Myles Toyne, a six-foot warrior, scread like a child.
Dragonfire roared down. The sheer force shattered the mast and turned the sky black.
In that split second, Myles Toyne's survival instincts exploded. Still wearing full plate, he leaped overboard and plunged into the sea with a heavy splash.
The mast crashed down monts later, crushing every sellsword too slow to escape.
"Help!"
"The fire—gods, the fire!"
Sellswords scread in terror. Dragonfire could not be beaten out. Those crushed beneath the mast suffered in silence, choking on smoke and burning alive.
Whoosh!
Caraxes swept past without slowing and began circling the fleet.
Daeron scanned the chaos below. He didn't care whose ship he had just destroyed. He was already picking his next target—the flagships carrying the Golden Company's senior officers.
That was why he had co. To finish the job while they were down.
Compared to the Volantenes, the Golden Company was the bigger threat.
"What the hell is that?!"
From far away, Malacho Maegyr stared at the crimson dragon circling overhead, eyes wide. He grabbed his lieutenant and shouted.
Volantenes had never seen a living dragon.
The lieutenant stamred, "My lord… I think that's a dragon?"
"Obviously it's a dragon!" Malacho snapped. He pointed at the beast breathing fire. "Tell where it ca from!"
He had sapphire-blue eyes and black hair streaked with silver—unusual Valyrian features. His mother was the daughter of a rich rchant from outside the Black Walls. His father was a pure-blooded Black Wall noble. The mix had given him this coloring.
Dragons were stories he had heard since childhood.
But a living dragon—and a man riding it—was sothing else entirely.
"My lord, there's a man on the dragon's back," the lieutenant said, voice tight.
Malacho released him and stared at the red dragon with open fascination. "A living dragon… and a Dragon King riding it."
The lieutenant ignored his superior's daze. Once he confird the dragon was only attacking the Golden Company, he imdiately ordered the fleet to press the attack and finish them off.
His own ship quietly began drifting backward.
:
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes skimd low under Daeron's command, laying a line of fire across the water that sliced through ship after ship.
Boom—boom—boom!
Vessels exploded in flas. Golden Company casualties spiked. They had never faced an enemy that owned the sky.
Every ti Caraxes landed a critical hit, the Golden Spur triggered, granting 1 speed. His velocity climbed steadily. Even his tail tip stayed out of reach of the ants below.
"One, two, three—loose!"
Black Barq's eyes bulged. His massive arms drew a six-foot longbow. He sighted the dragon overhead and loosed.
Hundreds of archers fired as one.
Daeron controlled the airspace completely. He saw every arrow coming and didn't even bother dodging.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes banked low again, bathing another cluster of longships in fire. His long body passed directly through the arrow storm.
Clang!
One arrow struck true—thick, powerful, and perfectly aid. It slamd into the red dragon's belly and sparked.
The steel head shattered on impact. The shaft snapped and tumbled into the sea.
"Nice shot," Daeron muttered. "Sha about the power and the arrowhead."
Dragons weren't invincible because of fire alone. Their scales were harder than any tal and shrugged off arrows, spears, and blades alike.
That arrow hadn't even scratched him.
"By the gods!"
Black Barq's eyes went round. He dropped his prized bow and clutched his white hair.
The arrow had bounced off the dragon like a mosquito bite. What was the point of fighting?
No—mosquitoes at least left a welt.
The arrow had left nothing. Not even a mark.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes's molten eyes blazed with fury. He wheeled around and dove toward the archers' ships, breathing fire without pause.
"Run, boys!"
Black Barq threw down his bow and dove overboard.
As a Sumr Islander he wore no armor—just trousers. He hit the water and paddled furiously, escaping with his life.
His n were not so lucky. So made it into the water. The rest burned with their ships.
"Retreat! Do not engage the dragon!"
Benedict Blackmont and the man called Chain took command. They rallied the remaining Golden Company forces and pulled back at full speed.
Any ship already hit by dragonfire was abandoned.
This was survival through sacrifice.
Dragonfire covered the sea. Ships exploded into splinters.
The bombardnt lasted half an hour before the explosions finally stopped.
Not because Caraxes had run out of fire, but because most of the Golden Company had escaped.
Malacho Maegyr surveyed the ruined battlefield. "Where's the dragon? Where's the Dragon King?"
Everywhere he looked, ships burned and thick black smoke rose.
The Golden Company had lost more than half its vessels, but the Volantene fleet was already picking through the wreckage for survivors and loot.
The lieutenant exhaled in relief. "The Dragon King appears to have left."
"Left?" Malacho looked disappointed. "I wanted to et him."
The only living Dragon King family in the world was House Targaryen of Westeros.
A few years ago one of their boys had hatched dragons and brought them back into the world.
The rider on that red dragon was almost certainly "Dragon King" Daeron the Third.
Malacho's thinking was simple.
Daeron had helped him crush the Golden Company. He clearly wanted an alliance.
So Malacho should make the first move.
The lieutenant wiped cold sweat from his brow. He wanted to point out that the Iron Throne and the Golden Company had history—that this might simply be revenge.
