~129 A.C~

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

DRAGONSTONE
The Painted Table room was filled with tension, the air thick with the weight of war as the lords argued amongst themselves. Rhaenyra remained silent, her violet eyes fixed on the map before her, fingers steepled beneath her chin. She was thinking, calculating. The realm was divided, and every decision she made from this moment forward would determine its fate.

Vellena stood beside Jace, her heart pounding in her chest. She was not used to this—to war councils and political maneuvering. Luke stood on her other side, shifting uncomfortably, his fingers tapping against his tunic. Baela and Rhaena stood close by. Daemon was absent, and though no one had spoken of it yet, Vellena could feel her mother's unease.

Then, the heavy doors creaked open, and Ser Erryk's voice rang through the chamber.

"Lord Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides. Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Lady Jocelyn Velaryon"

All heads turned toward the stone steps. Emerging from the shadows, Lord Corlys made his slow descent, leaning heavily on a cane, supported by Princess Rhaenys on one side and their daughter, Lady Jocelyn Velaryon, on the other. Despite his weakened state, Corlys carried himself with dignity, his sharp eyes surveying the room.

Rhaenyra was the first to greet him, stepping forward. "Lord Corlys."

The Sea Snake moved around the table, stopping on the left side.

"It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again," Rhaenyra said carefully.

Corlys inclined his head. "I'm very sorry about your father, Princess. He was a good man."

Vellena saw the slight tensing in her mother's shoulders before she spoke again.

"Where is Daemon?"

Rhaenyra's fingers curled against the Painted Table. Vellena felt it before she saw it—the brief flicker of pain in her mother's expression.

"There were other concerns which demanded the Prince's attention," Rhaenyra answered.

"Mm." Corlys made a thoughtful noise but did not press further. Instead, his gaze dropped to the map. "Your declared allies?"

"Yes," Rhaenyra confirmed.

Corlys exhaled through his nose. "Too few to win a war for the throne."

Rhaenyra's voice remained steady. "We would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark."

Corlys cut in before she could continue. "Hope... is the fool's ally."

Vellena swallowed hard. The way Corlys spoke, the doubt laced in his words, it made her chest tighten.

Rhaenyra held her ground. "Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me."

Corlys arched a brow. "As did House Hightower... if I remember."

Rhaenyra met his gaze. "As did you, Lord Corlys."

Silence fell over the room. Corlys looked at her for a long moment before his eyes flickered past her, to Jace and Luke—to Baela, Rhaena, and Vellena. The only blood he had left of Laena and Laenor.

Finally, he turned back to Rhaenyra.

"Your father's realm... was one of justice and honor. Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand. You have the full support of our fleet and house. Your Grace."

Rhaenyra's lips parted slightly, her relief evident. She nodded toward Corlys, then toward Rhaenys. "You honor me, Lord Corlys." She inclined her head "Princess Rhaenys."

Vellena stole a glance at her grandmother, a small smile forming at the corner of her lips. Her eyes drifted to Jocelyn, who wiped at her cheeks, emotion flickering in her gaze.

But Rhaenyra was not done. "As I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war's first stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand."

Corlys frowned. "You do not mean to act?"

Rhaenyra straightened. "Taking caution does not mean standing fast. I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war."

Corlys studied her, then turned his gaze back to the map. He lifted a finger, pointing.

"The consequence of my... near-demise in the Stepstones... is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The Triarchy have been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours."

Vellena listened carefully, taking in every word.

"If we... further seal the Gullet," Corlys continued, "we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King's Landing."

Princess Rhaenys stepped forward. "I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself."

Rhaenyra gave a small nod.

Lord Bartimos spoke next. "When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround King's Landing, lay siege to the Red Keep, and force the Greens' surrender. If we are to have enough swords to surround King's Landing, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm's End."

Maester Gerardys inclined his head. "I'll prepare the ravens, Your Grace."

But before he could move, Jacaerys stepped forward. "We should bear those messages."

Rhaenyra turned to him, surprised.

"Dragons can fly faster than ravens, and they're more convincing," Jace argued. "Send us."

Vellena sucked in a quiet breath, looking at him.

Lord Corlys nodded. "The Prince is right, Your Grace."

Rhaenyra let out a slow exhale, studying Jace and then glancing at Luke. "Very well."

She turned to the Painted Table, pointing. "Prince Jacaerys will fly north. First to the Eyrie to see my mother's cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Jace will be accompanied by Lady Jocelyn Velaryon."

