Ripples of Fate

Looking down, he saw an ink-black bay where raging waves battered jagged reefs with muffled roars. Above Daemon Blackfyre's head, the dusk clouds were torn apart by a violent force!

A colossal beast spread its crimson wings, blotting out the sky. The gusts it whipped up were like a hurricane, instantly tossing Daemon's disheveled silver hair.

A bold, wild laugh brimming with youthful vigor crashed down the cliff with the sea wind:

"Faster! You lazy bones! Caraxes! The herring shoals around Tidehead Island are getting away!"

The blood in Daemon's body seemed to freeze solid in that instant!

He snapped his head up and saw the young knight riding the crimson dragon—his silver-gold hair flying wildly in the gale, his deep violet eyes shining like morning stars in the twilight.

That figure, that hair color, those eyes...

If not for that young, spirited face with its hint of unruliness, he would have been the very image of Daemon Blackfyre at sixteen!

Daemon Targaryen! As the crimson dragon's name, "Caraxes," boomed in his ears like thunder, the cold name from the pages of history suddenly took on living flesh and blood before his eyes! The sight cruelly overlapped with the dragon shadow that had flashed across his vision as he lay dying!

"There he is! Catch him!" The furious shouts of his pursuers and the clash of blades were closing in from behind, cutting off his retreat.

Daemon looked back at the churning sea in despair, only to see another figure riding a scarlet dragon as it dove home from the horizon like a burning meteor! The dragon's breath painted the sunset into a rolling sea of blood!

Ahead, his namesake ancestor, who knew nothing of what was happening, howled through the air atop a crimson dragon. Behind him, pursuers pressed close with swords and spears, blocking every path to survival.

In that desperate moment, the madness and resolve in Daemon's bones were completely ignited! He hesitated no longer, leaping toward the surging black sea below!

The howling wind filled his ears. The weightless sensation of falling was all too familiar, as though Brynden's fatal arrow were once again tearing through the air toward him. The broken half of the silver hair-binding chain clenched in his palm abruptly grew scorching hot, like a red-hot branding iron!

The freezing seawater, thick with salt and fishy stench, swallowed him in an instant, piercing his bones like countless icy needles.

The black three-headed dragon brand pulsing on his right shoulder burst into an even more glaring dark-red glow the instant it touched the water. It was so hot that the seawater around it hissed and steamed, sending up wisps of eerie white vapor.

Just as his consciousness began to blur and the salty water choked his lungs, an urgent, powerful female voice pierced through the roar of the waves:

"Take my hand!"

A slender yet strong hand suddenly seized the arm he was flailing wildly through the water!

A tremendous force dragged him out of the freezing sea!

His drenched body slammed heavily onto a hard, warm, scaly surface—the back of the scarlet dragon!

Daemon coughed violently, spitting out the seawater he had swallowed as his blurred vision gradually came into focus.

The black-haired beauty who had just saved him knelt before him. Her dripping black hair clung to her cheeks, while her light violet eyes held shock, scrutiny, and an indescribable tremor.

The dragon beneath her only let out a low hiss. Its enormous body hovered steadily above the sea, showing not the slightest rejection or fury at the unfamiliar person now on its back.

"What is your name?" The black-haired beauty's voice carried a peculiar penetrating quality, reaching Daemon clearly through the sea wind.

Daemon tightened his grip on the bloodstained mother-of-pearl curved knife he had never let go of. Its cold touch barely helped gather his chaotic thoughts.

Records from the old libraries of King's Landing about the appearance of Lineage dragons flashed through his mind. The scarlet dragon beneath him was undoubtedly the Red Queen, Meleys, while the woman before him, though black-haired, possessed the light violet eyes of pure Valyrian blood... Combined with what the jailers had said, her identity was obvious.

Panting, he spoke the name engraved into his soul. "Daemon... Daemon Blackfyre..." His voice was hoarse, yet strangely clear.

"Daemon? Blackfyre?" Rhaenys Targaryen's beautiful brows drew together slightly, and the confusion in her light violet eyes deepened. "Are you sure your surname isn't 'Waters'?"

As she spoke, she reached out and gently yet irresistibly brushed aside Daemon's soaked silver hair, which clung to his forehead. She studied his pale but undeniably handsome face, especially those deep violet eyes. This face... why was it so familiar?

"Come to think of it, Meleys and I were the ones who found you in a crevice among the seaside rocks that day," Rhaenys continued, her sharp gaze examining every minute expression on his face. "You were burning with fever and unconscious, and there was this on your shoulder..."

Her fingertips lightly brushed the black three-headed dragon brand on Daemon's right shoulder, which still emitted a faint red glow. The brand seemed to pulse a little more weakly at her touch. "I just never expected Corlys to lock you in the lower dragoncrystal prison..." A trace of barely perceptible anger colored her voice.

"It was... the surname my father bestowed upon me..." Daemon blurted out almost without thinking.

Perhaps it was that one touch of warmth amid the icy seawater. Perhaps it was the long-unseen concern and scrutiny in her eyes. Or perhaps it was the instinct left behind in this teenage body. In his extreme exhaustion and confusion, he had subconsciously given that vague yet fatal answer.

The instant the words left his mouth, he realized something was wrong—but it was too late.

Rhaenys froze completely! Father?!

That pure silver hair and violet eyes... those features nearly identical to the portrait of her father Aemon as a child... and the almost instinctive, knightly restraint he had displayed in that flash of combat when he seized a blade and struck back by the cliff... all of it gave her a terrifyingly familiar feeling.

A dreadful thought, one that made her heart tremble yet filled her with a trace of wild joy, struck her mind like lightning: Could it be... could you be...?

At that moment, Daemon broke into a violent coughing fit from the seawater and unconsciously muttered a curse in High Valyrian: "...Valar morghulis..." His voice was soft, but clearly audible.

That whisper struck Rhaenys's heart like a heavy hammer! She remembered! She remembered clearly! When she had been very young, her father, Prince Aemon, had taught her about the weight of life with that ancient saying. No ordinary Lys thief or pirate could possibly know it!

Shock, confusion, sorrow, and an almost absurd hope tangled fiercely in her eyes.

Meleys seemed to sense her rider's violent emotional turmoil as well and let out a low, soothing hiss.

This she-dragon, famed for her fierce temper, showed unprecedented tolerance toward this suddenly appeared boy who radiated an unusual bloodline aura.

The silhouette of Dragonstone Castle cast an immense shadow through the twilight, while the waves beat against the cliffs with an eternal sigh.

Rhaenys drew a deep breath and forcibly suppressed her tumultuous emotions. Her voice carried an incomprehensible complexity as she formally introduced herself:

"My name is Rhaenys. Rhaenys Targaryen." Her gaze locked tightly onto Daemon's eyes, as though she wished to pierce through this body and see the truth buried deep within his soul. "Now tell me, who exactly are you? Or rather... whose child are you?"

The sea wind swept up her drenched black hair. Dragonstone's vast shadow loomed above them, and in the salty wind, the gears of fate turned with a heavy, unfamiliar sound.