The sun had already risen above Salt Shore, yet the sapphire flames continued to burn.
Blue fire drifted across the coastline and danced upon the sea itself, consuming the remnants of the Reach's invasion fleet. What had once been a mighty armada now existed only as shattered wreckage floating among the waves. Charred corpses drifted between broken timbers while smoke rose from the water in thin spirals, creating a sight so unnatural that many of the surviving Dornish soldiers still struggled to believe what they were seeing. The battle had ended few moments ago, but the sea remained stained by blue light, transforming the harbor into something that belonged more in a nightmare than the waking world.
From atop the walls of Salt Shore, Lord Gargalen surveyed the aftermath in silence. Reports had been arriving since dawn, each one confirming the scale of the disaster that had befallen the invaders. Most of the men who had managed to reach land had already been hunted down and slain, though a handful had escaped into the rocky terrain beyond the coast. The lord's expression hardened as another messenger finished delivering his report.
"Send riders," Lord Gargalen ordered. "Double the patrols. I want every survivor found before nightfall."
The messenger bowed deeply before hurrying away.
No mercy would be given.
The Reach had not come as traders or envoys seeking peace. They had come with soldiers, ships, and dragon. They had crossed the sea fully intending to place Dorne beneath their heel. Had events unfolded differently, Salt Shore would already be burning and its people slaughtered. Lord Gargalen felt no sympathy for those now fleeing through the sands like frightened animals. They had chosen their side the moment they landed upon Dornish soil.
His gaze eventually returned to the shoreline.
More specifically, to the man standing amidst the devastation.
Lord Thaddues Peverell.
The wizard stood upon blackened sand with an almost unsettling calmness. Blue flames reflected faintly across his dark robes while the sea breeze tugged at the fabric. Nothing about him suggested triumph or exhaustion. If anything, he appeared mildly inconvenienced, as though destroying an invasion fleet and defeating a dragonrider had merely interrupted an otherwise ordinary morning.
Before him knelt Prince Daemon Targaryen.
The contrast was striking. Only moments earlier, Lord Gargalen had watched the prince descend from the heavens upon his dragon. Daemon had carried himself with all the arrogance and confidence expected of House Targaryen. There had been certainty in every movement and authority in every word. Men had looked toward him and seen the blood of old Valyria. They had seen a dragonlord.
Now that same man looked utterly defeated.
His armor was cracked and scorched. Blood stained his clothing while bruises darkened his face. One arm hung awkwardly at his side, and even remaining conscious appeared to require effort. The prince who had arrived with fire and conquest now knelt like a beaten criminal awaiting judgment.
The sight sent a chill through Lord Gargalen.
For years, tales of dragons had shaped the fears of Westeros. They were symbols of absolute power. Castles fell before them. Armies burned before them. Entire kingdoms had been forged through dragonfire. Men spoke of dragons with equal measures of awe and terror because there existed precious little capable of standing against them.
But today Lord Gargalen had witnessed something far more terrifying.
He had watched a single wizard bring a dragon low and dismantle the myth of Targaryen invincibility.
As though sensing his gaze, Thaddues suddenly turned. Their eyes met across the ruined shoreline, and for a brief moment Lord Gargalen felt an uncomfortable certainty that the wizard could see straight through him. Every thought. Every fear. Every secret.
Instead, Thaddues merely inclined his head.
A simple gesture.
Nothing more.
Lord Gargalen immediately returned it.
Respect demanded it.
Perhaps gratitude as well.
Without House Peverell's intervention, Salt Shore would have fallen. Without Thaddues, Dorne would already be preparing for a far bloodier war. The Reach might even have succeeded in establishing a foothold along the southern coast.
The wizard looked away first.
Then Lord Gargalen witnessed another impossible feat.
His attention shifted toward the wounded red dragon trapped beneath the massive sapphire beast. Caraxes still radiated menace despite his injuries. Smoke escaped from the dragon's nostrils while blood stained crimson scales. One wing hung twisted from the battle, and every movement seemed driven by stubborn rage rather than strength.
Thaddues merely raised a hand.
The dragon froze.
A heartbeat later, it rose from the ground, suspended by an invisible force that rendered wings and strength irrelevant. Lord Gargalen could only stare as reality seemed to bend before his eyes.
Then the dragon began to shrink.
At first the change was gradual. The enormous creature steadily reduced in size until it became no larger than a horse. Moments later it was the size of a hound. Then a cat. Finally, the fearsome dragon that had terrorized battlefields became little larger than a common lizard.
Several soldiers upon the walls gasped. Lord Gargalen could hardly blame them.
