**YEAR 2077 AFTER THE LONG NIGHT**
**8 YEARS AFTER CHAPTER 7**
**Dragonstone**
**THE ONLY ONE WHO WAITS**
Aegon is 10 years old.
He is the only one of the four children who still does not have a dragon.
He has seen it all. He has seen his little sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys, ride their hatchlings since they were 5. Baby dragons barely 2 meters wingspan, with scales that shine in the sun and curious eyes that watch everything. They fly low, barely brushing the treetops, playing among themselves, learning to be what they will one day become.
He has seen his parents proud. He has seen the Celtigars and Velaryons nodding in approval.
And he has felt, in the depths of his chest, an emptiness he does not know how to fill.
Orys, his brother — his half-brother, though for him there is no difference — also does not have a dragon.
But unlike Aegon, Orys is afraid of them.
He doesn't say it. He never would. He is too proud to admit it. But Aegon knows. He sees it in the way Orys tenses when dragons pass close by. In how he looks at the ground when the girls fly over their heads. In the silence that settles over his brother when the subject is discussed.
—It's not for everyone — his mother Elera tells him one afternoon, embracing him —. You have other value. You are strong, you are loyal, you are the best with a sword of all the children on the island.
Orys nods, leaning against her shoulder.
But he says nothing.
Because inside him, very deep inside, a small voice asks: what if I'm not enough? What if being the best with a sword isn't enough?
**THE EGG IN THE HEARTH**
The fortress sleeps.
The torches flicker in the corridors, casting dancing shadows against the black stone walls. The guards, at their posts, fight off sleep. The nurses, in their rooms, snore softly.
Aegon, with an egg in his arms, lies back against the hearth in the full blaze of the flames.
One morning, when the sun barely peeks over the sea, Dareo and Elera find Aegon asleep next to the great hall's fireplace.
But he is not alone.
He has a dragon egg hugged against his chest and a pile of coal, still reddish.
A cold egg. One of the many in the fortress, piled in forgotten corners, remnants of a time when dragons were born frequently. Those that never hatched. Those that everyone assumes are dead.
Aegon's clothes are burned in some places. Small holes, singed edges, as if the egg had emitted heat during the night.
—Aegon! —Dareo shouts, kneeling and shaking him —. Aegon, wake up!
The boy opens his eyes, confused. Blinks. Looks at his father. His mother. Then looks at the egg in his arms.
—I was dreaming... —he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep —. I was dreaming that the egg... that it hatched...
Elera lifts him gently, carefully setting the egg aside. It is cold now. As always.
—Son —she says, in a sweet but firm voice —. Those eggs will no longer hatch. You know that. Dragons are not born like before.
—But I felt it —Aegon insists, eyes bright —. I felt it warm. During the night. The heat woke me.
Dareo and Elera look at each other.
Worried. Hopeful. Confused.
They don't know what to think.
**THE PARENTS' COUNSEL**
That night, after the children are in bed, Dareo and Elera speak with Aegon alone.
They are in the small room adjacent to the children's quarters. The fire crackles. Shadows dance.
—Aegon —Dareo says, in a serious but kind voice, the same one he uses when difficult things must be said —. You must understand. There are no more eggs that will hatch. The last dragons born were your sisters', three years ago. Since then... nothing.
Aegon nods.
He knows. He has heard it a thousand times.
Elera kneels before him. Takes his hands in hers.
—But there are still dragons, son. In the mountains. Your uncles' dragons.
—Cannibal —Aegon lists —. Valax. Aerion. Vhaelar. Serion.
—Those same ones —Dareo confirms —. They have had no riders since... since your uncles died.
—And there's Valerio —Elera adds, with a special gleam in her eyes —. Your grandmother Aere's dragon. The largest of all.
Aegon looks at them.
His violet eyes, so pure, so intense, search for answers in his parents' faces.
—What if they don't want me?
Dareo smiles. A sad but proud smile.
—Dragons choose, son. It cannot be forced. Not even I could force Cannibal to accept anyone. But you have dragon's blood. You have fire in your veins. You have to try.
Elera nods.
—Your grandmother believed in destinies. She believed everyone has their moment. Perhaps yours is near.
