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As I returned from the battlefield, the wind ruffled my feathers in my peregrine form. The rhythmic beat of my wings was a familiar, comforting sound as I glided over the sea toward the secluded island. The pale moon cast a soft glow over the land below, its silvery sheen shimmering on the gentle waves. I descended swiftly, my body slicing through the air with unmatched precision before I landed softly on the rocky shore. With a moment's focus, I shifted effortlessly back into my human form. My feet touched the ground, and the familiar weight of my robes settled around me as I adjusted to standing on two legs again.
Turning around, I saw them. The dark shapes of the Night Furies emerged from the shadows of the forest, their eyes glinting like liquid pools of midnight. They observed me with intense curiosity, their expressions unreadable yet mesmerizing. The subtle retracting of their teeth and the way their tails moved in relaxed, fluid motions signaled that they did not perceive me as a threat. Instead, I was a mystery—a being worthy of their attention.
I raised my wand, its polished surface gleaming softly in the moonlight, and cast a subtle spell to probe their thoughts, if they had any that I could understand. The spell hummed in the air, brushing past the mental barriers of the creatures. What I received was not words but emotions. A rush of curiosity swept over me like a wave, mingled with a sense of awe and a faint, startling recognition—a kinship that resonated deep in my core.
The realization struck me: these creatures, in their complex and quiet way, regarded me as something more than human. It dawned on me that, perhaps, the bloodline I carried—the legacy of the Targaryens—meant more in this world than I had previously believed. The Night Furies sensed it. To them, I was a peculiar dragon, one that breathed fire and shifted forms, capable of leading and commanding their respect.
The leader among them stepped forward, a magnificent creature marked by a long scar that ran over one eye—a testament to battles fought and survived. His presence was imposing, a mix of strength and ancient wisdom. He approached with measured steps, his snout inches from me as he inhaled deeply, studying my scent. The air crackled with silent tension before, slowly, the great beast opened his powerful wings and dipped his head in a gesture of submission and reverence.
The sight stole my breath. A creature so fierce and revered by its kind acknowledging me, recognizing me as superior, sent a thrill through my veins. One by one, the other Night Furies followed suit, bowing their sleek, scaled heads in unison. The air was heavy with their acknowledgment, their silent pledge of loyalty.
I felt a profound connection, an unspoken understanding that these creatures saw me not as an outsider but as one of their own—a leader, a dragon in human skin. The realization ignited something deep within me, a newfound sense of purpose intertwined with power. This was more than acceptance; it was destiny unfolding, a bond that would shape my path forward.
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After the initial commotion settled, the previous leader—a mighty Night Fury with a scar running over his left eye—stepped forward, his dark scales shimmering slightly in the dim light. He approached me, lowering his head until it brushed against my outstretched hand. A strange warmth surged through the bond we now shared, and I could feel his intention as if it were my own: he wanted me to follow him.
We began our journey deeper into the labyrinthine caves. The air grew warmer as we descended, each step resounding with a faint echo. Unlike what I had anticipated, the cave wasn't cold or foreboding; instead, it exuded a comforting warmth, one that invited rest and respite. The rock walls were lined with a strange, glowing moss that emitted a soft, golden light, casting everything in a serene glow. The floor was smooth, almost polished, and the gentle warmth enveloped me like a protective cloak. It was a place where one could easily surrender to sleep, lulled by the secure embrace of the underground haven.
As we moved deeper, the space opened up into a grand chamber. My breath caught in my chest at the sight before me: nestled within the heart of the cavern, surrounded by mounds of soft nesting material, were about thirty dragon eggs. Their shells were various shades of deep blue and black, speckled with faint, star-like patterns that pulsed with an inner light. It was no wonder the Night Furies had been so fiercely protective of this place; they were willing to sacrifice everything to safeguard the next generation.
A spark of inspiration flared in my mind. Using my spell, I reached out to the dragons, transmitting my thoughts with clarity. I could feel their emotions shift as my plan unfolded in their minds—confusion, then cautious trust. I reached into my inventory and pulled out the sub-dimensional bag, a gift that had proven its worth time and time again. It looked small and unassuming, but within lay an entire world, complete with its own ecosystem.
The dragons watched with wide, curious eyes as I instructed them to gently hold their eggs. Though confusion rippled through the flock, the scarred leader's steady gaze encouraged them, and they obeyed. With careful precision, I cast a spell to maintain the eggs' warmth, ensuring they wouldn't be disturbed by the transition.