Dragons were supposed to be the apex of power. They were creatures spoken of in legends and feared by kings. Yet this wizard had reduced one to something that could fit inside a box.
A small chest appeared in Thaddues' hand.
The miniature dragon was placed inside.
The lid closed.
Just like that, Caraxes disappeared.
Silence spread across the battlefield.
Then Thaddues approached Daemon. The prince looked up, his expression a mixture of hatred, confusion, and fear. Words were exchanged, though Lord Gargalen could not hear them. Whatever passed between the two men remained private.
Moments later, both men disappeared.
There was no flash of light, no burst of magic, no sound at all.
One moment they stood upon the shore.
The next, only empty air remained where they had been.
Only the sapphire dragon remained.
The magnificent beast released a thunderous roar that echoed across Salt Shore before launching itself into the sky. Massive wings beat against the air, sending sand and seawater flying in every direction. The dragon climbed higher and higher before turning northward toward Castle Peverell, disappearing into the horizon like a sapphire star returning to the heavens.
Lord Gargalen watched until the creature vanished from sight.
Only then did he release the breath he had been holding.
He finally understood why the ruling house of Dorne held House Peverell in such high regard. Without Thaddues, Salt Shore would have fallen. Without Thaddues, Dorne would have bled. More importantly, Lord Gargalen knew the Reach had just committed the greatest mistake in its history.
They had provoked someone beyond their ability to comprehend.
Within the Castle of Peverell, space folded. A sharp crack echoed through the air as reality twisted and snapped back into place.
Thaddues and Daemon appeared inside the High Tower. The chamber occupied the second-highest floor of the tower. Stone walls lined with books surrounded them while enchanted lanterns hanging overhead brightened immediately upon sensing their arrival. Ancient tomes rested neatly upon shelves, and enchanted instruments hummed quietly in distant corners.
Daemon stumbled the moment his feet touched solid ground.
The world spun violently around him.
His stomach lurched.
He dropped to one knee and fought the overwhelming urge to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Flying through storms had never felt this unpleasant. Even being thrown from a dragon seemed preferable to whatever madness powered the wizard's method of travel.
To his credit, he managed not to vomit.
Thaddues observed him with mild interest.
"Interesting."
Daemon looked up.
"Most people throw up."
The wizard sounded almost disappointed.
Unfortunately for the prince, whatever amusement existed vanished almost immediately.
"Unfortunately," Thaddues continued, "you made me your enemy."
A chill settled over the room.
Before Daemon could respond, the wizard casually waved his hand.
The chamber transformed.
Bookshelves and furniture disappeared. Stone shifted. Iron bars rose from floor and ceiling.
Within seconds, the room had become a prison.
Chains lashed out from the iron bars with unnatural speed. Before Daemon could react, they wrapped around his wrists and ankles.
The restraints locked into place with a metallic snap, pinning him firmly to the floor.
For the first time in many years, Daemon felt genuine fear.
Meanwhile, Thaddues seemed entirely unconcerned.
A small table materialized near the center of the room. The wizard approached it before placing the wooden chest upon its surface. Questions raced through Daemon's mind.
Why spare him?
Why bring him here?
What exactly did the wizard want?
The answer arrived sooner than expected.
"You are wondering why you're still alive."
Thaddues spoke without turning around.
A gold dragon coin floated from his pocket.
Reality bent.
The coin expanded before transforming into a miniature cage.
The chest opened.
Immediately, tiny Caraxes lunged forward.
Despite his reduced size, the dragon's fury remained unchanged. The creature attempted to bite Thaddues' hand, earning nothing more than a flick of the wizard's finger. Caraxes shot backward and crashed into the cage. A moment later, warm golden light surrounded the dragon. Wounds began disappearing from its body while damaged scales slowly repaired themselves.
Daemon watched in silence.
The display should have reassured him.
Instead, it deepened his unease.
"It's because you're useful."
Thaddues finally turned around.
Dark eyes met violet ones.
"Or rather," he continued, approaching slowly, "your blood is useful."
For reasons Daemon could not explain, those words frightened him more than any threat ever had.
The wizard crouched beside him and touched one of the wounds along his arm. Blood immediately rose from the injury. A glass vial appeared from nowhere, and crimson liquid flowed into it in a thin stream. Daemon felt a strange sensation, neither painful nor pleasant, as the blood collected itself unnaturally.
Then a faint smile appeared on Thaddues' face.
A moment later, a translucent screen visible only to him appeared.
--
[Blood Fragment Extraction Successful.]
--
The smile widened slightly.
"Good."
The single word carried an unsettling satisfaction.