Aegon breathes deeply.
—I will try.
**ORYS'S FEAR**
Days pass.
Aegon watches the dragons in the mountains. He spends hours on the cliffs, looking toward the peaks where the beasts fly. He memorizes their patterns, their schedules, their habits.
One afternoon, while he sits on his favorite rock, Orys appears beside him.
—What are you doing?
—Nothing —Aegon lies, unconvincingly.
Orys smiles. A small, knowing smile.
—You lie very badly.
Aegon laughs. It's true. He has always lied badly.
Orys sits beside him. The two brothers, so different, so united. The one with silver hair and violet eyes. The one with dark hair and a serious gaze.
—You're afraid, aren't you? —Aegon asks suddenly.
Orys tenses.
—Of what?
—The dragons. They scare you.
Silence.
Orys doesn't answer at first. He looks at the horizon, the mountains, the silhouettes flying far away.
—I don't understand how you're not afraid of them —he says finally, in a low voice —. They're enormous. They could kill you with a single breath.
—They could also take you flying.
—What if they drop you?
Aegon smiles.
—Then I will have flown. Even if for just a second.
Orys looks at him.
He doesn't understand. Truly doesn't understand.
But he admires his brother. More than anyone in the world.
—You are braver than me.
Aegon shakes his head.
—You are more loyal than me. And stronger. And better in combat. The maester, grandfather always says so.
—But you have a dragon. Or you will.
—And what does that matter?
Orys doesn't answer.
But Aegon knows. He knows that for his brother, it matters. A lot.
—You will have your moment —Aegon says —. You'll see.
Orys smiles.
He doesn't believe it.
But he appreciates that his brother says it.
**THE DECISION**
Days pass.
Aegon observes.
Cannibal, the jet-black green, the most aggressive. His scales seem to absorb light. His red eyes, like embers, inspire no confidence. He is his father's dragon, but since Dareo stopped riding him, Cannibal has become somewhat wild. He accepts no one.
Valax, the bronze, the swift. He flies like an arrow, appears and disappears. Elusive. Difficult.
Aerion, the grey, the enduring. Robust, solid, but distant. As if still in mourning for his rider.
Vhaelar and Serion, the blue and the brown. The most elusive of all. They almost never come down from the mountains.
But his eyes always return to VALERIO.
The largest. Seventy meters of black scales. He who belonged to his grandmother. He who sleeps on the most remote beach, as if waiting.
Sometimes, Aegon goes to that beach. He sits in the sand, at a respectful distance, and watches the dragon sleep. His breathing, slow and deep, raises small swirls of sand. His warmth, even asleep, can be felt meters away.
—What are you waiting for? —Aegon whispers —. For me?
One night, Aegon dreams of his grandmother Aere.
She is on the beach, young, beautiful, with her silver hair loose in the wind. Valerio is behind her, enormous, protective.
—Do not be afraid —she tells him, with a voice Aegon never heard in life but recognizes as his own —. He waits for you.
Aegon wakes with a start.
The sun is already high.
He hesitates no longer.
**AEROM SPEAKS WITH AEGON**
Aerom's tower, at night.
Aegon climbs the tower stairs slowly. He doesn't know why his grandfather has called him. He almost never comes down, and almost never asks anyone to come up.
When he arrives, Aerom has his back turned, looking out the window. The ravens, as always, surround him.
—Sit down, boy.
Aegon obeys. He sits on the stone bench, looking at his grandfather's back.
—Grandfather?
Aerom turns. His grey eyes seem deeper than ever. His hands, always gloved, rest on the window frame.
—I know what you did.
Aegon swallows.
—About the egg... I know. Mom and Dad already scolded me.
Aerom shakes his head.
—I didn't come to scold you. I came to tell you something they cannot tell you.
He approaches slowly and sits before his grandson.
—The eggs no longer hatch, Aegon. That is true. But you... you felt warmth, didn't you?
Aegon nods.
—I felt it. As if something were alive inside there.
—Because it was. For a moment. Because you warmed it with your own blood.
Aegon looks at him, not understanding.