I slipped my hand into the bag, feeling the familiar tug as its magic recognized me and pulled me through. A moment later, I was standing in the expansive plain of the sub-dimension. The skies above were a vibrant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the ground beneath my feet was soft, covered in lush grass. This pocket world stretched out infinitely, featuring mountains that brushed the horizon, dense forests teeming with life, icy peaks in the distance, and a glistening ocean that stretched to meet the sky.
I knew this place well—it had been my escape when reality became too stifling. But now, it would serve a greater purpose. Scanning the landscape, I found an ideal spot: a warm stretch of land that bordered the ocean, complete with rocky outcrops perfect for perching and caves that could serve as natural dens.
I summoned the Fallen Angel Gate and connected it to the cave's entrance. The shimmering portal glowed softly as it opened, revealing the view of the sub-dimension on the other side. I turned back to the dragons and transmitted my final thought: "Your new home, a place where your young can grow safely, without fear. Enter and see for yourselves."
A chorus of soft, trilling sounds—expressions of joy and relief—echoed in the chamber. One by one, the Night Furies stepped through the portal, carrying their precious eggs. Their eyes widened as they took in the expanse, the warmth, the gentle breeze from the ocean. It was a sanctuary, one they hadn't dared to hope for, but now stood before them.
The scarred leader lingered for a moment, meeting my gaze with an expression that needed no words. It was a look of gratitude, respect, and an unspoken promise of loyalty. He bowed his head deeply before stepping into their new home, followed by the rest of the flock.
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After ensuring the eggs were carefully set in a suitable location within the sub-dimension, I paused to take in the scene. The air was filled with warmth, the glow from the sun-kissed plains reflecting off the scales of the dragons as they settled around their newly claimed home. Among them, I noticed the diversity in age and size: around 60 dragons in total, with 20 of them appearing to be younger—teenagers, in human terms—with an eagerness reflected in their restless eyes. Among the older ones, only a few, perhaps two or three, showed signs of age, their movements slower yet deliberate. The previous leader, however, stood out: scarred but strong, his posture proud and vigilant. He was clearly in his prime, carrying an air of authority that commanded respect.
I approached him, feeling the subtle thrum of magic that connected us. His deep gaze met mine, understanding passing between us without a word. I reached out and spoke with purpose, "You, I'll name you Skyrend."
A shift in his expression told me he understood the gravity of the moment. Through my spell, I felt his emotions ripple with pride and joy. He moved gracefully, circling around me with a mixture of reverence and affection, the brush of his wings enveloping me in a protective embrace. It was as if he were both accepting the name and pledging his loyalty to me. The other dragons watched intently, a few emitting low, approving growls as if welcoming the acknowledgment of their leader's bond with me.
Once Skyrend's display subsided, I knew it was time to move forward. I took a step back and turned to address the dragons, my eyes landing on two females that had stayed close to Skyrend during the whole ordeal. Their likeness to him suggested a bond—possibly siblings. both had more obsidian-like scales, glistening under the light. They seemed to mirror Skyrend's anticipation, ready to follow my lead.
With a final nod of assurance to the gathered group, I turned towards the entrance of the sub-dimension. "Come," I said, and Skyrend stepped forward without hesitation, flanked by the two females. We exited the pocket world into the real one, stepping back into the cool, open air. The sudden shift in temperature reminded me of the urgency of my mission.
---
The goal before me was as clear as a flame in the dark: visit the locations where dragons were trapped, held in cages, and treated as mere training tools for novice Viking warriors. This mission was not born out of noble intent to end dragon hunting as a practice—far from it. With only a month in this realm, there was no time for a grand crusade. No, my purpose was far more personal: to collect as many dragons as possible, shelter them in my sub-dimension, and prepare them for a future far beyond this world. A world that awaited my return, where they could thrive under my rule.
The first location was nestled in a mist-cloaked valley, surrounded by towering pines that stood like sentinels. The encampment reeked of smoke, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood—a haven for those eager to prove their worth by spilling it. As I landed in my peregrine form on a tall, creaking branch, my sharp eyes scanned the cages below. Dragons of various sizes, their scales muted by grime and despair, shifted uneasily behind their iron bars.
