Winter Morning on a Lone Island in Blackwater Bay
The morning mist clung low over the narrow, lonely isle, its rocky surface dusted with a pale frost. Waves lapped gently at the blackened shores, and above them, rising like a monunt to fire and blood, Dreamfyre, scaled in deep, iridescent blue, her vast wings curled inward, slumbering in a light doze. Plus of steam curled from her nostrils each ti she exhaled.
Aegon Targaryen stood a short distance away, his silver hair tousled by the wind, his slender fra wrapped in a dark cloak.
The cold didn't bother him. He crouched low near a small, makeshift desk, a flat stone slab beside his satchel, where a blank notebook from the maesters lay open. A quill danced in his fingers. He scribbled rapidly, eyes sharp with focus.
He rose without a word and walked to the center of the small clearing. Before him stood a large boulder, scorched black from repeated impacts, 15 ters away. His breath fogged as he steadied himself.
He raised his palm, fingers splayed toward the rock.
It was now an instinct.
A sphere of fire manifested instantly in front of his palm, roaring silently into existence, a condensed orb of flickering orange-gold, nearly the size of a clenched fist. With a ntal nudge, it shot forward, trailing fire like a cot. It struck the boulder dead-on and exploded in a brilliant flash of heat and light, the shockwave scattering snow and ash around it. A crack split the stone's surface.
Aegon lowered his hand and exhaled.
He walked back to the slab, picked up his notebook, and resud writing.
{ Spell: Fireball (Finalized - Experint 27)
Definition: A condensed ball of fire shot at the target
Casting Ti:
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