A Whisper in the Night
The moon hung low, a silver sickle slicing through the smoky clouds over Cair Volakar. In the quiet of the war chamber, Kaerys sat alone, her white sword gleaming under torchlight. The flicker of flames cast dancing shadows across the maps spread before her—trade routes, enemy strongholds, whispers of betrayal.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"M'Koro," she said without looking up.
The shadowbinder entered silently, his dark eyes sharp as obsidian. "There is news."
Kaerys arched an eyebrow. "Speak."
He unfurled a scroll, revealing a sigil she recognized—a black dragon coiled around a spear.
"Targaron's youngest scion is in town. Hidden beneath a mask, moving among the common folk. A snake in the grass."
Kaerys's fingers curled tightly on her sword's hilt. "Then the dance begins."
Serenthis' Awakening
Far above, on the volcanic terraces, Aelthara tended to the dragon egg. The creature within stirred, veins of violet light pulsing beneath its cracked shell.
"Serenthis will hatch soon," Aelthara whispered, her breath warm against the egg's cold surface.
Neron approached, the weight of the Heartcleaver at his side. "Are you certain we can control her?"
Aelthara's smile was slow and dangerous. "Dragons do not submit; they choose their riders. But Serenthis owes me a debt."
Neron's gaze hardened. "Then we will make sure she remembers."
The Masked Gathering
Under the flickering lanterns of Volantis' shadow market, the Targaron scion, masked and cloaked, met with an underground council of mercenaries and spies.
"The bastard Velaryon and his fireborn lord think to claim Valyria's throne," the scion said in a voice cold as ice. "We will remind them why the old blood still runs deep."
A grizzled mercenary sneered. "Their dragons are fledglings. We have allies in the Shadow Isles and in the ruins of Gar Valon."
"Then we strike hard and fast," the scion declared. "Before the Merchant-Queen's gold buys them untouchable."
Aelthara's Proposition
That evening, in a hidden alcove of Cair Volakar, Aelthara met Kaerys alone.
"I have a proposition," she said, tracing a delicate finger along a map etched with silver lines. "The Targaron scion is vulnerable. If we strike together, we can crush their rebellion before it begins."
Kaerys's gaze was wary. "And what do you want in return?"
Aelthara's eyes gleamed. "A share of the dragon's favor. Serenthis will be mine—and hers the fire to forge new empires."
Kaerys nodded slowly. "Then we have an accord."
The Flame Ignites
As dawn broke, Neron stood atop Cair Volakar's highest peak, the wind whipping his dark cloak.
"The time for shadows ends," he said, lifting Heartcleaver to the sky. "The fire of Valyria will rise again."
Below, the gathered armies prepared to march—knights, shadowbinders, and mercenaries alike.
The game was on. The dance of shadows and dragons had begun.
End of Chapter 17