Chapter 53: Visenya

After Grandfather Daemion's passing, House Targaryen, following a period of deep mourning, was forced to confront a harsh reality: the family was in urgent need of a dragonrider.

As a result, Aegon and his sisters had their dragon training schedule pushed forward.

Once again, the Targaryens gathered in the study of the Dragonstone Tower to discuss the matter.

"I think I can give it another try. I've never approached Balerion before—maybe he'll take a liking to a true dragon like me," said Aerion, Aegon's father, breaking the silence.

Aerion had never managed to tame a dragon, something that had always weighed heavily on his heart.

As the Lord of Dragonstone, he had seen most of the dragons on Dragonmont either tamed or tried by others. Balerion, who had always had a rider, was one of the few untouched—until now.

Hearing this, Aegon sighed inwardly. He had long since examined Aerion's attributes. Though he had dragonblood, it was diluted. There was no chance he could tame a dragon.

Perhaps it was fate. In the two generations before Aegon, House Targaryen had flourished with many members.

But after the war with the Kingdom of Volantis, their numbers had steadily dwindled.

Then, something unexpected happened.

Visenya stepped confidently into the center of the study, her posture proud and expression sharp with resolve.

"Father, I believe I'm the one best suited to ride him," she declared loudly.

She glanced around the room, and finally her eyes settled on Aegon.

Looks like the allure of being the strongest—and the last—Dragonlord of this age is hard to resist, Aegon thought.

He smiled faintly. There was no way he was going to let this spiral out of control.

Without hesitation, he walked straight to the wall, grabbed the nearly ten-pound Valyrian steel family sword "Blackfyre," and with a heavy thud, planted it firmly on the floor.

"Father, Sister—if you want to tame Balerion, you'll need to get through me first," Aegon said boldly, his gaze sharp with confidence.

When it's time to fight, you fight. Playing nice never wins you anything.

Rhaenys ran up to him, linked her arm through his and pressed it to her chest. Lifting her chin toward Visenya, she declared, "That's right! Brother's the one with the best chance of taming Balerion. I'm backing him!"

Seeing Aegon's determination, Aerion chuckled and shook his head. "All right, all right, I was just joking. I'll step aside. And Visenya, stop messing around—let your brother handle it."

But Visenya wasn't ready to back down so easily. She turned to her sister with a defiant look and said stubbornly, "I'm the eldest. It's only right that I go first. Besides, Aegon's never beaten me—not once. I'm the strongest Targaryen."

Aegon looked at her proud, headstrong expression and couldn't help but laugh.

"In that case, let's have a match. If I lose, you go first. Sound fair?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Visenya," Aerion tried to interject, not wanting this to cause tension between his children.

But Visenya ignored him and answered crisply, "Deal! That's more like my good little brother."

Aegon glanced at his father and shook his head slightly, signaling him not to interfere.

"Fine," Aerion said with a resigned sigh. "If you're set on competing, so be it—but training swords only. No real blades."

The family left the study and made their way to the training ground beneath the Dragonwing Tower.

Aegon and Visenya stepped into the arena and each picked a training sword that suited their style. These were unsharpened, designed to be safe for sparring.

"Go, brother!" Rhaenys cheered, waving her tiny fists and bouncing excitedly in place.

Aerion brought Rhaenys, his wife, and the rest of the family up to the second-floor corridor of the Dragonwing Tower. The vantage point offered a full view of the training ground—perfect for spectating.

Aegon gripped a 1.4-meter greatsword, his usual broadsword of choice.

Thanks to his mastery of Valyrian Military Swordsmanship, he had developed a complete combat style tailored to his strengths.

Visenya chose a hand-and-a-half sword—shorter and lighter than Aegon's, the kind of longsword often favored by women.

Aegon planted both hands on his blade, held it upright before him, bent his knees into a slight crouch, and assumed a textbook Valyrian military stance—balanced, ready for attack or defense.

Visenya frowned slightly, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. She looked at him curiously, wondering why he wasn't using the Dragonthorn Sword Technique that Instructor Serren had always taught him.

Still, she didn't dwell on it. She raised her slender blade level with her chest and readied herself.