The thrill of the hunt coursed through me as I shifted back into my human form, drawing my wand with a silent, practiced motion. With a swift flick, the guards' weapons were wrenched from their grasps and clattered to the ground. Confusion turned to panic as I disarmed their minds next, a subtle charm that left them dazed and docile. One by one, they fell like marionettes whose strings had been cut, leaving only the soft whimpers of caged dragons and the crackle of distant fires.
I approached the first cage, its inhabitant a sleek, deep green dragon with eyes that glimmered with defiance. "Freedom is yours," I whispered, extending my wand to cast the spell that bridged their minds and mine. The dragon's hesitation was palpable until it felt my intentions. It stepped forward, testing the air, then looked back at me with a flicker of trust. The cage melted away, metal bending and groaning under my will, and the dragon leapt out.
My sub-dimension's portal shimmered before it, a beckoning light that promised warmth, food, and safety. Some dragons, like this one, chose to step through immediately, vanishing into the landscape I had carefully shaped to house them. Others needed more time, glancing warily between the portal and the open sky before making their choice.
From one encampment to another, the pattern repeated. I painted the world in shadow and silence, a ghost of retribution slipping through Viking strongholds. Blood, though I did not seek it, sometimes painted my path as the more stubborn guards attempted futile resistance. Each slash of my wand, each silent incantation, felt like writing a new chapter of dominance—one where dragons would know freedom only under my command.
Hours bled into days as my collection grew. Each dragon that stepped through the portal found a space suited to its nature: icy caverns for the frost-breathers, dense forests for the forest-dwellers, and warm sands for those who basked in heat. The sub-dimension expanded with them, an ever-growing haven that hummed with the raw, wild energy of its new inhabitants.
Every capture, every portal opened, strengthened my resolve. This was not just a mission to gather power—it was a statement. When I finally returned to my world, it would not be alone. The skies would darken with wings, and the name Hecate Targaryen would echo not just as a witch but as a queen of dragons.
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The island was vast, wild, untouched by most, and perfect for my respite after days of relentless scouting and conquering. Its forest was dense, with towering trees that seemed older than time itself, their twisted roots creating natural thrones. I found one such throne-like root and let myself slide into it, my body shifting back from feathers and talons to skin and bones. My peregrine falcon form always felt freeing, but the comfort of my human form brought its own familiarity.
The dragons that had become my companions circled above before descending, their wings slicing the sky with grace. They were once a trio, but my influence had turned them into an airborne legion. One by one, they settled around me, their scales gleaming in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. The Typhoomerang curled protectively near the edge of our clearing, its fiery red eyes darting around to ensure no threat approached. The Singetail, ever restless, prowled the underbrush with a low rumble, while the steady, slow-breathing Hotburple collapsed into a boulder-like heap, already half-asleep.
Most of the others, with their formidable prowess, had chosen the sub-dimension—a hidden, mystical space that allowed them to rest and recover without compromising their readiness. But the ones present here, these chosen few, had resolved to follow me through thick and thin. The Raincutter's shimmering, blade-like wings caught the sunlight as it perched atop a fallen tree, its tail swishing rhythmically. The Hideous Zippleback, with its two heads in a seemingly eternal argument, paused only to cast curious glances in my direction. Even the Death Song, hauntingly beautiful, lay coiled around a cluster of rocks, humming a lullaby that resonated with an eerie charm.
As I watched them, a subtle itch of curiosity drew my attention to my inventory. My eyes settled on an item that felt newly familiar yet unexplored—a peculiar egg. This was no ordinary egg; thorns protruded from its hard shell, forming a web of natural defenses. I turned it in my hands, feeling its warmth pulse gently, almost as if something within was aware of me. It was a memento from that hunter, Drago—or was it Drogo? He was one of those fierce, cunning types who never yielded anything without purpose. If he had protected this egg with such fervor, it must have been something precious, something formidable.
My mind raced with possibilities: could this be a dragon yet unknown to me? A hybrid, perhaps? Whatever it was, I intended to hatch it, to bring it into the fold of dragons loyal to me. I had conquered land, gathered power, and held sway over both sky and flame. Now, I was poised to add a secret weapon to my arsenal. The thrill of anticipation stirred within me as I leaned back, tracing the patterns of thorns with a finger, while Nyx's soft mewling reached my ears.
Rest would not last long; it never did in my world. But as I sat surrounded by scaled titans and the promise of a new creature, I felt ready for whatever came next.