**THE JOURNEYS BEGIN**
Two years have passed since the great punishment.
Two years of training, of lessons, of controlled flights and requested permissions. Two years of proving they could be responsible, that they had learned their lesson, that they were no longer those reckless children who flew south without warning.
The children are no longer children.
AEGON is 16 years old.
His silver hair, long and silky, reaches his shoulders. When he walks, people step aside. Not because they are afraid, but because there is something about him that commands respect. His violet eyes, deeper than ever, look at the world with a mix of curiosity and distance. He is no longer the child who only wanted to play. Now he wants to understand. He wants to know. He wants... something more.
ORYS is also 16 years old.
His dark hair, always rebellious, frames an easy smile that makes him popular wherever he goes. He has grown fast and tall. Taller than Aegon. When they enter a tavern together, the women look at Orys. The men too, but for different reasons. He has something magnetic, something that attracts without effort.
VISENYA is 14 years old.
She is tall for her age. Her beauty is severe, intimidating. When she smiles, men tremble. When she frowns, they tremble too. Vhagar, her dragon, has grown with her. Now she is a fearsome beast with emerald green scales, with yellow eyes that promise fire.
RHAENYS is 14 years old.
Sweeter than her sister, with a smile that disarms even the toughest. But do not be fooled by that sweetness. Rhaenys sees things others do not see. Listens to what is not said. Knows what others ignore. Meraxes, her blue dragon, adores her with a devotion bordering on obsessive.
They have served their punishment.
They have demonstrated responsibility.
Now their parents allow them to travel with more freedom.
With one condition: they must always inform.
And they comply.
Almost always.
**VOLANTIS AND SLAVERY**
The first great city they visit in their new freedom is Volantis.
Volantis. The oldest of the Free Cities. The one that still considers itself heir to Valyria. Its walls are immense, its stone bridges cross wide rivers, its tiger statues watch over the squares.
It is immense.
Larger than all of Dragonstone combined.
The markets never end. Street after street of stalls, booths, shops. Spices, fabrics, jewelry, weapons. Everything is sold in Volantis.
But what they see marks them forever.
Slaves.
Men, women, children in chains, sold like merchandise. The merchants display them like cattle. "Look at this one, strong for the fields. Look at this one, good for the kitchen. Look at these children, you can train them for whatever you want."
Buyers touch them, examine them, negotiate prices as if they were pieces of meat.
Visenya freezes.
Her hands, at her sides, become fists. Her jaw clenches.
—How can they do this?
Aegon, beside her, clenches his jaw. His violet eyes scan the scene with a mix of revulsion and understanding.
—This is how the world works —he says —. The strong dominate. The weak suffer.
—But we are strong —Visenya says.
And she calls Vhagar with her mind.
The dragon, up there in the sky, roars.
The sound echoes in the square. People look up. They see the green silhouette, immense, outlined against the clouds.
People flee.
The slave merchants too.
Visenya advances toward the cages.
The slaves look at her with hope. A terrible, desperate hope that hurts to see.
—We can free them —Visenya says —. Right now.
Rhaenys places a hand on her shoulder.
—There are too many, sister.
Visenya looks at her, furious.
—So what? We leave them here?
—If we free them here, in the middle of Volantis —Rhaenys explains calmly — they will be captured again as soon as we leave. They have nowhere to go. No way to escape.
—Then...
—Then we remember —Aegon intervenes —. That's what we do. We remember. And when we can, when we are stronger, when we have real power... we will do something.
Visenya wants to protest.
Wants to scream. Wants to burn the entire city.
But she knows they are right.
They walk away in silence.
But the image of the slaves will never fade.
**LYS AND ORYS'S DISCOVERY**
The next stop is Lys.
The city of perfumes. Of fine fabrics. Of pleasure houses.
Lys is different from Volantis. Softer. Sweeter. The streets smell of flowers and spices. People wear brightly colored clothes. Everything seems happier.
