Chapter 7: The Storm War

The night was still, the moon hanging low in the sky as the Dothraki camp slept under the blanket of silence. Aegon Targaryen, Ghost to those who knew him by another name, sat on the edge of his tent, his thoughts dark and heavy. The fire's glow flickered in his eyes, casting shadows on his hard features as he stared into the distance. He had just learned the news—Robert Baratheon had declared war on the Targaryens.

Mercenaries had already been sent out, and worse yet, Cassian Vorel, the very man who had shaped him into the weapon he was, had been dispatched. The Faceless Assassins were after him. The Targaryen line would not be allowed to live.

"Ghost," a voice broke through the tension. It was Daenerys, her face pale, eyes wide with fear. Her presence was a stark contrast to the war that had suddenly consumed them. "What will we do? My brother... he doesn't want this war. He doesn't want to fight."

Aegon's gaze hardened. His uncle, Viserys, had never been a fighter. He was a coward, and now, as the true heir of House Targaryen, it fell to him to protect his family.

"The war has already come to us, Dany," he said, his voice steady but edged with anger. "We have no choice now. I will protect you."

As if on cue, the distant sound of pounding hooves echoed across the desert, the rhythmic thunder of Dothraki riders preparing for battle. The wind shifted, bringing with it the scent of steel, the promise of blood. Aegon stood up, his mind already working through the movements of the coming conflict.

Viserys, however, was nowhere to be found when the battle began. His cowardice, long apparent to Aegon, came to fruition in the heat of the moment. While the Dothraki were roused to fury, led by Khal Drogo, Viserys shrank into the shadows, too terrified to even consider joining the battle. The weak king—no, the failed king—was a shadow of the man he once claimed to be.

"Where is Viserys?" Daenerys asked urgently, her voice filled with disbelief. Her brother, the one who was supposed to be by her side, was nowhere to be found.

Aegon's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "He's hiding. He's always been a coward."

In the distance, the first wave of mercenaries, led by a man in black armor with an insignia that Aegon recognized, approached. It was clear they were here for one thing: the death of the last Targaryens.

Aegon's gaze turned to Daenerys. She was vulnerable, a woman who had seen so little of the world and now found herself thrust into the heart of a war she had no part in. It was not just Robert Baratheon's war anymore. It was his war now.

Aegon's body burned with a cold fire. The time had come. He could hear the scream of a Dothraki rider in the distance, the sound of chaos that would soon be everywhere.

The battle unfolded quickly, as the Dothraki launched into their savage charge against the mercenaries, the two forces clashing with a brutality that only the Dothraki were known for. Aegon fought with the fury of a man who had nothing left to lose. Every blow he struck with his sword, every life he took, was in defense of his family, of his birthright. The sounds of battle echoed across the sands, a cacophony of bloodshed and destruction.

But amidst the carnage, there was one figure Aegon could not ignore. Cassian Vorel.

His old mentor, the man who had trained him in the deadly arts of the Faceless Assassins, was at the heart of the mercenary group, his eyes fixed on Aegon with a cold, calculating gaze. Cassian had always been ruthless, but now there was something darker in his eyes—something personal.

"You were always the best of us, Ghost," Cassian called out across the battlefield, his voice carrying above the din. "But now, you've become the greatest enemy we've ever known."

Aegon's heart beat faster, his grip tightening on his sword. He could see the way Cassian moved, the precision in his strikes, the deadly grace he had once admired. But now, Cassian was the enemy. Cassian was here to kill him.

"Then come and try, old friend," Aegon growled, his voice full of venom as he charged toward his former mentor.

The two men collided in a whirlwind of steel and fury. Aegon fought with the knowledge of every deadly technique he had learned, but Cassian was no amateur. The two circled each other, blades flashing in the moonlight, the sound of metal ringing in the night air.

Cassian's eyes never left Aegon's as they exchanged blows, his movements sharp, calculated, relentless. But Aegon was different now. His time with the Faceless Assassins had honed him into a weapon, and the Witcher serum coursing through his veins made him faster, stronger, and deadlier than ever before. Every strike was precise, every move a dance of death.

"You've become something else," Cassian hissed between strikes. "Something... unrecognizable."

"You trained me," Aegon snarled, his sword flashing as he parried a blow. "And now you're going to pay for it."

The fight raged on, a storm of blood and steel. The clash of blades was deafening as Aegon and Cassian fought to the death. Aegon could feel the pain in his body, the weariness from the battle, but he pressed on, knowing that if he faltered for a single moment, Cassian would end him.

With a final, savage strike, Aegon disarmed Cassian, sending the man's blade flying from his hand. The mercenary assassin stumbled back, blood dripping from a wound on his side, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I was never your friend, Ghost," Cassian spat, his eyes filled with hatred.

"No," Aegon said coldly, his sword poised to strike the killing blow. "You were my teacher. And now, you're just a ghost."

With a swift, brutal motion, Aegon drove his sword through Cassian's heart. The former assassin's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

As the battle raged on, Aegon turned back to Daenerys, who stood at the edge of the carnage, her face pale but filled with a quiet resolve.

"Are you alright?" Aegon asked, his voice gentler now, though still hard with the adrenaline of the fight.

Daenerys nodded, though her eyes were haunted by what she had witnessed. "I'm... I'm not afraid. Not anymore."

Aegon placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression softening for a moment. "Stay close. We have to leave soon."

But deep inside, he knew that the war was only beginning. Robert Baratheon was coming. And this time, they would have to fight not just for survival—but for the very throne itself.