Vellena's stomach twisted.

Jocelyn's mouth parted slightly in shock. She turned to her mother, then her father. Vellena could see the realization dawn on her face—she was being sent north for one reason.

A marriage.

To Lord Cregan Stark.

Something deep in Vellena's chest tightened.

But Rhaenyra continued. "Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm's End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon."

Vellena found her voice before she could think. "I wish to fly with Lucerys, Your Grace."

Silence.

Rhaenyra looked at her daughter, holding her gaze for a long moment, searching. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Very well."

Under the table, Jace's hand found hers. His fingers curled around hers, giving a gentle squeeze.

Vellena's heart pounded, but she did not look at him.

Rhaenyra's voice was the only sound in the chamber.

"We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore." Her expression hardened. "And... the cost of breaking them."

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The library was dimly lit, the candlelight flickering over the aged pages of books and casting long shadows against the stone walls. The only sound was the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth and the rhythmic scratching of quill against parchment from some long-forgotten scholar's notes.

Vellena sat at the grand wooden table, a thick tome open before her, though she had long since stopped reading. Her head rested against the pages, her breathing slow and steady, her silver hair spilling across the book like a curtain of moonlight. Sleep had claimed her before she could even fight it.

Jace stood in the doorway, watching her.

A soft smile played on his lips as he took in the sight of her—so peaceful, so unguarded. It was rare to see her like this, without the weight of war pressing upon her shoulders. The candlelight cast a warm glow over her face, highlighting the gentle curve of her cheek, the soft part of her lips, the delicate flutter of her eyelashes as she slept.

He stepped forward, careful not to wake her. The sight of her resting so soundly stirred something deep within him—something tender, something protective. Without hesitation, he reached down and slid an arm beneath her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.

Vellena stirred slightly, her head resting against his chest. Jace swallowed, his heartbeat quickening. He had held her before—when they were children, when she was hurt—but this felt different. The warmth of her against him, the way she fit so perfectly in his arms, it made something inside him tighten.

He carried her through the quiet halls of Dragonstone, the flickering torches guiding his way. The castle was silent, the world outside asleep, as if everything had paused for this moment alone.

Reaching her bedchamber, he nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside. The room was cool, the scent of sea salt drifting in through the slightly open window. He approached her bed, carefully lowering her onto the soft sheets.

Vellena stirred again, her brows furrowing slightly as she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. "Where am I...? What time is it...?"

Jace hushed her gently, brushing a few strands of silver hair from her face. "Shhh, it's late. Go back to sleep."

His fingers trailed softly against her temple, and without thinking, he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss there.

Vellena sighed at the warmth of it, her body relaxing, and within moments, she had drifted back into sleep.

Jace lingered for a moment, his eyes tracing her peaceful features. His chest ached with something he could not name—something that had always been there, but now, with war looming and danger closing in, felt more powerful than ever.

With a final glance, he turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him as softly as a whisper.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The sky was painted in shades of amber and violet as the sun began its slow descent beyond the horizon. The waves crashed gently against the blackened shores of Dragonstone, their rhythmic lull barely audible from the castle's high balcony.

Rhaenyra stood at the edge, her silver hair flowing in the evening breeze, her expression unreadable as she looked out toward the sea. Behind her, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Vellena approached, their footsteps light but steady. They knew why they had been summoned.

Their mother turned as they came to a stop before her. The weight of her crown sat heavy upon her brow, but her violet eyes were sharp, determined, filled with both love and sorrow. She looked upon them not just as her children but as the future of House Targaryen.

She exhaled softly before speaking.

"It's been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men," she began, her voice steady despite the burden that rested upon her shoulders. "And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms... we must answer to their gods."

She nodded toward the guards, who stepped forward, carrying a thick, leather-bound book adorned with the sigil of the Seven-Pointed Star. The sacred text of Westeros, a symbol of the faith that still bound the realm together, even in times of war.

Rhaenyra's gaze swept over her children, her voice firm but imploring.

"If you take this errand, you go as messengers... not as warriors. You must take no part in any fighting." She looked at each of them in turn, her eyes lingering on Jace, then on Luke, and finally on Vellena. "Swear it to me now, under the eyes of the Seven."

There was a brief silence, broken only by the rustling of fabric as Luke, sweet Luke, stepped forward first. He always tried to be brave, to be strong, though his hands trembled slightly as he placed his palm upon the book.

