It had been some years since the dragon they called the Shadow returned to Dragonstone. The name, whispered by fisherfolk and sung in tavern corners, was born from the way he emerged silently, suddenly, and always alone. To the smallfolk, he was a tale to warn disobedient children. To the maesters, a curiosity. And to the Targaryens… a mystery wrapped in ancient fear.
Vezdaryon had taken roost in the far eastern cliffs of Dragonstone, where no other dragons dared settle. He had grown just slightly. His size now bigger than Vermithor but smaller the Vhagar , yet he remained distant, never coming near the Dragonpit nor the keep. He rarely flew overhead and only hunted when necessary. It was as though he had decided that the world owed him nothing, and he in turn owed it no more than a glimpse of his wings as he vanished beyond the clouds.
But the children had grown too.
Young Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was bold and filled with his mother's fire. Lucerys was quieter, always watching, eager to know of any mischief his older brother planned. And mischief there was.
"It's just a dragon," Jace had said that morning, pulling on a heavy cloak as the wind from the sea lashed the windows of the keep.
Lucerys had hesitated. "He's not like the others."
"That's why we'll only look," Jace insisted, his grin daring. "We're dragonriders. It's in our blood. What's the point if we can't face a beast, even just for a moment?"
It wasn't a good plan. It never was. But childhood rarely heeds the caution of age. They slipped away while Ser Harwin Strong was deep in conversation with Rhaenyra. The guards at the cliffs didn't see them—young boys with dragonrider's daring, clambering down a steep path none had walked in years.
The cliffs were jagged and veined with ash-black stone. The wind cut sharp, carrying with it the smell of sulfur and ancient heat. At the base of a broken cliff, just beyond a narrow ledge where waves crashed hard against stone, was a cave mouth. Inside, silent and still as a buried titan, lay Vezdaryon.
He had not moved for hours.
When the boys reached the edge, they crouched low, hiding behind broken rocks. And they saw him.
Black as the void between stars, his scales shimmered only faintly when the light hit them just right. There was something ageless in his posture. He was still and calm
He was resting head tucked slightly, one eye half-closed. The other, hidden in shadow.
"Do you think he's asleep?" Lucerys whispered, heart pounding.
"Yeah," Jace answered, voice low.
"Let's get closer"
"Ok"
Lucerys glanced at his older brother. That wasn't like Jace. There was weight in his voice. Fear, maybe, or awe. He turned his eyes back toward the dragon.
There was no movement. Not from the beast. Not from the wind. The world held its breath.
Then, slowly, as if just now acknowledging their presence, Vezdaryon opened both eyes.
It was not a sudden thing, no great lurch or angry snarl. No roar. Just two golden eyes, burning like distant suns, locking onto theirs. He didn't move. He didn't rise. But the weight of that gaze struck like thunder.
Jace froze. Lucerys swallowed a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The dragon did nothing, and yet it felt like they had trespassed on something sacred. Something ancient.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Vezdaryon lifted his head—slow and deliberate. He rose onto his limbs, not fully standing, just enough to make clear he had noticed. He stretched one great wing slightly just enough to catch the wind, to show the scale of what he was. And with a single exhale, he let a puff of heated smoke rise from his nostrils. It wasn't a threat. Not yet.
"Time to go," Jace said.
Lucerys nodded, backing away first. They didn't run. Running would make them prey. Instead, they crept back the way they came, the shadow of the dragon still stretching long behind them.
Vezdaryon watched them go. No movement. No sound.
But his eyes lingered.
He hadn't been disturbed in years. And though they were only children, something in their scent, in the boldness of their step, reminded him of the world he once walked away from.
Of fire. And war. And the thin, fragile voices of humans who believed they could understand creatures like him.
He closed his eyes once more.
But he did not sleep.
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