94 AC – Dragonstone
The air smelled of sulfur and ash, thick with the heat of Dragonstone's ancient forges. Beneath the blackened sky, amid the crumbling remnants of Valyria's pride, a child wailed—his cry echoing through the hollow halls of the dragonmount.
They called him Vaeron Waters.
No noble lady claimed him. No maester recorded his birth in ink and parchment. Only the midwife whispered the tale in the kitchens: Prince Daemon's seed in a servant's womb. The girl had died screaming, her name lost to ash and shadow. And the prince? He never came to see the boy.
So Vaeron grew in the stables and dragon pits—raised by keepers with calloused hands and burnt skin, men who spoke Valyrian with reverence and treated dragons as kin.
He watched nobles from afar, their silver hair gleaming like moonlight. He shared their blood but not their name.
And the dragons… they ignored him.
Until the day one didn't
The cave was hidden, known only to a few. Old Valyrian symbols lined the black stone walls—wards of binding and fire. The keepers avoided it, whispering that a ghostdragon slept within. But Vaeron, ever curious, followed the echoes of something ancient, something calling.
Inside, he found her.
A dragon larger than any he'd seen, scales black as obsidian, eyes glowing violet. She bore scars, ancient ones, and her wings were frayed like old sails.
She growled, smoke rising from her nostrils.
Vaeron didn't run.He stepped closer, whispering in high Valyrian, "Jorrāelagon. Rytsas. Nyke Vaeron." (Dragon. Hello. I am Vaeron.)
The dragon tilted her head. A moment passed, then another.
And then, she lowered it.
The keepers said it was madness. Bonding with a wild dragon—impossible for one not of true Targaryen name. But the bond was real, sealed in fire and instinct.
He named her Noctharys—the Night Flame.
And for the first time, the boy born of ash found purpose.
That night, a storm raged outside Dragonstone. Winds howled like beasts and the sea clawed at the cliffs.
In the stables, huddled beside a fire, old Keeper Maelos spoke to Vaeron.
"You've awoken something wild, boy. Dragons choose. Blood or no. But know this—every dragon rider carves his fate in fire. And fire… burns."
Vaeron stared into the flames, Noctharys's warmth still clinging to his skin.
"I won't be forgotten," he said quietly. "Not like my mother. Not like the others."
Keeper Maelos nodded slowly. "Then carve deep, lad. Carve deep."