The God's Eye lay like a vast sheet of hammered blue copper, reflecting the sun with a brilliance that hurt the eyes. It was a canvas of water that dominated the world, usually serene, but today, it was a stage for war.
The lake was teeming with vessels. Fishing skiffs, barges, and patrol boats moved in calculated patterns. But these were not casting nets for pike or trout. Every deck bristled with the ugly, jagged silhouette of a scorpion bolt thrower.
Rhaegar had ordered this madness. He needed to know the truth—not the songs of invincible dragons, but the cold, hard mathematics of steel versus scale. He needed to measure the strength of his dragons against the very weapons designed to kill them.
Scorpions were weaker than they had been in Meraxes' day, but they were still lethal.
On a secluded bank, far from the prying eyes of the Harrenhal garrison, Rhaegar stood face to face with the Silver Emperor.
Above them, the obsidian shadow of Balerion and the purple streak of Belaerys circled in a low holding pattern, their reptilian eyes locked on the pair below. They sensed the gravity of the moment. The dragons spread their leathery wings, casting long, shifting shadows over the reeds.
Rhaegar raised his hand. A cluster of magical flame ignited at his fingertips—not just orange fire, but a kaleidoscope of black, blue, gold, copper, and dark iron. The colors swirled and fought, forming transient runes in the air: a shield, a sword, a hammer, a three-headed dragon. It was a blooming flower of raw magic.
The Silver Emperor blinked his molten gold eyes. He tilted his head, a low rumble vibrating in his chest, confused by the display.
Rhaegar stepped closer, holding the multicolored flame near the dragon's snout. "Breathe your true fire, my friend," he whispered. "Show me."
The dragon hesitated, sensing the challenge. Then, he reared back. The heat in his throat built, glowing through the scales of his neck like a furnace behind a grate. With a roar, he unleashed a torrent of silver fire. It was blinding, wrapped in a halo of gold, hotter than anything a normal beast could produce. Boosted by the passive effects of the Purple Dragon Nest and Rhaegar's runes, the flame distorted the air, turning the lakeside into a shimmering mirage.
"Now," Rhaegar gritted his teeth.
He pushed his own rune-fire forward.
The two streams collided. Rhaegar's rainbow flame met the Silver Emperor's silver-gold breath. They did not blend easily. They crashed against each other like physical objects, a war of magical dominance. The air screamed.
Rhaegar focused, pouring his will into the fire. He didn't want to conquer the dragon; he wanted to join it. He sensed the Silver Emperor's confusion turning to understanding. The dragon modulated the intensity of his breath, matching Rhaegar's frequency.
With his free hand, Rhaegar drew a dagger and sliced his palm. He thrust his bleeding hand into the inferno.
Any other man would have been ash. But Rhaegar's blood, thick with the heat of the "Blood of Fire" perk, did not boil. It sizzled, turning into droplets of ruby light that were suspended in the silver flames.
Ordinary oaths are written on paper. The Mind Rune is written in fire and blood.
The flames merged. The conflict vanished, replaced by a harmonious, terrifying hum. The fire spiraled inward, condensing until it shot toward them, splitting at the last second.
One spark struck Rhaegar between the eyes. The other struck the Silver Emperor.
[System Notification: Ritual Complete.]
[Ability Acquired: Mind Curse (Soul Bind)]
[Description: Perfect synchronization. Blood and fire are one. You and the dragon share a single consciousness in battle.]
Rhaegar staggered, his knees buckling. The mana drain was immense; his face was pale as milk. But as he looked up, he felt it.
He wasn't just looking at the Silver Emperor. He was the Silver Emperor. He felt the itch of a loose scale on his left wing. He felt the heat of the furnace in his belly.
"Dragonfire!" Rhaegar commanded, not with words, but with pure thought.
Instantly, without a second of lag, the Silver Emperor whipped his head around and incinerated a cluster of reeds fifty yards away. The silver flame vaporized the water, sending a cloud of steam hissing into the sky.
"Dive," Rhaegar thought.
The dragon plunged into the lake, submerging completely, while Rhaegar—standing dry on the shore—felt the cool rush of water over scales he didn't possess.
"Rise and Cloak."
The Silver Emperor burst from the water, shaking droplets that shone like diamonds, and shot into the high clouds, turning into a speck of light to hide in the sun.
Balerion and Belaerys, sensing the shift in the hierarchy, roared in approval. They dove to join their brother. Though Rhaegar had only performed the ritual with the Silver Emperor, the "Chain of Blood and Fire" trait allowed the other two to piggyback on the connection. They were a pack. A single organism of destruction.
Rhaegar laughed, a sound of pure joy. This was the power of Old Valyria. Not just a man on a horse with wings, but a centaur of the sky.
He checked his status panel. The numbers were blurring, climbing higher.
[Status: Rhaegar Targaryen]
[Identity: The Last Dragonlord, Blood of Fire (High Tier)]
[Active Effects: Mind Curse (Active), Fire Immunity (High), Rune Mastery.]
[Titles: Son of Summerhall, The Silver Prince, The Breaker of Spears, Father of Dragons.]
[Talents: Dragonlord Potential (S-Rank), Sword Heart, Awakened Dragon.]
[Achievements: Fate Changer, Dragon Pact, Rune Combiner (Shield/Sword/Hammer).]
He had built a character designed for war. He had dumped every attribute point into attack, defense, and the esoteric magic of his ancestors. He thought of Fergo Antaryon, the Sea Lord's son he had dueled. Fergo was skilled, yes, but he was merely human. Rhaegar was becoming something else.
"Prince!" A voice called from a nearby barge.
Ser Barristan Selmy stood at the prow of a transport ship, looking pale. Beside him, Sessa the Braavosi looked equally sick.
"Prince, this experiment is madness," Barristan shouted over the water. "To fire upon your own dragons?"
Rhaegar mounted the Silver Emperor, who had landed softly beside him. He strapped himself into the saddle, feeling the connection hum in his mind.
"I am armored, Ser Barristan! And so are they!" Rhaegar called back, his voice amplified by a subtle use of the [Hammer Rune]. "Better they feel the sting of a training bolt now than a pirate's scorpion when it truly matters!"
"Open fire!" Rhaegar commanded.
The order was relayed. On the lake, the Goldenheart archers drew their strings. The scorpion crews cranked their winches.
It was a test of the [Shield Rune] he had inscribed on the dragons' scales. It was a test of the fifty Goldenheart bows he had bought with Lannister gold—weapons that could kill a man at four hundred yards.
Rhaegar spurred the Silver Emperor into the sky. He unfurled the black banner with the red dragon, the wind snapping it like a whip.
"Come then!" he roared, diving toward the fleet. "Let us see if you can hit a ghost!"