Aegon Reborn: The Last Targaryen

Jon's eyes traced the faded Valyrian script, each word sinking into his mind like a whisper from the past.

"The blood of the dragon must not fade. If the world is to survive what is coming, the legacy must endure."

What did it mean? Who had written it?

His grip on the scroll tightened. He had expected to retrieve some stolen trinket, not something tied to his own heritage.

A sound in the hall made him tense.

Footsteps.

Jon quickly rolled the scroll and tucked it inside his cloak. He drew Longclaw, stepping into the shadows just as the door creaked open.

A man entered—a tall figure draped in rich silks, his beard neatly trimmed. Magister Rhazdar.

He had not come alone. Two guards followed, their hands resting on their swords.

Jon remained still, waiting.

Rhazdar strode to his desk, oblivious to the intruder hiding mere feet away. He lit a candle, revealing a second scroll identical to the one Jon had just taken. He unrolled it, muttering softly in Valyrian.

Jon strained to hear.

"The dragon stirs. The world will burn or be reborn."

His breath caught.

Then, as if sensing something amiss, Rhazdar turned sharply. His gaze flickered to the open chest, his expression darkening.

He spun to his guards. "Someone is here."

The moment the words left his mouth, Jon moved.

Jon struck before the guards could react. He drove his fist into the first man's throat, cutting off his shout. The second guard barely had time to draw his blade before Longclaw flashed, cutting through flesh and bone.

Rhazdar stumbled backward, knocking over a stack of scrolls. "Who—who are you?"

Jon stepped forward, his blade dripping with blood. "The scroll. What does it mean?"

The magister's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape. "You have no idea what you're meddling with."

Jon grabbed him by the collar, shoving him against the desk. "Then explain it to me."

Rhazdar swallowed hard. "It is prophecy."

Jon's grip tightened. "Whose prophecy?"

The magister hesitated. Then, in a whisper, he said, "The last dragon's."

Jon's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"

Rhazdar smirked. "You are not the only Targaryen left."

Jon's world shifted. He had always believed himself the last. But if Rhazdar spoke the truth…

"Who?" Jon demanded.

The magister's smirk widened—but before he could speak, an arrow struck him in the throat.

Jon turned just in time to see a shadow disappear through the balcony window.

Ghost snarled, rushing forward, but it was too late. The assassin was gone.

Jon let out a slow breath, his heart pounding. Rhazdar lay dead at his feet, his secrets buried with him.

But Jon had the scroll. And now, he had a new purpose.

If there was another with Targaryen blood, he would find them.

Because the world was changing.

And the dragon had awoken.