"I swear it," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vellena was next, stepping forward without hesitation. She pressed her hand firmly against the book, feeling the cool leather beneath her palm.

"I swear it," she vowed, her voice steady despite the storm raging in her chest.

Jacaerys was last, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with resolve. He placed his hand atop the book, glancing briefly at his mother before giving his oath.

"I swear it."

Rhaenyra nodded slowly, her shoulders easing just slightly. "Thank you."

She turned to Jacaerys, her eldest, the one who would bear the heaviest burden. Her expression softened, if only slightly.

"Cregan Stark is... closer to your age than he is to mine," she told him. "I would hope that, as men, you can find some common interest."

Jace gave a small, firm nod. "Yes, Your Grace."

Then her gaze shifted to Lucerys and Vellena, the youngest of her messengers. She took each of their hands in hers, her touch gentle but firm.

"Storm's End is a short flight from here," she reminded them. "You two have Baratheon blood from your grandmother, Rhaenys. And... Lord Borros is an eternally proud man."

She searched their faces, her eyes full of love and something deeper—something unspoken, something a mother feared to put into words.

"He will be honored to host a prince and princess of the realm... and their dragons. I expect you will receive a very warm welcome."

Lucerys, ever earnest, stumbled slightly over his words. "Yes, Mother. Y—Your Grace."

A small, sad smile touched Rhaenyra's lips as she caressed his cheek, then turned to Vellena, brushing a silver strand of hair from her face. Her fingers lingered for a moment before she pressed a kiss to each of their temples.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

Vellena closed her eyes at the warmth of it, letting it settle deep within her heart.

None of them knew it yet, but this would be the last time they would all stand together.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

STORM'S END
The flight to Storm's End was swift but heavy with unease. The storm clouds that loomed over the Baratheon stronghold reflected the tension weighing upon Lucerys and Vellena as they flew. The winds were strong, their dragons occasionally buffeted by the gusts as they soared through the sky. Silverwing, ever majestic and graceful, cut through the clouds with ease, while Arrax, smaller but swift, fought against the wind as they neared their destination.

As they descended into the courtyard, the rain had not yet begun, but the air was thick with moisture, the scent of an oncoming storm lingering all around them. The moment their dragons' talons met the stone yard, their breath caught in their throats.

Vhagar.

The monstrous she-dragon was already here, her enormous bulk hunched in the shadows, her massive form taking up a good portion of the yard. Her deep, guttural breathing rumbled through the air, and even at rest, she was terrifying to behold. A living relic of Old Valyria, a force of destruction bound in scales and fire.

Vellena's heart pounded in her chest as she quickly dismounted Silverwing, her hand instinctively reaching for Lucerys' as he slid down from Arrax. He flinched slightly at her touch but gripped her hand back just as tightly. She would protect him. No matter what.

Their boots echoed lightly against the wet stone as they stepped forward toward the looming gates. The Baratheon guards stood at attention, their expressions unreadable. But there was no hostility—at least, not yet.

Lucerys straightened his shoulders before speaking. "We are Prince Lucerys Velaryon and Princess Vellena Velaryon," he declared, voice firm despite the slight quiver in it. "We bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen."

The guards exchanged glances before one of them gave a stiff nod and turned toward the great doors of the keep.

"Come," the guard said.

They were led into the dimly lit halls of Storm's End, the torches along the stone walls flickering in the cold, damp air. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs outside was ever-present, a reminder of the stronghold's name.

As they stepped into the throne room, the herald announced them.

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Princess Vellena Velaryon. Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen"

Lucerys and Vellena took in their surroundings. The hall was grand, but not in the way of the Red Keep or Dragonstone. It was built for war, not for beauty—sturdy, unyielding, every stone a testament to House Baratheon's might.

And then, their eyes landed on him.

Aemond.

He stood near the hearth, his back turned to them, speaking with Lord Borros Baratheon. But the moment he heard their names, he turned, his face partially illuminated by the firelight.

Lucerys visibly gulped, his grip on Vellena's hand tightening. She did not let go.

Aemond was clad in dark leather, the deep blue of House Targaryen embroidered in his coat, but all Vellena could focus on was the sharp gleam of his sapphire eye. It sat where his left eye once had been, cold and unfeeling, an eerie glow reflecting the fire's light. He smirked slightly, tilting his head as he regarded them.

Lucerys stepped forward, his voice quieter than before but still resolute.

