First flight

Huff...

Breathe...

He couldn't breathe!

Vermithor spread his enormous wings, their span blotting out the sky.

He stretched his wings freely, soaring high in the air.

Ever since he had moved into the Dragonmont, sheep had regularly respawned outside it.

All he needed to do was crawl out of his cave, glide, eat his fill, and sleep.

It had been a long time since he had enjoyed a truly satisfying flight!

Flying high in the sky again after so long, and sensing his rider's excitement, Vermithor grew excited too.

"Roar-"

He roared, abruptly beating his wings faster and shooting into the heavens.

The instant they took flight, the long-absent electronic voice sounded in Baelon's mind.

[Bound pet detected-dragon. Enter the trial space?]

Baelon did not respond.

He did not even have time to look back and see whether Silverwing had followed.

He gripped the saddle handles tightly, involuntarily flattening himself against the saddle and burying his face in it as he gulped for air.

His first flight did not feel nearly as wonderful as he had imagined!

His mouth hung open as the wind howled and thundered in his ears.

Waves of heat swept into his face with the wind, filling his clothes and whipping his cheeks until they stung.

They were going too fast. Breathing... he was having trouble breathing.

He couldn't open his eyes either!

How did the other Targaryens manage to remain so composed in these fierce winds?!

And how did they see the ground clearly from hundreds of feet up without wearing goggles?!

He was about to shout for Vermithor to slow down, but the moment he raised his head and opened his mouth...

The wind rushed straight down his throat.

Baelon could only slap Vermithor's side hard to signal him.

There was no helping it. Dragon hide was too thick.

If he used too little strength, Vermithor would think he was being tickled!

Vermithor had plenty of experience carrying people. Like a seasoned driver, he cleverly slowed down.

Baelon gasped for breath, gradually straightening on the dragon's back.

His breathing grew steadier, and the wind was no longer so fierce.

Yet Vermithor maintained a steady speed.

He held out his palm, feeling the wind brush gently against his face.

How amazing...

How curious.

If the Targaryens' constitutions were strong enough to let them adapt so quickly in the air, why didn't their physiques stand out at tournaments?!

Baelon simply stopped thinking about what he could not figure out.

He was no maester.

He simply pulled out a rope and wound it around his left hand, binding it firmly to the saddle.

Now he would not let go of Vermithor even in death.

A wild smile spread across Baelon's face. "Faster, Vermithor!"

As though sensing his rider's mood, Vermithor raised his head and roared excitedly.

Seabirds scattered in the distance.

Vermithor accelerated sharply, hurtling toward great masses of white clouds!

The dragon stretched his wings freely, enjoying the sensation of the biting wind washing over his scales.

Baelon lay flat against the saddle. The clouds looked soft, but their water droplets and ice crystals battered him so hard that he could not open his eyes.

The wind nearly tore him from the dragon's back.

But he managed a smile and roared, "Vermithor! Show me your limits!"

Show me the limits of Targaryen blood!

Vermithor answered his rider with a deep roar.

The dragon beat his wings excitedly and charged into a flock of birds darting about in confusion!

The birds scattered in a flurry!

Suddenly, Baelon blinked.

High in the thin air, amid the fierce winds, he raised his head with an unchanged expression.

At that moment, Baelon very much wanted to shout something.

He had adapted.

But in the end, he only slowly exhaled. "Vermithor, descend!"

Just fly around a little first, enough for rider and dragon to get used to each other.

The most important thing was to hurry into the trial space and enjoy a nice round of buffs.

Having flown for only a little over ten minutes, Vermithor gave a displeased growl, but still obediently circled through the clouds and descended.

Once they dropped below the clouds, Baelon looked down from the dragon's broad back.

With a marvelous, natural ease, Vermithor tilted his neck to the other side, clearing his rider's view.

Baelon: ...

Who had trained Vermithor so well?!

At that moment, Baelon fell in love with this secondhand dragon.

Thank you, Great-grandfather. You can rest in peace.

I'll take care of your dragon!

He made out two groups of people on the ground.

One group stood far from the Dragonmont. Some distance away from them were two figures closer to the mountain.

Silver-haired Viserys, his father.

And Maester Orwyle, the director of his Academic Research Institute.

He was currently overseeing the forceps development project, along with a few small herbal formulation projects that interested him.

Orwyle showed considerable potential in herbal formulation.

Baelon marveled.

From hundreds of feet in the air, amid the strong winds, his eyes could clearly make out Viserys's face.

Targaryen blood...

An immense shadow blotted out the sky above Viserys and Orwyle.

The howling air currents swept up gravel and grass clippings, tousling their hair.

Vermithor landed heavily, kicking up billowing dust.

Seeing this, Silverwing flew lightly out of the cave, folded her wings, and stood gracefully beside Vermithor.

Viserys studied the two dragons he had not seen in so long, emotion in his eyes.

Sitting on the dragon's back, Baelon smiled and extended a hand. "Father, Maester Orwyle, would you like to fly with me?!"

Orwyle's gaze stirred.

Viserys declined. "No, fly by yourself, Baelon."

"Your first flight should belong to you and your dragon."

Go freely experience the breath of the wind and the touch of the clouds.

Viserys smiled with satisfaction. He too had ridden a dragon, and he understood how the rider felt at this moment.

Baelon raised his eyebrows. "All right, then let's rest for the night. Tomorrow I'll have a proper flight, and the day after, I'll take you back to King's Landing on dragonback!"

Viserys suffered from severe seasickness just as he did. They could simply hail a dragon home and avoid getting seasick again.

As for Orwyle, he was Baelon's chosen future Grand Maester.

Although in the original story, Grand Maester Orwyle had not sent out ravens announcing the king's death after Viserys died.

He had also accepted Aegon's assignment to go to Dragonstone as an envoy of the Greens and meet Rhaenyra.

In the end, he had even supplied Larys Strong with poison to murder Aegon II, the younger brother Baelon did not know would ever be born.

But that did not matter.

Maester Orwyle was merely a timid maester who knew how to protect himself.

Since he would submit to the Greens' power and work for them in the original story, he would submit to Baelon's power too.

His forceps project could not do without Maester Orwyle!

Hurry back to work!

Viserys nodded. Removing his glove, he reached toward Silverwing, who stood quietly beside them with her head against Vermithor's.

Baelon hurriedly said, "Father, you can touch Vermithor."

Viserys said, "Don't worry. There's no danger."

"I'm a Targaryen too, and perhaps she still remembers me."

"But what if..."

What if Silverwing suddenly lost her mind?

Baelon abruptly fell silent.

He thought he understood Viserys now.