Dragon's flame

[Skies Above King's Landing]

Viserys Targaryen watched the retreating figures of the wyvern riders from atop his mighty dragon, Vermithor. His heart thundered in his chest, a pulse quickened by the raw thrill of battle.

"Vezofy emagon, Vermithor!"—(Dive down!)

Hearing the command of its rider, Vermithor plunged through the clouds like a meteor from the heavens, his bronze scales glinting in the dim moonlight. But Viserys was unaware that danger lurked just beneath the clouds. Seizing the perfect opportunity, a wyvern rider, clad in dark armor, lunged at him from the shadows.

Viserys saw the beast too late. The monstrous wyvern surged toward him, its jaws wide and talons outstretched, leaving no room for him to dodge. Yet, the King of the Seven Kingdoms showed no fear. His face, framed by silver hair, was a mask of grim determination.

Before the wyvern could reach him, a piercing screech echoed across the skies. In a blur of crimson scales and gnashing teeth, Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, tore into the wyvern with savage fury. The beast was ripped into several bloody pieces, its rider screaming briefly before vanishing into the abyss below.

Atop his fearsome dragon, Daemon Targaryen's face was a thundercloud of rage. The audacity to attack the capital of House Targaryen itself filled him with seething fury. His crimson cloak billowed behind him like the wings of a bat, Dark Sister gleaming at his side.

Behind him, Aemond Targaryen soared on Sheepstealer. Unlike the dragon's namesake, the dragon was anything but timid. His single sapphire eye burned with the promise of vengeance, and his dragon roared, eager to spill blood.

"Brother! I will head toward the River Gate—it's been breached!" Daemon bellowed over the roar of the wind and fire. "You take Cobbler's Square!"

Viserys's expression darkened. The breach of a gate so near the Red Keep was grave news indeed.

"Aemond, hunt these bloody mongrels from the skies of King's Landing!" Viserys commanded, his voice as cold and sharp as Valyrian steel.

With grim nods, the three dragonriders parted ways, streaking through the smoke-choked skies like vengeful gods descending upon the battlefield.

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[Great Hall, Red Keep]

Witnessing three dragons soaring over the skies of King's Landing, the flagging morale of the smallfolk and soldiers ignited like dry tinder. Cries of hope echoed through the streets as the counterattack began in earnest.

Within the Great Hall of the Red Keep, the gathered lords and ladies erupted in cheers, their voices mingling with the distant roars of dragons. But their jubilation was hollow. The faces of the royal family and the small council remained grim, for they knew what the naive nobles did not—the heart of King's Landing was still vulnerable.

"I want to ride Vermax and slay these beasts myself," Jacerys muttered under his breath.

"Mother! Mother!" Lucerys tugged at Rhaenyra's sleeve, his young face pale with confusion. "You said dragons can feel us and will come to us in times of danger. Why aren't Syrax, Dreamfyre, Vermax, or Arrax here?"

The innocent question sent a chill down Rhaenyra's spine. He was right. Why weren't their dragons responding? A knot of dread settled in her chest.

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[The Dragonpit]

Chaos reigned within the Dragonpit. The dragonkeepers, faces twisted in terror, fled in all directions, their screams echoing off the stone walls. The dragons inside grew restless, sensing the fear of their riders, straining against their chains to break free and join the battle.

But the chains held.

The mighty beasts roared and thrashed, their fiery breath scorching the stone, but they remained trapped, vulnerable in their confinement.

Suddenly, with a thunderous crash, three wyverns landed near the pit, their dark forms silhouetted against the flickering fires of the city. Injured from their clash with Vermithor, they were nonetheless relentless. With savage hunger, they stormed into the pit, devouring every dragonkeeper and guard in their path, their roars drowning out the dying screams.

Sensing the intrusion, the dragons' fury reached a fever pitch. Sundancer, still young and lightly chained, broke free of his bonds with a triumphant roar. His golden scales shimmered like the rising sun as he lunged at the invaders.