"Lord Borros... we brought you a message from our mother... the Queen."

Lord Borros Baratheon sat upon his great chair, a massive man with a thick beard and broad shoulders, his expression unreadable. But then, he laughed. A deep, booming laugh that filled the hall with its sound.

"Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King," he said, voice rich with amusement. "Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it."

Vellena felt anger simmer within her chest, but she kept her expression neutral. This man was important, and she could not afford to anger him. Not yet.

Lord Borros leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp as he addressed Lucerys once more. "What's your mother's message?"

Lucerys stepped forward and handed the raven-scroll to one of the guards.

Lord Borros grunted impatiently, waving toward the far end of the hall.

"Where's the bloody maester?"

Moments later, an elderly maester stepped forward, taking the scroll and unrolling it. His eyes moved over the words, his expression giving away nothing as he read it aloud.

Lord Borros' expression darkened. His voice turned sharp.

"'Remind' me of my father's oath?!"

Vellena swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around Lucerys'. He glanced at her, nervous, but neither of them spoke.

Lord Borros let out a deep sigh before shaking his head. "King Aegon at least came with an offer," he said, his tone turning almost mocking. "My swords and banners for a marriage pact."

His dark eyes flicked between them, and then he smirked slightly.

"If I do as your mother bids... which one of my daughters will you wed... boy?" He paused before his eyes flicked to Vellena. "Or the princess? Mm? I don't have a son, but my wife has passed away."

Vellena stiffened, barely containing her revulsion. The thought of it made her skin crawl.

Lucerys hesitated before speaking, his voice firm but respectful. "My lord... we are not free to marry. We are already betrothed."

At that, Vellena's mind drifted for the briefest moment. Daeron. He had promised he would write. He still hadn't.

Lord Borros scoffed, shaking his head. "So you come with empty hands," he muttered. "Go home, pups."

Vellena lifted her chin slightly, her voice firm as steel. "If you are afraid to bleed for our cause, say so," she said. "But do not mistake my womb for weakness, nor my womanhood for silence."

A tense silence followed.

Lord Borros' expression twisted in irritation. He had not expected such words from her.

"And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

Lucerys gave a respectful nod. "We shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord."

They turned to leave, but before they could step away, a voice stopped them.

"Wait."

Aemond.

Vellena closed her eyes for a brief moment before turning back to face him.

Aemond took a step forward, his expression unreadable but his voice low and sharp. "Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?"

Vellena did not waver. "I will not fight you."

Lucerys added quickly, "We came as messengers, not as warriors."

Aemond scoffed. "A fight would be little challenge." Then his expression darkened as he pulled out a dagger. His gaze locked onto Vellena.

"I want you to put out your eye," he said, his voice almost too soft. "As payment for mine. One will serve. I would not blind you." He smirked coldly. "I plan to make a gift of it to my mother."

Vellena's stomach churned, but she did not look away. She lifted her chin.

"No."

Aemond's nostrils flared. "Then you are craven as well as a traitor."

Before she could react, he lunged forward.

Vellena and Lucerys stumbled back, the latter drawing his sword in a flash.

Lord Borros rose to his feet. "Not here!"

Aemond sneered. "Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!"

Lord Borros' voice thundered. "Not in my hall! The children came as envoys. I'll not have bloodshed beneath my roof."

He turned to his guards. "Take Prince Lucerys and Princess Vellena back to their dragons."

The moment they stepped outside, rain began to fall.

Vhagar was gone.

And so was Aemond.

Lucerys and Vellena exchanged a look as the rain came down harder, their soaked cloaks clinging to their bodies. Their breath was heavy, their hearts pounding in their chests. They had done what they came to do. Now they needed to leave.

They hurried across the courtyard, their boots splashing against the wet stone as they approached their dragons.

Arrax was restless, shifting on his talons, his pale scales glistening under the rain. He was young, still growing, and the presence of Vhagar—though she was gone—had left him on edge.

Silverwing was calmer, though the storm had her wings twitching slightly. Her wise, ancient eyes turned to Vellena as she approached, sensing her unease. Vellena lifted a hand, pressing it to the side of her dragon's snout.

"Lykiri," she murmured in High Valyrian, her voice soft yet firm. Calm.

She felt Silverwing's warm breath as the dragon rumbled in response, her massive body settling slightly.

Lucerys did the same with Arrax, placing a hand against his dragon's neck, his voice low but reassuring.