"Quick Sword?" Aegon raised an eyebrow, then pushed off the ground without hesitation, launching a rising thrust—the top-strike move from Valyrian Military Swordsmanship—as he took the initiative to attack Visenya.

Although Visenya was caught off guard by Aegon's sudden advance, she didn't panic. She extended her arm and aimed the tip of her sword at Aegon's shoulder, forcing him into a choice—if he kept charging, he'd be the one getting hurt.

Aegon gripped his greatsword with both hands and swung it with explosive force, cleaving toward the direction of Visenya's thrust. This was one of the twelve major variations of Valyrian Military Swordsmanship—[Cross Strike].

A sharp clang rang out as metal scraped against metal.

Visenya's hand-and-a-half sword was knocked clean out of her grasp. Her eyes widened in disbelief. She couldn't fathom how Aegon had managed such a fierce counter.

But she didn't back down. Raising her leg high, she launched a kick at Aegon.

Aegon instantly switched techniques, rotating his waist and bringing his greatsword around in a sweeping crescent slash. The weapon howled through the air with tremendous force.

If that blow had landed, even with a blunt training sword, Visenya would've suffered serious internal damage.

Thankfully, just as the blade was about to strike her leather armor, Aegon turned the slash into a blunt sweep, knocking Visenya off her feet and sending her tumbling to the ground.

Standing over her, Aegon looked down with calm certainty. His voice was steady but left no room for doubt. "Give it up. You can't beat me. The gap between our swordsmanship is far beyond what you imagine."

"Impossible! You've never beaten me in swordsmanship—not once since we were children! There's no way this is real!" Visenya's voice trembled, her chest rising and falling rapidly, clearly struggling to accept the outcome.

Aegon simply shook his head, his tone composed. "To help you give up completely—and out of respect for you as a warrior—I'll go all out.

Come, Visenya. I'll make sure you accept it."

With that, Aegon reentered his stance, planting his greatsword vertically before him, gripping it tightly. At the same time, he activated his [Outer Tyrant, Inner King] state and switched it to Tyrant's Body Mode—his vitality surged by 25% in an instant.

A jolt, like a current of electricity, surged through his body, and a terrifying, overwhelming presence radiated from him.

Visenya pushed herself up with her sword, her expression now deadly serious.

She took several deep breaths before letting out a sharp cry and charging forward with full force. Her iron sword raised high overhead, she brought it down with all the power she could muster.

A loud crash echoed across the field as sparks burst from the clash.

Aegon caught the strike cleanly, unmoved, standing like a stone pillar.

Visenya's sword skidded off his with a screech, guided aside by the control of Aegon's blade.

Aegon stepped forward into a wide lunge.

With the momentum of the clash, Visenya stumbled forward and fell right into Aegon's chest.

He dropped his sword and caught her at the waist, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Her soft chest pressed flush against his, forming two enticing curves between them.

Their eyes met.

Aegon's gaze was calm and steady. He spoke softly, "Surrender to me, sister."

Visenya's eyes went wide as she stared at him, stunned.

She was still just a twelve-year-old medieval girl—how could she withstand Aegon's sudden, domineering advance?

Her body went limp, her limbs lost their strength, and her mind went blank like a frozen moment in time.

Around them, the Targaryens burst into laughter at Aegon's unexpected move.

Aerion looked on with a pleased smile, clearly proud.

Only Rhaenys, standing off to the side, stomped her foot with a pout, glaring at the two "show-offs" at the center of the field, her face full of jealousy.

Her eyes reddened, and she turned away with a sharp huff before storming off.

Visenya buried her face in Aegon's chest. Though he couldn't see her expression, the flush reaching all the way to her neck and the trembling of her body told Aegon he might have taken the joke too far.

He gently patted her back in an attempt to soothe her.

Visenya covered her face with both hands, finally shedding her usual pride and revealing the side of her that was just a girl—just a little sister. Without looking back, she turned and hurried away amid the laughter of their gathered kin.

Aegon turned his gaze toward Dragonmont and thought quietly, Now that I've gotten my sister out of the way, no one can stand between us anymore. Balerion, you and I—this is destiny.

...