Caught off guard by the young dragon's fiery assault, one of the wyverns was incinerated on the spot, its rider reduced to ash. But Sundancer's victory was short-lived. The broken chains clung to his legs, hindering his balance.

The remaining two wyverns seized the opportunity, lunging with bloodthirsty precision. Sundancer fought fiercely, his cries of agony reverberating throughout the Dragonpit and Flea Bottom. His flame seared one wyvern's wing, sending it crashing to the ground, but not before the other sank its fangs deep into the young dragon's neck.

With a final, heart-wrenching roar, Sundancer collapsed, dragging one wyvern into death with him.

Hearing the cries of the fallen youngling, Silverwing, ancient and formidable, awoke from her slumber. Enraged by the slaughter, she charged from her lair with a deafening roar, her silver scales gleaming like moonlight on water. With a blast of searing flame, she roasted the last wyvern and its rider to bone and ash.

But Silverwing's fury was not sated. She tore free from the pit, burning its outer structure as she soared into the night, her roar a defiant challenge that echoed across King's Landing.

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[Great Hall, Red Keep]

Aera, standing beside her mother, felt a sudden, unbearable emptiness in her chest. It was as if a part of her very soul had been ripped away. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

All eyes turned to her. Alicent quickly pulled her into an embrace, her voice soft and melodic. "What's wrong, child?"

"Sundancer... I can't feel him, Mother. My dragon... he's gone," Aera sobbed, her words a dagger to every dragonrider present.

A heavy silence fell over the hall. Rhaenyra's heart clenched, her mind reeling with dread. If Sundancer was dead, then their dragons were in danger—perhaps all of them.

Aera tried to break free from her mother's arms, desperate to run to the Dragonpit, but Rhaenyra and Alicent held her back.

Yet, in the hearts of every dragonrider present, a single, terrible thought echoed:

How could Sundancer die?

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[The Skies Over King's Landing]

Daemon Targaryen carved a path of destruction through the skies atop Caraxes. The Blood Wyrm twisted and coiled like a serpent, his slim, agile frame making him a nightmare for the smaller, slower wyverns.

One wyvern, thinking to ambush from below, lunged at Caraxes's vulnerable underbelly. But the dragon twisted mid-air with impossible speed, his long neck snapping downward to unleash a torrent of flame. The wyvern's screech of agony was cut short as it plummeted, burning, into the streets below.

Daemon wielded Dark Sister in his hand, its Valyrian steel blade gleaming wickedly under the moonlight, ready to strike at any foe foolish enough to approach.

"Dracarys!" he roared.

Caraxes obeyed, spewing fire in a wide arc around them. The flames consumed two wyverns instantly, while others fled, their wings scorched and bodies blackened.

Undeterred, Daemon and Caraxes surged toward their destination, the skies around them a chaotic inferno of wings, fire and blood

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[Skies Above Cobblar's Square]

Viserys Targaryen gazed down upon his burning city, his heart heavy as the streets of King's Landing were painted crimson with the blood of men, women, and children. The mangled bodies lay strewn across the cobblestones, torn apart with savage bite marks, while smoke and ash spiraled into the heavens. The grotesque spectacle awakened something dark within Viserys—a voice in his mind whispered, "Burn them all."

As Vermithor's massive wings beat the air, bringing him closer to Cobblar's Square, Viserys's violet eyes caught sight of a horrifying scene: a huddled group of smallfolk, their faces etched with terror, trapped and strangled in the narrow alleys. Circling above them were four monstrous wyverns, their jagged teeth glinting as they snarled in cruel delight. Their riders, clad in foreign armor, watched the carnage unfold below with twisted amusement, reveling in the destruction they had wrought.

A thunderous roar split the sky. The smug expressions of the wyvern riders twisted into fear as they craned their necks to see a colossal bronze beast plummeting from the heavens. Before they could react, Vermithor unleashed a torrent of searing flame, engulfing both rider and wyvern alike in an inferno that left nothing but charred bones and ash.