—Targaryens do not just ride dragons —Aerom says —. Targaryens *are* dragons. Fire does not burn us. Hot blood runs through our veins. And sometimes, when a true Targaryen embraces an egg... the egg feels it.
—But it didn't hatch.
—No. Because times have changed. The world's magic is fading. But you... you have more fire than most.
Aerom leans closer.
—There are dragons in the mountains, Aegon. Your uncles'. And there is Valerio, your grandmother's. They are not eggs. They are living beasts, of flesh and scale. And they are waiting for you.
—What if they don't accept me?
—They will.
—How do you know?
Aerom smiles. A sad, ancient smile.
—Because Valerio was Aere's. And Aere... Aere was like you. She was afraid, but she never let fear stop her. She rode him when they were both young. They flew together for decades. And before she died... before she left on that ship... she told me something.
—What?
—She told me: "Valerio will wait. He will wait for someone with my blood. Someone who does not want to dominate him, but to love him."
Aegon feels a lump in his throat.
—I don't know how to love a dragon, grandfather. I barely know how to ride a horse.
Aerom places his gloved hand on Aegon's shoulder.
—It's not about riding, boy. It's about flying. About feeling free. About trusting. About letting the wind carry you and knowing you will not fall because someone holds you.
—What if I fall?
—You will fall. Many times. But dragons... dragons always catch their own.
Aegon looks at him for a long time.
—Did you ever fly, grandfather?
Aerom is silent. So long that Aegon thinks he won't answer.
—Yes —he says at last —. A long time ago. With a dragon that no longer exists. With a person who no longer exists.
His voice breaks slightly.
—But that doesn't matter now. Now you matter.
Aegon nods.
—I'll go. Tomorrow I'll go.
Aerom smiles.
—Good decision.
When Aegon rises to leave, his grandfather adds:
—And Aegon...
—Yes?
—When you fly... when you feel the wind on your face and the world down below... remember your grandmother. She will be with you.
Aegon nods.
He descends the stairs with his heart beating harder than ever.
Above, Aerom watches him from the window.
The ravens caw.
—The moment approaches —Aerom whispers —. Very soon.
And his eyes, for an instant, shine blue.
**THE ENCOUNTER**
Aegon walks toward the beach.
Each step is a decision. Each meter, a test. The wind blows strong, as if wanting to stop him. The sand swirls at his feet, as if the very beach doubted.
But he continues.
Valerio is there.
Immense. Asleep. Seventy meters of black scales shining with coppery reflections under the sun. His wings, folded against his body, seem smaller mountains. His breath, rhythmic, raises small clouds of vapor in the cold air.
Aegon approaches.
Step by step.
His heart beats so loudly he believes the dragon must hear it.
When he is a few meters away, Valerio opens one eye.
Golden. Immense. Ancient.
Then he opens the other.
Looks at him.
Does not move.
Aegon extends his hand.
It trembles. He cannot help it.
He touches the scales.
Warm. Alive. As if a giant heart beat beneath them.
—I am Aegon —he says, voice firm despite fear —. Grandson of Aerom and Aere. Son of Dareo. Blood of your blood.
Valerio exhales.
An immense warmth envelops the boy. The hot air, smelling of sulfur and something more ancient, envelops him completely.
It does not burn.
It recognizes.
Suddenly, a giant claw closes gently around Aegon.
It is so large it could crush him effortlessly. But it does not. It holds him with impossible delicacy.
Valerio lifts him.
Places him on his back.
And TAKES OFF.
**THE FALL**
The world becomes wind and vertigo.
The beach recedes. The fortress grows small. The entire island, a dot in the sea.
Aegon clings to the scales in desperation. His small hands search for holds. His weak legs try to grip.
Valerio ascends.
Turns.
Plunges into a dive.
The boy slips.
His hands cannot hold on. The scales, so rough, so slippery, escape his fingers.
And he FALLS.
The void.
The air whipping his face.
Death approaching.
Aegon closes his eyes.
Accepts.
Does not scream.
—If I'm going to die —he whispers —, let it be flying.
But then, something stops him.
Valerio, in a movement impossible for a beast of his size, twists in the air. His body, so large, so heavy, contorts like a cat's. His head shoots downward.
And he CATCHES him.