—What is that place? —Rhaenys asks, pointing at a building with white columns and silk curtains swaying in the breeze.
Aegon coughs.
Looks away.
—A place... for adults.
—What kind of adults?
—Those who pay for company.
Rhaenys blushes. Her face, normally pale, takes on a pinkish tone that contrasts with her silver hair.
Visenya frowns.
—Company? Like...?
—Like that, yes —Aegon interrupts —. Don't ask more.
Orys, however, smiles.
That easy, mischievous smile of his.
—Sounds interesting.
—You're not going in —Visenya says, in her older sister voice.
—Why not?
—Because you're our brother and we don't want you to... do weird things.
Orys laughs.
—I'm not going to do anything weird. Just look.
He does not lie.
But that night, in a tavern, he discovers something.
The women look at him.
And not just look. They approach. Smile at him. Touch his arm. Ask his name.
—You're handsome —one says to him, a woman with dark hair and green eyes —. Where are you from?
—From Dragonstone.
—The one with dragons?
—Yes. My brother has the largest.
The woman laughs. A musical, pleasant laugh.
—And you, what do you have?
Orys smiles.
—I'm more fun.
The next morning, his sisters find him surrounded by three women.
He sits at a table, laughing, telling stories. The women listen, spellbound.
—Orys —Rhaenys says in an icy voice.
He turns.
—What's wrong? —he asks, innocent.
Visenya grabs him by the ear.
—Ow!
—Party's over, brother.
—But I didn't do anything wrong!
—That's the scariest part.
The women walk away laughing, blowing him kisses.
Orys rubs his ear, but smiles.
—It was worth it.
**THE SISTERS' JEALOUSY**
In another tavern, days later, a woman approaches Aegon.
She is beautiful. Red hair, green eyes, a smile that promises everything.
—What beautiful hair —she says, touching it without permission —. You look like a prince from old stories.
Aegon smiles, uncomfortable.
Before he can respond, a hand grabs him by the ear.
—He's not available —Visenya says, pulling hard.
—Visenya!
—Shut up. Let's go.
The woman steps back, amused.
—They're your sisters, right?
—Yes —Aegon complains, rubbing his ear —. Very protective.
—I see.
As they leave, Rhaenys grabs Orys by the neck.
—And you, stop smiling at everyone.
—I'm not smiling!
—All the time. Even when no one's there. You smile just thinking about women.
The four walk through the streets of Lys, arguing.
But deep down, they all smile.
They are siblings.
That's what they do.
**MYR AND THE SPYGLASSES**
In Myr, the city of artisans, an old glassmaker receives them in his workshop.
The workshop is a labyrinth of tables, ovens, and shelves. On the walls, dozens of glass objects: cups, vases, animal figures. All shiny, perfect.
—I've heard of you —the old man says, with a toothless smile —. The dragon riders. Those who fly on beasts. I have something for you.
He searches through his drawers. Takes out four objects wrapped in cloth.
Spyglasses.
Long tubes, with hand-cut lenses, that allow seeing into the distance.
—With these you can see coasts before arriving —he explains —. Or spy on your enemies from above. Or simply admire the landscape without moving.
The children, fascinated, look through them.
The distant mountains draw near. The infinite sea fills with details. The tiny seagulls appear as if within reach.
—It's like having eagle eyes —Rhaenys says.
—Better —the craftsman corrects, proud —. Eagles can't put their eyes in their pocket.
Visenya laughs.
—I like this old man.
—Me too —Aegon says.
They pay him generously. The old man insists it's not necessary.
—Seeing you is payment enough —he says —. Dragons... I saw them as a child, in books. I thought they were tales. And now you're here.
He wipes a tear.
—Thank you.
**TYROSH AND THE FIGHT**
In Tyrosh, Visenya finds what she seeks.
A fight.
A tavern full of mercenaries. Hard men, with scars, with icy stares. They bet, they drink, they provoke each other. The atmosphere smells of sweat and violence.
Visenya enters alone.
