Viserys Targaryen awoke to the crackling of flames, his senses reeling from the heat and the acrid smell of smoke. Confusion clouded his mind as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. Where was he? What had happened?
Memories flooded back in disjointed fragments: his life as a 20-year-old man in the modern world, the sudden sensation of being torn from that existence, and now this... a new life in a world he recognized all too well from books and television.
He was Viserys Targaryen, born of the blood of Old Valyria, a scion of House Targaryen, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. But how could that be? He was supposed to be dead, killed by molten gold poured over his head by a Dothraki warlord.
Yet here he was, alive and breathing, in the midst of a blazing inferno. Instinct kicked in as he scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting around the chamber for any sign of danger. The flames licked at the walls, casting eerie shadows that danced across the stone floor.
With a surge of adrenaline, Viserys pushed himself forward, his mind racing with questions and uncertainty. Was this some kind of afterlife? A dream? Or had he truly been reborn in the body of his ancestor, the doomed prince of Dragonstone?
As he stumbled towards the nearest exit, the sound of voices reached his ears, muffled and indistinct through the roar of the fire. Someone was shouting, calling out his name. Could it be...?
With renewed determination, Viserys pressed on, his heart pounding in his chest as he fought his way through the smoke and flames. And then, at last, he burst through the door and into the blinding light of day.
Before him stretched the vast expanse of Dragonstone, its towering cliffs rising majestically from the sea. And there, standing amidst a throng of panicked servants and guards, was a figure he recognized all too well.
"Viserys!" the man cried, his voice tinged with relief and disbelief. "Gods be good, you're alive!"
It was Ser Willem Darry, the loyal retainer who had served House Targaryen faithfully for decades. And behind him, clad in shimmering armor and flowing silks, stood a woman whose face stirred distant memories in Viserys's mind.
"Mother?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe his eyes.
Queen Rhaella Targaryen, the mother he had thought lost to him forever, stepped forward with tears in her eyes and open arms. "My son," she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. "You're home."
And as Viserys collapsed into her embrace, the weight of his newfound destiny settled upon his shoulders like a crown of fire.
---
I hope you enjoy this chapter!