The sky above was a curved, suffocating ribcage of distorted light.
To anyone standing infront of Thaddeus' shelves inside the chamber, it was nothing more than a glass bottle resting next to spellbooks—a decorative terrarium filled with damp soil, moss, and a meticulously curated miniature ecosystem.
To Daemon Targaryen, it was an eternal, humid hell.
He had long since lost track of the days. Time did not march forward here. It pooled and stagnated like the condensation forever sliding down the curved glass walls. There was neither dawn nor dusk, only the shifting shadows cast whenever the wizard passed by his prison—a towering deity of robes and quiet malice.
Daemon wiped sweat and the pungent grime of peat moss from his brow before tightening his grip around the hilt of Dark Sister. Though reduced to the size of a splinter, the Valyrian steel blade still gleamed with deadly promise.
"Step back, Caraxes," Daemon hissed, his voice hoarse yet carrying that unmistakable, lethal Targaryen cadence.
Beside him, the Blood Wyrm answered with a low, clicking growl.
Though both had been reduced to a fraction of their true size, Caraxes remained a dragon beside Daemon, his serpentine body wrapped around a rotting twig like an ancient tree.
A tremor rippled through the damp earth.
The towering ferns overhead, their broad fronds as vast as sails, shuddered against one another.
From beneath the shadow of a rotting acorn shell, something emerged.
A scout.
A lone bull ant.
At this miserable scale, however, it was a chitinous juggernaut. The insect stood taller than Caraxes, its polished body glistening beneath the filtered light. Thousands of fractured reflections shimmered within its compound eyes, while massive mandibles clicked together like iron shears, glistening with clear, paralyzing venom.
"Fucking wizard!" Daemon spat, stepping between the creature and his dragon. His boots dug into the soft earth.
"Come down here and face me, wizard! Or is this glass prison the closest you'll ever come to courage?" The memory of blue fire and impossible magic should have tempered his anger.
It did not.
The ant lunged.
Its antennae sliced through the air like heavy cables.
"Dracarys!"
Caraxes answered instantly.
A torrent of dragonfire erupted from the Blood Wyrm's jaws. Once capable of reducing castles to molten ruin, it now roared across their miniature world like an unstoppable inferno. The flames engulfed the ant's face, filling the air with the sickening stench of burning chitin.
The insect shrieked, a piercing vibration that rattled Daemon's teeth, before thrashing wildly. One massive, spined leg swept across the battlefield and caught him square in the chest.
Daemon was hurled backward.
He crashed through brittle lichen before skidding across the damp soil, coughing as the taste of copper flooded his mouth. His ribs screamed with every breath.
"Is that all you've got?!" Daemon roared, forcing himself upright. A bloodied grin spread across his face as he glared toward the curved ceiling.
He was not speaking to the ant.
"You hear me, you decrepit wizard?" he shouted at the unseen giant beyond the glass. "Your pets can't kill me! The blood of Old Valyria runs through these veins!"
Blinded by fire and driven by instinct alone, the ant charged once more.
Its mandibles snapped shut inches from Daemon's face.
He did not flinch.
Dropping beneath the crushing jaws, he planted a foot against a thick root and launched himself upward. Landing atop the creature's armored thorax, he reversed his grip on Dark Sister and drove the Valyrian steel deep into the vulnerable joint behind its head.
The ant convulsed.
At the same instant, Caraxes elongated neck shot forward as powerful jaws clamped onto the insect's abdomen, shaking it with savage fury.
The giant collapsed.
Its legs twitched in weakening spasms before finally falling still.
Daemon wrenched Dark Sister free with a wet squelch and wiped the pale ichor from the blade onto a broad moss leaf. Breathing hard, he leaned against the fallen carcass, violet eyes burning with undiminished resolve.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward the curved glass ceiling, where the blurred light of Thaddues' chamber shimmered beyond reach.
"Enjoy your peace while it lasts, wizard," Daemon whispered, absolute conviction sharpening every word.
