A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 61: The Crimson Dragon Rises

The Dragonmont loomed before them, a blackened giant wreathed in smoke, its peak crowned with fire. The air shimmered with heat, and the earth beneath their feet was cracked and scorched, breathing steam from deep wounds in the rock. Pockets of molten lava bubbled and hissed in the darkness, casting an eerie red glow that pulsed like the heartbeat of something ancient and waiting.

Prince Aerion Targaryen walked carefully across the uneven ground, feeling the heat press against his skin. It was not the oppressive warmth of the Lysene sun or the swelter of Volantis—it was something else, something alive. It was the breath of the mountain, the whisper of an old and forgotten power.

At his side, Kinvara moved with unwavering purpose. She looked almost otherworldly in the firelight, her red robes flowing like liquid flame, her golden eyes gleaming with something beyond mere faith. In her arms, she cradled the dragon's egg—a thing of blackened stone veined with crimson, as though fire slumbered beneath its shell.

Behind them, Ser Guncer Sunglass followed at a distance, his face tight with suspicion. His hand hovered near the pommel of his sword, though he knew steel would do little good against whatever sorcery was at work here. He had never trusted Kinvara, never trusted her fiery prayers and her talk of prophecy. He was a man of the Seven, sworn to the gods of Westeros, and he had no love for the flames she worshipped.

But more than that, he feared for Aerion.

"Kinvara," he said at last, his voice firm despite the unease curling in his gut, "this is madness. The boy has no need of your sorcery. He is Targaryen. He is already a dragon."

Kinvara did not slow her steps. "And yet, what is a dragon without fire?"

Guncer narrowed his eyes. "What you call fire, I call heresy. I will not let you damn him to the same fate as your fire priests. If this is some ritual of blood and flame—"

Kinvara let out a quiet laugh, a sound that sent a shiver down Guncer's spine. She finally turned, fixing him with a gaze that burned like embers.

"Magic has long slept, Ser Guncer. But the day the red comet fell, it woke again," she said. "That day, Aerion was born. And tonight, the comet will be seen once more. Magic flows through this world stronger than ever, and this boy—your prince—stands at its center. You may deny it, but that does not make it untrue."

Guncer clenched his jaw. "I deny nothing except those who would lead him into darkness."

Kinvara sighed, her expression almost pitying. "There is no darkness here, only fire. But you, Ser Guncer—you are free to leave if you cannot bear to witness what must be done."

Guncer hesitated, glancing at Aerion, who stood silent between them. The boy's violet eyes flickered with the reflection of the molten rock, but his face was unreadable.

At last, Guncer exhaled and took a step back. "I will not leave. But I will watch."

Kinvara turned away, satisfied.

They reached the very edge of a great fissure, where the ground split open to reveal a pool of lava, roiling like a living thing. The heat was unbearable now, pressing against Aerion's skin, making every breath feel thick and heavy.

Kinvara stood at the brink, holding the egg in both hands. She turned to Aerion, studying him as if committing his face to memory.

"You do not trust me," she said softly. It was not a question.

Aerion hesitated, then shook his head. "No."

A faint smile touched her lips. "Good. Trust is for men, not for gods. And R'hllor is no man."

She took a breath, lifting the egg. "You are young, my prince, but you have seen much. You have walked among mercenaries and priests, kingslayers and knights. You have heard many voices whisper what you should be. But have you ever wondered what you believe?"

Aerion frowned. "I believe in my house. In my birthright."

Kinvara studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Your mother was the same. She, too, believed in her duty. She gave herself to the flames, so that you might live."

Aerion's hands clenched at his sides. He had heard the story before, but never like this. "You saw her die?"

Kinvara's expression did not change. "I saw her ascend."

For a long moment, there was silence, broken only by the distant hissing of the lava. Then Kinvara lifted her face to the sky, and in a voice that rang like a bell, she began to speak in High Valyrian.

"Zyhys oñoso jehikagon Āeksiot epi, se gīs hen sȳndror."

"R'hllor, grant us your fire, and bring forth the light."

The flames flickered.

"Hen mazōr pryjatys, kesir syt zȳhon laehossi."

"From death comes birth, this I offer in sacrifice."

Aerion's breath hitched. He suddenly understood.

"Kinvara—"

She stepped forward.

The molten rock swallowed her whole.

For a moment, there was nothing but fire.

Aerion could not move. He could not breathe. He felt Ser Guncer's hand on his shoulder, holding him back, keeping him from doing something foolish.

The lava churned.

And then—

A sound.

A crack.

The mountain rumbled beneath them, the heat intensifying until it felt as though the very air might catch fire. A deep, inhuman screech tore through the night, ancient and triumphant.

The surface of the lava rippled.

And from its depths, something rose.

A dragon.

Its scales gleamed like fresh blood, veined with glowing crimson as if it carried the molten heart of the mountain within its flesh. Its wings unfurled, shedding streams of liquid fire as it let out a cry that shook the very foundations of the earth.

Aerion took a step forward, feeling the heat licking at his skin, but it did not burn him.

The dragon turned its head, molten eyes meeting his.

And in that moment, Aerion knew.

Kinvara's words had not been empty.

The world had changed.

The Red Comet was seen again