Legend says the Stepstones were once part of the Arm of Dorne, a land bridge connecting Westeros and Essos. When the First Men invaded, the Green Seers of the Children of the Forest used powerful magic to shatter the land, leaving behind a broken chain of islands. Today, these rocks sit between the Broken Arm of Dorne and the Disputed Lands of Essos. Only two islands bear formal names: Bloodstone and Grey Gallows.
Bloodstone Isle, the largest of the chain, had been under House Velaryon's control since 106 AC. It was here that the massive warship Free Trade—formerly named Balerion—slowly docked. At fifty-seven meters long, it was the crown jewel of Viserys's naval aid.
Vaemond Velaryon, the eldest of Corlys's nephews and a staunch ally of the Greens, waited at the harbor. He despised the "Strong" bastards who threatened his family's line and was eager to see the true Targaryen prince.
"Where is the Prince?" Vaemond asked Ser Arryk as the knight disembarked. "I have prepared a feast for His Highness."
"The Prince should be here shortly," Arryk replied, glancing at the sky.
Suddenly, four thunderous roars split the heavens. Sunfyre, Dreamfyre, Vhagar, and Tessarion tore through the cloud layer. But they did not descend to the harbor. Instead, they circled the fleet once, their shadows sweeping over the gathered men, before banking hard and screaming eastward.
Vaemond watched them go, a realization dawning on him. "Is he... is he attacking Tyrosh directly?"
The Pride of Tyrosh
Tyrosh is a fortress city built upon an island just north of the Stepstones. Its people are known for being gaudy and arrogant, often dyeing their hair and beards in garish colors. On the bustling docks, two Tyroshi men with neon-green hair and pink beards were laughing over flagons of pear brandy.
"Did you hear?" one barked, his belly shaking. "The Westerosi King gave these islands to a snot-nosed brat! A child to replace Daemon!"
"Even the Sea Snake couldn't hold us," the other mocked. "Does that fool think a boy can—"
"HISS-ROAR!"
The laughter died. The clouds above the harbor disintegrated as Sunfyre plummeted from the sky. Aegon, strapped into his saddle, looked down at the colorful dots on the pier with cold indifference.
"Dragonflame!"
A torrent of crimson-gold fire erupted from Sunfyre's maw. The two green-haired men didn't even have time to scream; they were erased from existence as the fire tore a ten-meter trench into the stone docks.
"DRAGON! RUN!"
The docks dissolved into a chaotic nightmare. But Sunfyre was only the vanguard. The sky darkened as Vhagar descended like a falling mountain. At 171 years old, her fire didn't just burn; it melted stone.
"Vhagar, Dracarys!" Aemond screamed, his voice cracking with bloodthirsty exhilaration. "Die, you vermin!"
The city walls, the pride of Tyrosh, buckled and liquefied under Vhagar's heat. While Aemond dismantled the fortifications, Aegon and Helaena turned toward the heart of the city.
One gold, one blue—Sunfyre and Dreamfyre danced through the air with lethal elegance. Their target: the Palace of the Three Daughters. This was the seat of the High Council, where the thirty-three Archons of the Triarchy governed.
BOOM—
The two dragons breathed in unison. Sunfyre's semi-liquid crimson flame and Dreamfyre's pale blue fire slammed into the opulent palace. Marble shattered and tapestries vaporized. The "arrogant" Tyroshi were now nothing more than wailing shadows, fleeing like stray dogs.
Aegon looked down from Sunfyre's back. In his previous life, they said "Backwardness leads to being beaten." In this life, the rule was simpler: "No Dragons leads to being beaten."
He wasn't here to play guerrilla games in the islands. He was here to announce a new era. Unless the Triarchy wished to live in the dirt of the Disputed Lands, they would have to learn to fear the sky.