The mercenaries look at her. Some laugh.
—What's a girl doing here? —laughs a large man, with scars on his face and arms.
—Fighting —she replies.
The man laughs harder. His friends too.
Then he stops laughing.
Because Visenya breaks his nose with a punch.
The fight doesn't last long.
Visenya is fast. Fierce. Trained since childhood by the best masters. Her movements are precise, lethal. Every blow finds its target.
When her siblings enter, alarmed by the shouts, they find her standing over the man, with a wild smile.
—Did you have fun? —Aegon asks.
—A lot.
—Good. Now let's go before more come.
Visenya agrees.
But as they leave, the mercenaries still standing applaud them.
Their fame grows.
**PENTOS AND THE PROPHECY**
In Pentos, an old mage receives them in his tower.
The tower is old, leaning, as if it might collapse at any moment. But it is full of books, scrolls, strange objects.
The mage has a white beard, long, reaching his chest. His eyes are milky, blind. But when he looks at the children, he seems to see them.
—One of you —he says, pointing at the four with a trembling finger — will be the Prince that was Promised.
His voice comes from very far away, as if speaking from another time.
—He who was born amidst salt and smoke. He who will wake the dragons from stone.
Aegon laughs.
A short, uncomfortable laugh.
—I'm no prince —he says —. And my dragons are already awake.
The mage smiles.
—I know. But the stone dragons are not of flesh. They are something else.
—What something? —Rhaenys asks.
—That you will have to discover yourselves. When the time comes.
—And when will that time be? —Orys asks.
—When the world is darkest. When all seems lost. When hope is only a memory. Then the stone dragon will awaken.
Visenya rolls her eyes.
—They always say the same thing —she protests —. "When all seems lost." "When hope is only a memory." What if we don't want to wait for everything to be lost? What if we want to prevent it?
The mage looks at her for a long time.
His milky, blind eyes seem to shine.
—Then perhaps... —he says slowly —. Perhaps you are the answer.
Visenya doesn't know what to answer.
**NORVOS AND THE DEVOTION**
In Norvos, something strange happens.
When the dragons fly over the city, people kneel.
In the streets, in the squares, on balconies. Men, women, children. All on their knees, looking at the sky.
—What are they doing? —Rhaenys asks from Meraxes.
—They worship us —Visenya replies, with a smile that is pure pride.
They descend.
They land in the main square.
People surround them. Touch their clothes, their hair, their dragons. With reverence. With devotion.
—They are gods —they say —. Gods of fire and blood.
Visenya feels powerful.
She likes it.
Aegon, however, feels uncomfortable.
—We are not gods —he says, stepping back —. Just people with dragons.
—For us, it's the same.
That night, at the inn where they stay, Visenya says to Aegon:
—We could rule here. They would accept us. Worship us.
—I don't want to rule.
—What do you want then?
Aegon doesn't answer.
Because he doesn't know.
**QOHOR AND THE DAGGER**
In Qohor, the most famous smiths in the world receive them with honors.
Qohor is famous for its steel. The best steel in the world, they say. That which doesn't rust, doesn't break, cuts anything.
—Valyrian steel —the smiths say, showing them ancient pieces —. The best that exists. No one knows how to make it anymore. The secrets were lost with the Curse. Only we preserve some pieces from ancient times.
They offer Aegon a dagger.
The blade is dark, rippled, with a strange gleam. The pommel is shaped like a dragon, carved with exquisite detail.
—For the rider of the largest dragon —they say.
Aegon accepts it.
He weighs it in his hand.
It is light. Perfect. As if made for him.
—Thank you.
—No. Thank you. For reminding us that dragons still exist. For keeping the flame alive.
Visenya wants one too.
But there are no more.
—Next time —the smith promises —. If you return, you will have more.
Visenya nods.
But in her eyes, there is a spark.
Next time.
**THE RETURN**
After months of travel, they return to Dragonstone.