Moments later, the wizard's expression shifted. His gaze locked onto Daemon's eyes.
Instantly, agony exploded inside the prince's mind.
Daemon screamed.
It felt as though invisible hands had reached directly into his skull and begun tearing through every memory he possessed. Dragonstone. King's Landing. His ambitions. His resentments. His desires. Every secret he had ever hidden surfaced against his will.
Nothing remained concealed. Nothing remained his.
The pain lasted only seconds, yet it stretched into eternity in Daemon's mind.
When it finally faded, he gasped for breath.
Thaddues laughed softly.
"Ambitious."
Daemon glared at him.
The wizard shook his head.
"What exactly GRRM thinking when he created you?"
The words meant nothing to Daemon—he had never heard the name before—but that hardly mattered, for in that moment he felt utterly exposed, stripped bare.
As though every secret he had ever possessed now belonged to someone else.
"I do not require your regret," Thaddues said calmly. "Nor your reflection. But you will know the weight of what you have done—you will feel, in full, every pain your choices have sown."
The statement was delivered without anger, without hatred—yet that only made it worse.
Then the wizard turned and walked away, leaving Daemon alone in his prison.
For the first time in many years, Prince Daemon Targaryen felt helpless.
Outside the High Tower, the wind carried the scent of the sea.
Thaddues emerged onto a balcony and immediately spotted the sapphire dragon circling overhead. Sadness flickered briefly across his face before he apparated once more, arriving upon a cliff overlooking the ocean beyond Castle of Peverell that still burn with blue flame.
"Come here."
A distant roar answered him.
Minutes later, the sapphire dragon descended from the sky.
The ground trembled as she landed.
Blue scales caught the sunlight. Massive wings folded neatly against her body.
Black eyes met sapphire ones.
Thaddues stared at the creature before him.
A masterpiece. Something impossible. A tragedy. The result of his mastery over transfiguration and mind arts.
Despite her dragon form, Isolde remained herself. She still possessed her memories, emotions, and identity. The cost, however, remained painfully obvious.
"With my current magic, I cannot restore you to your original form." His voice carried genuine regret.
The dragon remained silent. Instead, her gaze drifted toward the distant High Tower.
Toward Lily. Toward the child she could no longer hold.
Thaddues understood at once. A mother's love needed no translation.
She no longer cared what became of her. Only her daughter mattered. Only vengeance remained.
Isolde turned toward the sea, where the invasion fleet still burned in broken pieces.
A low growl left her throat—satisfaction in it, but something darker beneath.
Hatred.
Those responsible had suffered.
It still wasn't enough.
"The Reach allied with a Targaryen dragonrider to invade Dorne," Thaddues said quietly. "They hoped to conquer it."
The dragon's eyes narrowed.
"I once thought Viserys merely incompetent. Now I'm beginning to think ambition and greed have poisoned everyone around him."
Anger surfaced within Isolde's gaze.
Even without Legilimency, Thaddues understood her thoughts.
She wanted blood, justice, revenge.
"Do you really want to do this?"
The sapphire dragon nodded slowly.
Thaddeus sighed.
Part of him wanted to refuse. Another part understood he had no right.
He had discovered a possible path to saving Lily, to bringing her back to life—one that required fragments of pure Targaryen blood. A path that demanded patience and precision. Until then, he refused to offer false hope. After all, pure Targaryen blood was exceedingly rare. He remember three pureblood Targargaryen at this time, where could he found the other two?
For several moments, neither spoke.
Then Thaddues finally nodded.
"Then you have my blessing."
Golden light erupted around the dragon.
Protective enchantments layered themselves across her scales one after another. Ancient runes intertwined with newer spells, creating a network of protections few living wizards in wizarding world could hope to replicate.
"You shall be shielded from all assault while you fly. No storm shall bar your passage, nor any enchantment obscure your path."
The dragon listened quietly.
"Follow your heart, Isolde. It shall lead you to the Reach."
The sapphire dragon lowered her head in acknowledgment. Thaddues placed a hand against her scales.
"Come back safely."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"It is my command."
The dragon huffed softly before spreading her wings. Wind surged across the cliffside as power gathered beneath those enormous limbs. Then she launched herself into the sky.
Higher and higher she climbed.
Beneath the rising sun, her sapphire scales shone like living jewels.
Thaddues remained where he was until she faded into a distant speck against the horizon and vanished entirely. Only then did he turn away.
She flew toward the Reach, driven by grief and rage, answering a mother's resolve.
Far beyond the sea an omen was already moving toward a kingdom that did not yet know it was in danger.
TBC
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