But Malacho's mind was already made up. "Clean the field. Fall back to Grey Gallows. We've fought enough for one day."
If the Golden Company had been this strong, the combined pirate forces across the Stepstones would be far worse.
His n needed rest.
:
Daeron flew Caraxes away from the battle and headed straight for the unremarkable island—Ginger Island.
He found the camp the Golden Company had built on the eastern shore.
Without hesitation, he turned and flew back to Tars Island.
The Golden Company was broken. They wouldn't return anyti soon.
He would send the royal fleet to occupy Ginger Island and claim every island within a fifty-mile radius, creating a sealed periter.
From now on, this patch of the Stepstones would be Targaryen territory in all but na.
Using the excuse of intervening in the Stepstones, he had hidden Ginger Island's location.
"The Volantenes are strong. Their attack on the Golden Company will bring every faction down on them. That gives the perfect opening."
Daeron's mind worked fast.
If only two sides were fighting, the Stepstones would be too clear. Targaryen involvent would stand out.
But with Volantis attacking recklessly, the Triarchy, the Golden Company, the pirates, and eventually Rhaegar on Bloodstone would all be drawn in.
The Stepstones would beco a chaotic ss.
One more royal fleet in the middle wouldn't look suspicious at all.
"Best if the fighting stays heavy. If the Golden Company gets dragged in completely, I can solve another problem at the sa ti."
Daeron had tested the Golden Company's strength. They were capable, but they had no answer for dragons. They were a dangerous opponent—until soone else took the lead.
:
King's Landing.
Tywin's face was thunderous. "Where is that little monster Tyrion?"
"I don't know, my lord."
Sandor Clegane's sparse black hair covered half his face. Without his size and gravelly voice, he would have looked like a sullen, unhealthy man.
Tywin's anger burned hotter. "That bastard definitely followed the royal fleet."
Sandor stayed silent. That was exactly what had happened.
"Useless troublemaker."
Tywin kept his voice low, still bound by the rule that even a tiger doesn't eat its cubs. "What about Cersei? She's been spending a lot of ti with Tyrion lately?"
Sandor hesitated—not because he didn't know, but because he was choosing his words carefully. "She's… fine."
In the past few weeks, Lady Cersei had done three things: beat Tyrion, practice making desserts, and buy love potions from Flea Bottom.
"She'd better behave."
Tywin's tone softened. He still believed his daughter was a good girl at heart, even if she was a little foolish.
As for the marriage alliance, he had accepted defeat.
Daeron was already betrothed. House Lannister had no move left to play.
Tywin's eyes sharpened. "Fetch Kevan. I need to speak with him."
Sandor bowed and went to find him.
A short while later, Kevan entered.
"Brother," Kevan greeted.
Tywin looked at his second brother and felt genuine satisfaction. "How's Tygett doing? And that fool Gerion—any new word from him?"
Family always ca first.
But of his brothers, only Kevan was reliable. Tygett and Gerion were disappointnts. His children were no better.
Kevan hesitated. "Tygett's the sa. Still spending every night in brothels. No one can talk him out of it."
"Gerion… we haven't heard from him in a long ti."
Tywin's gaze hardened. "Tell Tygett to stop visiting brothels. He's ruining his health."
"He's not a boy anymore. I'll find him a suitable bride from one of our vassal houses and have him married quickly."
Tygett remained unmarried and lived like a wild animal.
Daeron—his best student—had once said that an overly debauched private life brought bad luck and disease.
Tywin had no desire to lose a brother to sothing so filthy.
As for Gerion—
Tywin rubbed his temples. "Gerion's last ssage said he was still in Volantis, correct?"
"Yes. He's been there a long ti recruiting new sailors."
Kevan was sharp. "Gerion insists on sailing to the Smoking Sea. He's afraid our regular crew might turn on him, so he's hiring local n to use as cannon fodder."
Tywin closed his eyes. "Pure idiocy."
The Smoking Sea was cursed. Anyone who returned alive carried the curse with them.
Kevan sighed. "We should have stopped him back then."
"Forget about him," Tywin said coldly. "What's happening in the Stepstones? I heard Rhaegar took Bloodstone. Has House Martell sent troops?"
"Prince Oberyn led a force there, but the numbers are small."
Kevan commanded the Lionheart Knights and handled intelligence as well.
Tywin frowned. "What about Lyanna Stark and that bastard child? Do we know where they're being kept?"
He despised bastards and refused to acknowledge young Aegon's legitimacy, calling him "the bastard."
Kevan shook his head. "No confirmation, but most likely in Dorne."
Tywin fell silent for a mont.
He was digging for information on Rhaegar because he needed to understand how the prince was handling two wives and the inheritance rights of his children—whether he was following Andal custom like Aegon the Conqueror or sothing else.
"The best investnt," Tywin thought, "is a grandson carrying dragon blood."
He truly wanted to marry his daughter into the royal family and tie House Lannister to Targaryen blood.
But Daeron's refusal ant the royal family had rejected them.
Even trying to wed Cersei to one of the younger princes would fail.
This wasn't just about marriage or feelings. It was a quiet political ga.
And Tywin had no intention of losing.
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