The spring breeze, heavy with moisture, swept across the God's Eye. The lake's surface shimmered with fragmented light, reflecting the dark, imposing silhouette of Harrenhal.
The appearance of the Red Dragon was like a clap of thunder, shattering the quiet atmosphere of the opening ceremony.
Whoosh—!
Caraxes's massive wings whipped up a gale as he slowly descended under Daeron's command, finally landing dead center in the tourney grounds.
Dust billowed out, sweeping across the arena.
Daeron leaned forward in the saddle, one hand resting casually on the pommel.
In contrast, Rhaegar had to clamp his legs tight around his unicorn's belly just to keep the beast from bolting. Ser Arthur Dayne stood by, holding the reins to help steady it.
Skreee—!
Caraxes's colossal form emerged from the dust cloud. His wingspan seemed to swallow half the arena, and his long, serpentine neck hovered menacingly above the crowd.
Thud!
A series of dull thuds echoed as dozens of the "Stoneborn" wildlings collapsed in terror, their knees buckling instinctively.
It was close. Too close!
Looking up at the Red Dragon felt like having a butcher's blade pressed against their throats. Every breath they took felt like a gamble with death.
As soon as Caraxes landed, he fixed a greedy stare on Rhaegar, craning his neck forward like a striking snake and snorting jets of hot air from his nostrils.
Rhaegar's pupils contracted sharply.
Inside the arena, the noble lords had been backed into a corner by Caraxes's arrival. The front row was practically plastered against the walls, sweating profusely.
The appearance of the dragon shattered their arrogance in an instant. The primal fear of the beast filled their hearts, nearly breaking their minds.
Just then, a steady voice rang out, sounding like salvation itself.
"Caraxes. Settle down."
Skreee—!
Caraxes let out a chirp, acknowledging his rider. He lifted his head, losing interest in the insects below, and slowly backed up before lowering his body to the ground.
Only then did the lords get a good look at the dragonrider.
He possessed the classic silver-gold hair of House Targaryen and violet eyes. He was handsome, radiating a sunny, confident aura. Clad in silver armor with a purple cloak draped over his shoulders, he was as unforgettable as the beast he rode.
"It's Prince Daeron!" someone shouted, recognizing him.
The cry swept through the crowd like wildfire.
Who in the Seven Kingdoms didn't know the story? Daeron "The Bold" had hatched dragons, bringing magic back to the world. In their terror, they had almost forgotten who was on the dragon's back.
"It's Prince Daeron!"
"He's riding... a dragon?"
"How did it get so big!?"
The crowd buzzed with noise, but the fear lingered. They huddled together, not daring to take a single step closer.
On the field, Rhaegar's body was tense, his mind nearly blank. He hadn't expected the hatchling to grow this fast. In less than a year, it was already large enough to terrify the realm.
Daeron smiled. "Long time no see, brother."
He wondered if Rhaegar was surprised by his entrance.
Rhaegar's throat was dry; he couldn't make a sound.
"I bet you missed me," Daeron quipped, clearly enjoying himself.
Without waiting for a response, he dismounted with practiced ease and headed toward the stands.
The facts were laid bare for everyone to see.
This was the True Dragon.
"Second Brother!"
Jaehaerys and Viserys, bold as ever, waved frantically at him.
Caraxes shot Rhaegar one last look, then slammed his broad wings downward. His hind legs drove into the dirt, and with a powerful thrust of his slender waist, he launched himself into the sky.
As the dragon flew off, Rhaegar finally let out a breath.
King Aerys suddenly stood up, clapping maniacally. "Good! Good!"
He didn't give a damn about his eldest son's safety. He only cared about the dragon—the ultimate weapon of House Targaryen.
Clap, clap, clap—
Seeing the King applaud, the tension in the arena eased. The lords began to clap as well, their eyes glued to Daeron.
The shock delivered by one man and one dragon was incomparable. This was the first dragonrider of House Targaryen since the Dance of the Dragons. He was riding a genuine, living dragon.
Elia, sitting in the row below the King, watched Daeron's calm demeanor. She subconsciously pressed a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart. Caraxes had exerted too much pressure on her, and her pale face flushed with an unhealthy red.
"Princess."
Ashara Dayne wasn't faring much better. Her violet eyes were wide, filled with shock and awe. If she hadn't noticed Elia struggling to breathe, she wouldn't have been able to look away.
In another row, Cersei was losing her mind.
"A dragon! Did you see that? A real dragon!"
Her face was flushed, and she bit her lower lip, yanking hard on Jaime's cloak.
Jaime was stunned, the image of the dragon burned into his brain. Who could have predicted a dragon would actually show up?
And even more surprising was the difference between a Targaryen with a dragon and one without. It was night and day.
Is this still the gentle, kind Prince I knew? he wondered.
"Second Brother, sit here!" Jaehaerys cheered, shoving his little brother aside to make room.
Viserys: "..."
Daeron didn't sit immediately. instead, he walked to the left side of the same row. Barristan, Ser Jon, and the others were already waiting there.
Rhaegar, expression complicated, walked up to the stands with Ser Arthur Dayne, greeted by Oswell Whent and his faction.
The Second Son on the left, the Firstborn on the right.
