Jon woke up slowly, blinking as the world around him felt strange, lighter. The usual cold air of the North was now a chilling gust whipping past his face. As his vision cleared, his heart nearly stopped. He was high—so impossibly high—above the clouds, the ground nothing but a distant memory far below. His breath caught in his throat as he realized he was sitting on something massive. The surface beneath him moved with a powerful rhythm, each beat of the wings sending them higher into the sky.
Eyes wide with disbelief, Jon craned his neck and caught sight of the dragon's long, muscular body, its black scales shining in the pale light above the clouds. He swallowed hard, his heart racing, unable to grasp how this was real. His hands instinctively gripped the saddle tighter.
"Good morrow," a voice said, and Jon turned his head in shock to see Androw sitting calmly beside him. Androw wore a faint, knowing smile, clearly amused by Jon's reaction.
Jon's eyes darted between Androw and the endless sky around them, panic settling in. "Wh-what..." Jon stammered, still trying to make sense of the impossible.
Androw chuckled lightly. "A little higher than what you're used to, eh? First time seeing the world from a dragon's back?" He leaned in slightly, his tone turning playful. "Careful now, if you don't hold on strong, you might just fall."
Jon's face drained of color at the mere thought. Without thinking, he clung to the saddle even tighter, his small fingers digging into the leather, his entire body stiff with fear. His pulse quickened, and he dared not look down again.
Androw's smile widened at Jon's reaction. "Don't worry. Baal won't drop you... as long as you hold on." His tone was teasing, but there was a reassuring warmth to it, as though he was enjoying Jon's wonder and fear all at once.
The dragon soared higher, and soon, the vast expanse of the sea came into view. The sun was setting, casting the water below in hues of gold and crimson. It was Jon's first sight of the sea, and his eyes widened with wonder, the terror of flying momentarily forgotten.
"Look," Androw pointed out, his voice softer now, almost nostalgic. "That's the sea."
Jon stared, unable to speak for a moment. He had heard tales of the endless waters, but to see it with his own eyes was something else entirely. He glanced at Androw, who was looking at the horizon with a distant expression, his gaze fixed on the setting sun as if lost in memories. The wind tugged at Androw's hair, his usual sharpness momentarily softened by the light.
"Master?" Jon called, first quietly, then again, louder. "Master?"
Androw blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "Hm?" he hummed, looking down at Jon, his smile faint but present.
"Where are we going?" Jon asked, his small voice full of curiosity, though still touched with fear.
Androw's smile faded slightly, replaced by something more serious, almost grim. He looked ahead once more, his eyes hardening. "We're heading into chaos, Jon. A lot of chaos... waiting for us to cause.".
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Far to the north, deep in the Wolfswood, a company of men on horseback emerged from the trees, their horses nervously stamping their hooves at the scent of smoke still lingering in the air. A large portion of once-dense forest now lay scorched and blackened, charred trees standing like skeletons against the smoke-filled sky. The ground was littered with ash, and the faint smell of burnt wood and flesh of burnt animals. For last five hundred years, no such wildfire had ever consumed these woods, and the magnitude of the devastation left them speechless.
One of the men dismounted his horse with a stoic expression. Alaric walked slowly across the devastated land, his eyes taking in the destruction before him.
As Alaric moved forward, he stumbled upon something half-buried in the ash. Kneeling, he brushed aside the soot and debris, his fingers tracing the edge of a shield. He rubbed at the blackened surface, revealing a faint sigil beneath the charred wood. A black dragon, its wings half-consumed by the fire.
Alaric's eyes narrowed as he stood, staring at the shield in his hand. He walked further, past the smoldering ruins, until he reached the edge of a massive, blackened crater. This was where the dragon's flame had descended.
He turned to his men, his voice low but commanding. "Bury the dead."
The men obeyed, moving quietly to gather the remains. Alaric, his eyes never leaving the pit, said to his remaining men, "We return to Winterfell.".
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Night had fallen over Winterfell, casting long shadows across the godswood. The only sound in the quiet stillness was the faint rustle of leaves in the cold northern breeze. Rhaena stood motionless before the heart tree. The face carved into the weirwood's trunk stared back at her with its somber expression, its eyes weeping red sap. She continued to gaze at the face, her thoughts hidden behind her quiet demeanor.
Beside her stood Alarra, her eyes drawn to the dark pool of water nearby. The moon's reflection shimmered on its surface, fractured by ripples from the occasional falling leaf. It had been some time since they had arrived, and not a word had passed between them since Rhaena had asked her to accompany her to the Godswood. Alarra's curiosity had been piqued—she had so many questions about Rhaena, about Androw, and the stories surrounding them.
Alarra had been especially surprised when she learned that Androw, the Queen's consort, had killed one of the Kingsguard. It troubled her deeply. She had always seen Androw as sweet and kind, with his gentle features and handsome smile, not as someone capable of taking a life. There must have been a reason, she thought. Something more than what she had heard. Her eyes flickered toward Rhaena, who remained lost in her own distant thoughts.
"Princess?" Alarra finally ventured, her voice soft but uncertain.
Rhaena didn't turn, her gaze fixed on the face of the weirwood. "Don't ask," she said sharply. There was no room for conversation, no space for Alarra's curiosity. Rhaena wasn't in the mood to speak, and Alarra knew better than to press her further.
Just then, a maid emerged from the woods. She approached Rhaena with a respectful bow before speaking. "Princess, Lord Stark has asked for your presence…".
For a brief moment, a flicker of something crossed Rhaena's face—hope, or perhaps relief. She nodded curtly and turned to follow the maid, her movements was hurry. Alarra trailed behind her, glancing over her shoulder, feeling an odd sense of being watched.
She turned suddenly, only to see a black crow perched on a branch above. It stared down at her with cold, beady eyes before taking flight, its wings cutting through the night air with a single, sharp caw.
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Guys, it's really sad that we can't kill the MC's villain. If we did, the future would change completely. So, how is he going to get his revenge? Well, we'll just have to wait and see how it turns out.
By the way, if anyone wants to read ahead, there are 5 chapters available on Patreon. Take care!
link: patreon.com/AmouxCreationX
]