Game of Thrones:Dawn of Ice and Fire.

I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.

https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon

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Chapter Fourteen: Bond of Flame

Jon Snow awoke beneath the heart tree, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The familiar scent of damp earth and leaves filled his senses, grounding him back in Winterfell. The red leaves of the heart tree swayed gently above him, whispering in the breeze.

But his heart raced with the memory of the cavern on Skagos—the shimmering black egg, the surge of magic, and the dragon hatchling that had emerged from the molten shell.

A dragon, Jon thought, still disbelieving. I hatched a dragon.

The weight of what he had done pressed heavily on him. Dragons hadn't been seen in Westeros for centuries. They were creatures of legend, symbols of House Targaryen's power. And now, against all odds, he had awakened one.

But as awe faded, worry took its place.

The cavern where the dragon had hatched was sealed by fallen rocks, save for a narrow opening high in the ceiling where faint light streamed in. How would the hatchling survive?

Somehow, Jon already thought of it as his. The bond he felt was inexplicable but undeniable, as though part of his soul had been given to the creature.

"You worry too much, little wolf," Leaf's voice came softly from beside him.

Jon turned, finding the diminutive figure perched gracefully on a root of the heart tree, her amber eyes gleaming with amusement.

"How will it survive?" Jon demanded. "The cave is sealed. There's no way out. It'll starve."

Leaf's smile was serene. "The hatchling will not perish. It did not hatch simply because you fed it magic. It hatched because you and the egg bonded."

"Bonded?" Jon asked, confused.

Leaf nodded. "Close your eyes, Jon. Feel for the bond connecting you to the hatchling."

Jon hesitated but obeyed, closing his eyes and focusing inward. He reached for the wild magic within him, letting it hum beneath his skin. At first, there was nothing but the familiar energy coursing through his veins.

But then he felt it—a faint, distant thread, warm and pulsing with life.

As he concentrated, the bond grew clearer, drawing him deeper until suddenly the world shifted.

Jon gasped as his vision changed.

He was no longer sitting beneath the heart tree. He was seeing through the eyes of the dragon hatchling. The cavern stretched around him, dark and vast, but the hatchling's vision pierced the shadows effortlessly. Every rock, every crevice gleamed with perfect clarity.

The hatchling did not push Jon from its mind. Instead, it welcomed him, its thoughts shimmering with simple but fierce joy.

Jon felt a rush of warmth as the hatchling's emotions washed over him—happiness and trust, the pure recognition of Jon as its parent.

The bond was raw and instinctual, but Jon sensed an intelligence buried beneath the surface, waiting to grow.

The hatchling's body trembled with energy as it explored the cavern, its sharp claws clicking against the stone floor. Jon saw through its eyes the small stream flowing along the edge of the cave, glimmering faintly in the darkness.

Water. That was a relief.

But what about food? Jon's concern deepened. The hatchling needed sustenance if it was to survive.

Suddenly, Leaf's voice echoed through the cavern, soft and insistent.

"Look at the dragon corpse."

The Cannibal's massive form lay coiled at the far end of the cavern, dark and imposing even in death. Its scales gleamed faintly, hardened over the century it had lain undisturbed.

Jon's stomach twisted. "You want it to eat its own mother?" he whispered.

Leaf's voice was gentle but firm. "There is no other choice. Dragons are creatures of fire and death. They consume what they must to survive."

Jon swallowed hard, conflicted. But the hatchling's survival was all that mattered.

I'm sorry, Jon thought, directing the feeling through the bond.

The hatchling sensed his resolve and moved toward the corpse. Its black scales shimmered as it approached, nostrils flaring as it sniffed the ancient dragon flesh.

At first, the corpse seemed impenetrable, its hide hardened to stone. But the hatchling drew in a breath and released a tiny spark of dragonfire onto the scales.

To Jon's astonishment, the corpse softened where the fire touched, revealing dark, tender flesh beneath.

The hatchling took a tentative bite, pulling free a small chunk of meat.

Jon watched through its eyes as it cooked the morsel with another weak burst of flame before gobbling it down greedily.

The hatchling chewed with satisfaction, then turned its attention to the remnants of its egg. It cracked the fragments between its sharp teeth, consuming every last piece.

Jon felt a surge of pride mingled with relief. The hatchling would survive.

As the bond between them pulsed stronger, Jon sensed the hatchling's fierce determination and budding loyalty. A deep kinship formed between them, as natural as breathing.

"You have done well," Leaf's voice whispered.

Jon opened his eyes, his breath shaky. He was back in the godswood, the heart tree standing watch over him.

The bond remained, faint but unwavering.

Jon's heart swelled with fierce protectiveness. The hatchling was his now, a part of him as much as Winterfell itself.

He thought of a name, something worthy of the creature's wild spirit and fiery heart.

"Lyrax," Jon whispered.

The name carried on the wind, a promise and a bond sealed by flame.

The hatchling Lyrax, born of fire and magic, was his.