With his snout. Seconds before Aegon hits the ground.
He deposits him gently on the beach.
Aegon opens his eyes.
He is alive.
Trembling. Breathless. But alive.
The dragon inclines his enormous head and looks at him.
For the first time, Aegon sees something in those golden eyes.
Recognition.
Acceptance.
Love.
—Are you mine? —Aegon asks, breathless, tears in his eyes.
Valerio roars.
A roar that echoes across the entire island, that makes the fortress windows tremble, that wakes the dogs and sends birds flying in panic.
And Aegon knows the answer.
**THE CELEBRATION**
Everyone runs toward the beach.
Dareo, first, with Cannibal following him from the sky. Elera, skirts swirling, heedless of decorum. Visenya and Rhaenys, riding their small dragons, flying low to arrive first.
Orys, running as he has never run, heart beating as strongly as his brother's.
The Celtigars. The Velaryons. The servants. The guards. Everyone.
And what they see leaves them breathless.
Aegon, standing beside Valerio.
The largest dragon in the world, beside a ten-year-old boy.
The beast that was Aere's, the matriarch, she who died at sea, has chosen her grandson.
Visenya cries. Rhaenys too. Both, from their dragons, look at their brother with a mixture of wonder and pride.
Orys smiles as never before.
An enormous, sincere smile that lights up his face.
—YOU DID IT! —he shouts, running toward him.
Dareo embraces his son.
—You did it! You're a dragon rider!
Elera kisses him, embraces him, kisses him again.
—Your grandmother would be proud. So proud.
Aegon smiles.
But his eyes search for something.
Or someone.
**THE TOWER**
Above, in his tower, AEROM watches.
He has not come down. Has not celebrated. Has not gone to the beach.
He only watches.
From his window, he has seen everything. The flight. The fall. The rescue. The roar.
Behind him, a raven caws.
Then another. Another.
—I knew it —Aerom whispers —. The dragon knew it from the beginning.
For an instant, his eyes shine.
A gleam of hope. The same as always.
—Now the difficult part begins.
The ravens caw.
As if they understood.
As if they waited.
**THE SIBLINGS' QUESTION**
That night, after the celebration, after everyone has gone to sleep, the four siblings gather in Aegon's room.
Visenya, Rhaenys, Orys, and him.
The candles flicker. Shadows dance.
—Now we all have dragons —Visenya says with a mischievous smile —. Well, Orys doesn't.
Orys smiles, unoffended.
—I have you all. That's enough.
Aegon embraces him.
—You will have your moment, brother. You'll see.
Visenya sits on the bed.
—But something I don't understand —she says, suddenly serious —. Grandfather. He's always with those ravens. He talks to them. Why?
—They're his friends —Aegon says.
—Friends? —Rhaenys asks —. Birds? Black ones?
—He told me once they tell him things.
—What things?
Aegon shrugs.
—Things of the world. Of the world out there.
Visenya frowns.
—And sometimes... sometimes I've seen them looking at him. As if they understood. As if they were people.
Silence.
The four look at each other.
—It's scary —Rhaenys whispers.
—No —Aegon says —. It's not scary. He's grandfather. He loves us, but they say when he was young he was a sorcerer.
—Are you sure? —Orys asks.
Aegon hesitates.
Just a second.
—Yes.
But he is not sure.
None of them are.
Outside, the night is clear.
Valerio roars from the beach. A deep, grave sound that echoes in the cliffs.
The other dragons respond.
Cannibal, Valax, Aerion, Vhaelar, Serion.
And the small dragons of Visenya and Rhaenys, who do not yet know how to roar like the big ones but try.
A symphony of fire and scales.
The four children, from Aegon's window, watch them.
Visenya, with her ever-attentive violet eyes.
Rhaenys, with her eternal smile.
Orys, with his serious gaze, learning not to be afraid.
Aegon, with his dragon, with his destiny, with his future.
They smile.
Not knowing what awaits them.
Not knowing that the world, out there, is changing.
Not knowing that they, without meaning to, will be the ones to change the world.
But tonight, on this night, they are only children.
Four siblings.
Four souls.
Four dragons, in one way or another.
And that is enough.
For now.