The sun set in the west.
Aemon stepped onto Dragonstone's beach, jogging across the golden sand.
The salty sea wind lashed his face, cool against his skin.
"Ser, keep up."
Aemon called out excitedly.
He was running.
For the second time in his life, he had set foot on Dragonstone, racing across its beach.
His destination was clear.
The enormous, towering mountain nestled among the surrounding peaks.
Dragonmont!
"Dragonmont is an active volcano. The dragons' nests are all there."
Aemon smiled, brimming with enthusiasm for the unknown.
He was going to tame a dragon.
The two White Knights stayed close behind, gathering branches to prepare torches in advance.
Night was approaching.
Even on Dragonstone, they had to remain on high alert.
The sun gradually sank below the horizon, and the sky darkened.
Taking the lead, Aemon rounded several steep slopes and arrived at a barren stretch of jagged rocks.
Beyond it lay Dragonmont.
"Halt! Who goes there!?"
Several flames suddenly flared in the distance, accompanied by a loud shout.
Aemon turned around.
A group was hurrying toward them from the direction of Dragonstone Castle, the cliffside fortress.
There were three Dragonkeepers—one old and two young—dressed in rough linen and clutching bamboo poles tightly in their hands.
Five guards wore armor and red cloaks.
One of them had a harsh-looking face, though he was tall and broad-shouldered. He strode toward them menacingly.
He was the one who had shouted.
"Prince."
Ser Alick's expression shifted slightly as he asked for instructions.
"Stay calm."
Aemon was far more composed.
Dragonstone was House Targaryen's ancestral seat, and Dragonmont was the nesting ground of dragons.
It was only natural for there to be dedicated guards.
The patrol quickly approached.
The elderly Dragonkeeper eyed them warily and questioned them in High Valyrian, "Who are you, and