Chapter 62: Whispers in Silk and Smoke

The flickering candlelight danced along the smooth stone walls of the royal apartments in the Red Keep, casting long shadows that stretched like serpents. It was late. The kind of quiet hour where thoughts wandered freely, when dreams tangled with waking life.

Prince Daeron Targaryen, barely more than a boy, sat beside the wide window overlooking the inner courtyards. The cool wind tugged at the golden strands of his hair as he leaned on one arm, silent.

His sister, Helaena, sat opposite him in silence, her embroidery laid untouched on her lap. She often didn't speak unless it mattered when she did, Daeron listened. She was… different. Strange to most. But not to him. He didn't fear her mutterings or visions. He believed them. Or wanted to.

Tonight, her hands were still, her eyes distant. She hummed softly under her breath. Words came between the hums—half-formed, half-sung.

"Flames flicker, shadows stretch… the one that burns yet bears no rider…"

Daeron turned. "You're speaking of him, aren't you?"

She blinked slowly, as though returning from some far-off place. "The Shadow."

Daeron's chest tightened at the name. Everyone whispered of the dragon that had returned from the forgotten corners of Essos massive, untamed, born of fire and storm. The one they called "The Shadow," who scorched the Dothraki, who felled the Cannibal. Whose wingspan darkened the skies above Dragonstone and whose fire glowed brighter than the pyres of kings.

Vezdaryon.

"That beast is wild," Daeron muttered. "Even Aemond couldn't claim him."

Helaena tilted her head and smiled faintly. "Aemond has fire, but not his name. Not for that one."

"What do you mean?" Daeron asked, brow furrowed.

She didn't answer right away. Instead, her eyes moved toward the window, as if seeing something far beyond King's Landing. "He waits. But not for Aemond. Not for Lucerys either."

Daeron looked down at his hands, suddenly uncertain. "Why are you telling me this?"

She rose and walked over to him, her fingers brushing lightly over the window ledge. "He is not just fire. He is destruction. And you…"

She placed a hand on his chest. "You are flame, but you carry silence too. You listen. He'll see that."

Daeron hesitated. "Do you think… I could claim him?"

Her eyes turned to meet his, wide and faraway, yet strangely present. "You will try. One day. Not soon. But when the fire breaks and the realm burns, he'll look for someone who doesn't shout for him… but calls to him."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

"And his true name?" Daeron asked, his voice quiet.

Helaena looked back out the window, the stars glittering like dragon eyes overhead. "Vezdaryon. Son of Flame and Destruction. That name is not for all mouths. But you'll learn it. You'll feel it."

She turned to leave, her bare feet soft against the stone. But before she vanished into the shadows of the hall, she paused and said, "Beware the ones who chase too loud. Dragons don't love chains."

Daeron remained seated long after she was gone. His chest thudded with thoughts he couldn't untangle. A boy with a destiny too heavy for his shoulders, sitting in silence while the greatest dragon of their age circled the skies without a rider.

But the fire was there. Somewhere deep inside.

Waiting.

———-

Sorry for the wait, the chapter will be slightly shorter because I'm on holiday with bad Wi-Fi.