"Keep me in this bottle. Feed me your monsters. Every day I survive in this hell is another day I learn its every corner."
A cold smile touched his lips.
"I am a dragon."
"And dragons do not remain caged."
"When I break this glass, I won't merely cut your throat."
"I will burn your entire world to ash."
"And I will make you watch."
Caraxes answered with a triumphant screech before tearing another chunk from the fallen ant.
Daemon climbed onto his dragon's back, resting one hand against the warm, scarred scales of his neck.
They were small.
No larger than vermin in the eyes of the world beyond the glass—laughable, insignificant, beneath notice.
Yet Daemon Targaryen smiled.
Size had never decided who ruled the battlefield. Strength did. Will did.
And when the day came that this prison finally shattered, the wizard would learn that lesson in blood.
Had his foe been any other man, such confidence might have been warranted. Against a wizard like Thaddues, however, it was little more than a fool's dream.
The midday sun blazed over the red sands of Sunspear, yet every eye was turned skyward.
A deep, rhythmic thunder rolled across the air before the great shadow came into view.
Meleys.
The Red Queen swept over Sunspear in a broad, graceful arc, her crimson scales gleaming like fresh-forged copper beneath the Dornish sun. Princess Rhaenys Targaryen sat tall upon her back as dragon and rider circled the towering Spear Tower, their passing casting a vast shadow across the pale roofs and painted courtyards below.
The dragon banked about the gilded dome of the Sun Tower, her mighty wings stirring hot winds through the hanging gardens. Silken banners bearing the sun-and-spear of House Martell snapped and billowed, while servants, guards, and nobles alike stood rooted where they were, watching in silent wonder.
In the heart of the courtyard waited the ruling house of Dorne.
Prince Nolan Martell stood foremost among them, the Ruling Prince of Dorne, his dark gaze fixed upon the descending dragon, his expression calm and unreadable. At his side, Princess Maris wore the serene smile expected of a princess receiving so illustrious a guest, though her keen eyes missed little.
A step behind them stood Princess Dareya Martell, heir to Sunspear. Silent and still, she followed the dragon's descent with an unblinking gaze. There was neither fear nor wonder upon her face, only the quiet scrutiny of one weighing a legend made flesh.
The dragon touched down with a thunderous weight that sent dust and loose sand skittering across the ancient stones. Her long neck coiled gracefully as molten gold eyes swept over the gathered court.
Only when the dust had begun to settle did Princess Rhaenys unfasten her harness and descend to the earth of Dorne.
Thaddues gently settled the child beneath the blankets before rising from the bedside. He had turned his rag clothes into a more comfortable cloth.
Outside the village continued to burn, sapphire flames staining the upcoming sunset.
Rowena stood before a shelf, her gaze fixed on a small glass bottle. A faint smile lingered on her lips as she watched the tiny captive thrashing inside, desperately battling an ant.
The amusement disappeared.
Her head turned toward the chamber's entrance, crimson eyes effortlessly piercing the transfigured space surrounding their refuge.
"You have unwanted guests," she said softly, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.
At the same time the system voice echoed through Thaddues' mind.
--
"Host Warning! Multiple high-threat magical presences approaching host perimeter!"
--
A heartbeat later, he felt them.
The very air seemed to thicken, burdened by the ancient, withered power of the Old Gods.
Thaddues glanced at the sleeping child.
A quiet, humorless chuckle escaped his lips.
"What is cast returns," he murmured.
The next instant, he apparated.
He emerged before the carriage, the burning village smoldering at his back. His gaze settled upon the distant horizon, calm and patient, as though this hour had been foreseen long before the first spark was ever lit.
Then the dusk gave its answer.
One presence.
Then another.
And another.
Ancient magic stirred across the land like the turning of an unseen tide, its weight settling upon the world until even the hungry flames seemed to lose their voice.
Thaddues did not move. He simply waited.
The hunt had begun.
TBC
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