The audience quietly noted the shift in seating. The lines were being drawn.
Most notably, Elia was helped up and moved to sit beside her husband, Rhaegar. Meanwhile, Princess Shaena, holding her two younger brothers' hands, silently moved to Daeron's side.
The two factions were now distinct.
---
The tourney continued.
Lord Whent wheeled out a blonde girl in a chair—his daughter—and announced her as the "Queen of Love and Beauty" for the tournament. His sons, clad in armor, stood guard beside her, ready to accept challenges. Anyone who defeated them would claim the title and the crown.
The tourney was divided into three parts: the Joust, the Archery Contest, and the Melee.
Lord Whent had put up an enormous purse. The Joust champion would win 40,000 Gold Dragons, the Archery champion 10,000, and the Melee winners would split 10,000.
A total of 60,000 Gold Dragons. It was an astronomical sum, unheard of in the Seven Kingdoms.
Hundreds of knights were itching to fight, eager for gold and glory.
Daeron turned his head. "Ser, do you plan to compete?"
Ser Jon shook his head, indicating he would wait.
Barristan, ever the strategist, glanced at Rhaegar's side. He saw the Kingsguard there whispering amongst themselves and understood the implication.
"I'll take the first match," Barristan said.
Daeron handed him a deep blue greatsword. "Ser, remember the breathing rhythm I taught you."
Barristan took the sword and drew it. Shing!
It was the Neptune's Great Sword, a weapon Daeron had swapped out for a better one.
Barristan exuded an aura of confidence. "Rest assured, my Prince. I will give it my all."
Daeron nodded with satisfaction.
Through his research, he had discovered that Vitality was strongly linked to special items. By exploring the "life" within these items and syncing it with one's own vitality, one could develop a unique breathing technique to control that power.
He called it "Life Resonance."
Among all special items, weapons worked best. He had given Neptune's Great Sword to Barristan hoping the old knight could figure out the resonance, which would help Daeron further refine his own path to mastering Vitality.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The herald struck the gong, announcing the start of the Joust.
The lords, having finally recovered from Caraxes's terror, turned their attention to the field.
Two Kingsguard in white armor and silver plate rode out on warhorses, lances in hand, circling the arena as they sized each other up.
"My Lords and Ladies! On the left, the Fearless, Ser Barristan Selmy! On the right, the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne! Two legends of the Kingsguard, facing off in what promises to be a duel for the ages!"
The herald's voice was electric, instantly hyping up the crowd.
Barristan vs. Arthur Dayne. The two best swords in the realm. The crowd roared with anticipation.
On the field, Barristan raised his lance and pointed it at a squire holding a sword on the sidelines.
"A sword duel?"
Ser Arthur, peering through the slit of his helm, realized his brother-in-arms' intent. He was intrigued.
When the gong sounded again, a dramatic scene unfolded.
Both Kingsguard threw aside their lances simultaneously. They dismounted and signaled for their squires to bring their swords.
One was blue as the deep sea; the other was pale as milk glass.
Barristan gripped Neptune's Great Sword with both hands, his voice low. "Arthur. Watch my breathing. Watch my sword."
Arthur was curious. He lifted the greatsword Dawn with one hand, waiting for the move.
Clang!
The swords collided, sparks flying.
Barristan's breathing was steady. He focused entirely on Neptune's Great Sword, probing the "life" within the special weapon, trying to merge his own rhythm with it.
Arthur was a brilliant knight. He realized instantly that his brother was honing a technique, using him as a whetstone.
"Alright then," Arthur thought. "Let's see what you've figured out."
He didn't mind playing the training partner.
Barristan launched a series of attacks—sometimes calm and heavy, sometimes wild and crashing, unpredictable as the ocean itself. With his natural talent and Daeron's guidance, fighting with Neptune's Great Sword allowed him to quickly grasp the "Life Resonance."
Hummmm—
Barristan's eyes lit up. The blue blade began to glow with a faint, watery light.
Decades of accumulated Vitality resonated with the sword, instantly unleashing a surge of power.
"Arthur, watch out!"
Barristan swung. The strike carried a terrifying, unstoppable momentum.
Arthur's face hardened. He had to treat this with absolute seriousness.
Clang!
The impact nearly knocked Dawn out of his hand.
Instead of being shocked, Arthur was delighted. "Barristan, you're a genius!"
He had seen it—the change in breathing, the way the Vitality coated the blade.
He didn't know what material that strange blue sword was made of, but his own ancestral blade was no ordinary steel either.
Arthur focused. His own massive reservoir of Vitality, built up over years of training, began to stir. It was like breaking a rusted lock; the energy flooded into the greatsword Dawn.
Hummmm—
Arthur's breath deepened. Dawn, already translucent and otherworldly, transformed. It burst forth with the brilliance of starlight.
If Barristan was a genius, wasn't Arthur one too?
"It works," Daeron noted calmly from the stands. He had expected this.
Ever since eating his first Stardrop, he had been testing the Life Resonance. He tried to teach Ser Jon, but the man just couldn't get it.
It seemed that to master Resonance, one didn't just need Vitality; they needed a mature "Medium."
Neptune's Great Sword worked. And clearly, Dawn—forged from the heart of a fallen star—worked just fine too.