The sun sets behind them as their dragons break through the clouds and the island appears below. The fortress, the villages, the cliffs. Everything in order. Everything as always.
They bring gifts.
Spyglasses for everyone. Valyrian steel daggers. Fabrics from Lys. Spices from Volantis. Stories to tell.
Dareo and Elera embrace them as if they hadn't seen them in years.
—Tell us everything —Elera says, eyes shining —. Every detail.
And they tell.
The slaves of Volantis. The women of Lys. The spyglasses of Myr. Visenya's fight. The mage's prophecy. The devotion of Norvos. The dagger of Qohor.
But they don't tell everything.
They don't tell that something has changed in them.
They don't tell that now they see the world with different eyes.
They don't tell that in Lys, Orys discovered that women love him.
They don't tell that Visenya almost burned a slave merchant.
They don't tell that Aegon cannot forget the slaves' gaze.
That they keep to themselves.
**THE NEWS FROM VALYRIA**
When they enter the fortress, tired but happy, they find something unusual.
Everyone is gathered in the great hall.
Dareo. Elera. Aerom.
The Celtigar and Velaryon patriarchs.
Serious faces. Grave expressions.
—Sit down —Dareo says.
The children obey.
The fire crackles in the hearth. Shadows dance on the walls.
The Velaryons speak first:
—News has arrived from Valyria.
The children tense.
—The air has changed. It is no longer as deadly as before. Many explorers use it to pass faster. To get closer. Although no one ventures too far. No one has reached the center.
—What does that mean? —Aegon asks.
—That the kingdoms and empires want to go —Dareo replies —. All of them. Pentos. Braavos. Volantis. Qarth. They want to explore the ruins. Want to recover what they can. And they want us to guide them. Or protect them.
—They offer gold —Elera adds —. A lot. And men, soldiers, ships. Whatever we need.
Silence.
—Is it true about the air? —Aerom asks from his corner.
His deep voice commands respect.
—Yes —the Velaryon patriarch replies —. We have verified it. We have sent explorers. They have returned alive. The air no longer kills.
—But Valyria is still dangerous —Aerom warns —. Not just because of the air. Because of other things. Things that awakened with the Curse. Things that still sleep. It will be so for centuries.
They discuss for hours.
Dareo hesitates. Elera too. The families opine, argue, contradict each other.
Finally, Aerom raises his hand.
—Let's not decide today. Let's think. Meditate. And then we'll speak.
The children look at each other.
Valyria.
The word echoes in their heads.
**THE SECRET CONVERSATION**
That night, when the fortress sleeps, the four gather in Aegon's room.
Candles flicker. Shadows dance.
—Did you hear? —Visenya says, excited —. Valyria. We could go.
—Our parents haven't decided anything —Rhaenys reminds, sensible.
—But if they decide yes...
—If they decide yes, we wouldn't go. They would go. With soldiers. With explorers. With mages.
Visenya makes a face.
—Well, I want to go.
—Me too —Orys says —. Imagine seeing the ruins. The temples. The stone dragons.
—The Pentos mage spoke of stone dragons —Rhaenys recalls —. Do you think they exist?
—I don't know —Aegon replies —. But if they exist... perhaps we should see them.
Visenya smiles.
—So?
—So nothing. We wait. And when we know more... we decide.
The others nod.
But in their eyes, the spark of adventure already burns.
**THE TOWER**
Above, in his tower, Aerom watches his grandchildren from the window.
The almost-full moon bathes the scene in silver. He sees them talk, laugh, dream. Sees them plan futures he will not live.
—They have seen enough —he murmurs —. They know what's out there now. The cruelty. The beauty. The danger. Now they must decide what kind of people they want to be.
The raven on his shoulder caws.
—I know —Aerom replies —. Valyria calls them. And they hear it.
He looks south.
Toward the smoking ruins.
Toward the place where it all began.
—But Valyria does not forgive —he whispers —. And they do not yet know that.
The ravens around him caw.
They wait.
They always wait.