
"Your Grace — what are you doing?"
"Get back!"
Harry dropped to his ass in shock. He never expected the king to turn and walk straight into the inferno.
Everyone felt pure terror.
"What I'm about to do will change everything — for generations, maybe forever."
"ROAR!" Sunblaze bellowed, feeling Viserys's resolve.
Viserys kept walking forward. His skin began to glow red. The heat was insane.
He took another step. Even with his power over fire elements, standing in this furnace for long was dangerous.
The scorching sand burned through his boots into his feet. Sweat poured down his thighs and chest like rivers running down his cheeks.
Viserys had stopped crying the day he decided he would take the crown no matter the cost.
The Red Viper, Agos, Crabb — they were all shouting his name from behind, but none of it mattered. Only the fire mattered now.
Oberyn's eyes were huge.
The envoys from Qohor and Norvos rubbed their eyes hard. This was madness.
The flames were so beautiful. Viserys had never seen anything more gorgeous in his life.
Each tongue of fire looked like a wizard in robes of red, orange, and yellow, trailing a long smoky cloak.
At first he saw three gray stallions made of thick smoke, their manes blue fire — the khals and the unborn prince.
Then he saw the weeping black dragon and the griffin. A black stag. A crimson fire-lion. A golden serpent. A pale-blue unicorn made of flame. Fish, foxes, monsters. Wolves, bright birds, flowering trees — each one more beautiful than the last.
The flames roared and swirled around him, not just because of his fire-mage gift. They formed a perfect storm-eye with Viserys at the calm center.
He stood untouched in a sea of fire.
For one heartbeat the flames rose like serpents trying to swallow him.
He didn't flinch.
"I am only myself," Viserys told the fire. "I am the true dragon. I am fire. I am king."
He refused to let the fire break him. A fire-wight would lose its humanity.
BOOM!
He dropped his clothes and robes. They burst into flame the instant they hit the ground.
"The king is still alive!" the Red Viper roared, stopping the other knights — Agos and Donnel had been about to charge straight into the fire.
Viserys took one more step. This was the moment.
He saw the ghosts of the dead rise again — Khal Drogo and Khal Jhaqo riding ash-gray stallions, cracking whips of flame.
The Griffin and the boy looked heartbroken. The witch and the pregnant woman looked lost.
The angry ghosts glared at him, trying to tear him apart.
"You couldn't beat me when you were alive," Viserys said coldly. "What makes you think you can do it now?"
The furious spirits dissolved back into smoke.
CRACK!
The platform of wood and kindling began to sway and collapse inward.
Burning splinters rained around Viserys. He stood in a storm of ash and sparks.
Something heavy rolled down and bounced at his feet — a curved stone, black shot through with red veins, cracking and smoking.
Only death can pay for life.
The flames kept roaring. Thick smoke swallowed the last of the wood. The entire pyre started to shake.
People were screaming his name — Red Viper, Crabb, Agos, Lord Roland, Garin.
Horses shrieked. Sunblaze roared. Dothraki began wailing in terror.
"I'm still here — shut up!" Viserys shouted. He wasn't sure anyone could hear him over the fire.
The flames danced around him. He was the dragon's son, the dragon's master, the king of fire.
With a pillar of flame and smoke forty or fifty feet high, the entire pyre finally collapsed, crashing down around him.
Viserys strode forward through the firestorm, calling to the children.
The sound of the collapsing pyre was like thunder. Then came an ear-splitting dragon roar.
Sunblaze leaped over everyone and dove straight into the heart of the flames and ash.
When the smoke cleared, Viserys stood naked, covered head to toe in soot, his beautiful silver-white hair burned away —
—but he was completely unharmed. His Valyrian steel crown still sat on his head, only darker now.
"Come here, old friend." Viserys stroked Sunblaze's snout. The big golden dragon gave an uneasy rumble.
Viserys stood in the center of the ruin.
Five brand-new hatchlings moved around him.
A cream-and-gold one stood at his left foot.
A bronze-and-green one stood at his right.
A black-and-red one coiled around his neck, long neck wrapped under his chin.
In his arms he cradled two more — a gold-and-purple one and a deep-blue one.
The little dragons stared with wide eyes. The black-red hatchling glared at Sunblaze with eyes bright as hot coals.
The babies were terrified of the big dragon.
Sunblaze snorted, circled Viserys once, and roared again.
The Red Viper dropped to his knees first. Then every Andal, every Dothraki, every Golden Company man, every Windblown.
"The Unburned!"
All the warriors knelt — men and women, young and old.
Andal lords. Golden Company captains. Windblown commanders.
Even the Norvoshi priests and the Qohor governor threw themselves to the ground, eyes wide at the miracle they had just witnessed.
"Crabb, bring me my clothes," Viserys said.
He was currently a bald egg wearing nothing but a crown. Time for some dignity.
Crabb came running with a fresh black-and-red outfit.
"True Dragon Khal!"
"True Dragon Khal…" the Dothraki whispered, pressing their faces to the smoking earth.
Viserys looked into their eyes. This wasn't fear. This was true, heartfelt worship — today, tomorrow, and forever.
Sunblaze's roar shook the plains.
The black-red hatchling hissed and blew a thin plume of white smoke from its nostrils. The others joined in at once, adding their voices to the golden dragon's roar.
They spread their translucent wings and beat the air.
All the dragons roared together.
For the first time in centuries, dragons danced across the world again.
Viserys gave a small, calm smile.
The dragons were roaring.
And very soon the whole world was going to get a lot louder.