One wyvern, narrowly escaping the firestorm, twisted mid-air and lunged toward Vermithor, its jaws wide, aiming for the dragon's exposed throat. But before Vermithor could retaliate, a silver blur descended from the clouds with lethal grace. The dragon struck with unrelenting fury, its claws tearing into the wyvern's hide, shredding it and its rider into grotesque pieces that rained down upon the blood-soaked square below.

The smallfolk erupted in cheers, their voices rising above the chaos. The sight of their Targaryen saviors soaring through the stormy skies etched into their hearts—a symbol of hope amidst the carnage.

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[Above King's Landing]

Aemond Targaryen soared over the rooftops, his solitary eye scanning the battle-ravaged city for prey. The thrill of the hunt coursed through his veins as Sheepstealer cut through the clouds and rain alike,his scales glinting like molten iron under the flickering lighting . The prospect of engaging a wyvern in aerial combat stirred something primal within Aemond—a dark joy that only the chaos of war could awaken.

Far below, he spotted a formation of five wyverns flying in a protective V-shape, their movements calculated, guarding something—or someone—of great importance. Aemond's lips curled into a predatory grin. Without hesitation, he guided Sheepstealer upward, merging with the dense dark cloud cover and rain, waiting like a vengeful shadow for the perfect moment to strike.

Tension rippled through the wyvern riders.

"Elder Mizanra," one of them called nervously, his eyes darting to the skies. "I think we should retreat. The dragons have taken to the skies."

But Mizanra, draped in ceremonial armor and radiating an air of fanatical devotion, shook his head. "No. The Emperor demands the extermination of House Targaryen today. We do not leave until their blood soaks these streets."

Before the elder could finish his words, death descended from the clouds. Sheepstealer plummeted like a meteor, his claws slamming into Mizanra's wyvern with bone-crushing force, piercing both beast and rider. The wyvern screamed in agony, but it was drowned out by Aemond's cold, commanding voice.

"DRACARYS."

The inferno that followed was merciless. Sheepstealer bathed the remaining wyverns in an ocean of fire, their leathery wings turning to ash mid-flight. Within moments, the entire formation was annihilated. With a contemptuous snarl, Sheepstealer released Mizanra's mutilated body from his claws, letting it plummet like a ragdoll to the blood-drenched streets below.

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[Great Hall, Red Keep]

The atmosphere within the Great Hall was suffocating, the heavy stone walls trembling with the distant echoes of dragon roars and wyvern screeches. Lightning crackled in the storm-darkened sky outside, illuminating the fear etched onto every face within. Aera Targaryen sobbed in her mother's embrace, her grief a raw, piercing sound that silenced even the most hardened lords.

The once-proud and scheming nobles, who had whispered of rebellion and plotted in the shadows, now stood humbled and pale, their illusions of power shattered. They understood now—the dragons were not mere beasts; they were the soul and sword of House Targaryen. Without them, Westeros would fall into ruin.

A monstrous, hideous roar suddenly shattered the tense silence. It reverberated through the hall like a death knell, sending shivers down the spines of all present. The massive oak doors groaned under an unseen force. Before anyone could react, the last thing many of the gathered lords saw was a 10-foot wyvern crashing through the walls, its maw dripping with blood. Four other wyverns followed each larger than the other , their eyes gleaming with malevolent intent.

The Kingsguard and the Goldcloaks surged forward, forming a desperate shield around the royal family. Steel clashed and arrows flew, but the wyverns were relentless, their leathery wings tearing through the hall like a hurricane. The nobles, abandoning all pretense of bravery, scrambled toward the gates, their cries for mercy lost in the cacophony of death.

The outer walls of the Great Hall crumbled under the wyverns' onslaught. Amidst the rubble and chaos, a monstrous, 10-foot wyvern stood before the Royal Family.behind it followed a 30ft wide wyvern, it's rider jumping from the saddle to the hall, with a sinsiter smile

" Today, house targaryen ends! "

The firelight gleamed off the targaryens' defiant faces as they stood their ground.