"Umbās. Rybās" he said firmly. Wait. Focus.

Arrax let out a small, anxious chirp but obeyed, lowering himself so that Lucerys could climb onto his saddle.

Vellena followed, gripping the damp leather of Silverwing's saddle as she hoisted herself up. She settled into place, tightening the straps around her legs.

The rain was falling harder now, soaking through her riding leathers, but she ignored it.

Lucerys turned to her, his expression nervous but determined. "We should go now," he said over the howling wind.

Vellena nodded, her grip firm on the reins. "Soves," she commanded. Fly.

With powerful beats of their wings, Arrax and Silverwing leapt from the courtyard and into the stormy sky.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The storm raged around them, the winds howling like vengeful spirits as Lucerys and Vellena urged their dragons forward. The rain lashed against their faces, nearly blinding them, and the rolling thunder drowned out all other sound. Their only focus was escape—getting as far from Storm's End as possible.

Arrax flapped his wings harder, darting through the clouds, his small form agile against the heavy gusts. Silverwing, larger and more experienced, followed swiftly behind, her silver scales gleaming each time lightning illuminated the sky.

Then— a shadow.

A monstrous, terrible shadow above them.

Vellena's blood turned to ice as she turned her head upward. A shape loomed, larger than anything in the storm, its wings blotting out the sky itself.

Vhagar.

Her ancient, battle-scarred body sliced through the clouds, her enormous maw open, revealing rows of jagged teeth. The storm seemed to shake around her, as if the sky itself feared her wrath. And perched upon her saddle, with a cruel, twisted grin—was Aemond.

His single eye gleamed in the darkness, and his laughter echoed through the storm like a demon's hymn.

Vellena's breath hitched. "Soves!" she shouted in High Valyrian. Fly

Lucerys barely had time to react before Arrax screeched, his wings pumping desperately as he swerved. Vellena yanked on Silverwing's reins, her heart slamming against her ribs. They dove sharply, weaving through the thick storm clouds, the rain pelting against their skin like knives.

"Ao enkagon nykeā gēlȳn! Riña!" Aemond's voice tore through the winds, his tone laced with a sickening amusement. You owe a debt! Girl!

Vellena's hands trembled against the reins. She could hear the power in his voice, the hatred behind it. He wanted her. He wanted retribution. He wanted her eye.

But she wouldn't let him have it.

She urged Silverwing forward, her body flattening against the saddle as the dragon obeyed, surging through the clouds.

She looked back—Lucerys was gone.

"Luke?!" she called, whipping her head around, her braid soaked and clinging to her neck. She could barely see through the storm, through the violent rain and darkness.

Where was he?

Where was he?

The sound of wings beating furiously—Arrax.

Through the curtain of rain, she caught a glimpse of him diving between the jagged rocks below. Lucerys was hiding.

Smart, Luke, she thought desperately. Stay hidden.

Aemond's voice came again, cruel, taunting. "Come out, little Strong."

Vellena had enough.

A rush of fury overtook her as she turned, guiding Silverwing back into the storm. The dragon obeyed her without hesitation.

Vhagar had been focused on finding Lucerys. Aemond had not expected her.

"Dracarys!" Vellena screamed.

Silverwing's chest heaved, and then—fire.

A torrent of silver-hot flame erupted from her maw, streaking through the sky like lightning. It struck Vhagar square in the face, illuminating the storm in a blinding flash.

Vhagar roared—a deep, guttural sound that shook Vellena's very bones.

The ancient dragon thrashed, her massive body twisting violently in the air. Aemond jolted in his saddle, caught off guard, struggling to regain control.

It was enough.

Vellena pulled Silverwing back, disappearing into the storm once more. She had bought them time.

She had to find Lucerys.

Her eyes darted through the thick clouds, scanning desperately— there.

Above the storm, where the air was clear, where the clouds stretched like an endless white ocean.

Lucerys.

Arrax hovered in the open sky, his wings steadying, his body trembling. Lucerys looked at her, relief flooding his young face.

He smiled.

She smiled back.

Then—

Horror.

A monstrous shadow.

From beneath the clouds, Vhagar rose.

Too fast.

Too sudden.

Too cruel.

One enormous jaws.

One bite.

Vellena's scream tore from her throat as she watched in helpless horror.
"NOOO!!!"

Arrax was gone.

Lucerys was gone.

His body—his dragon—plunged below.

Tumbling through the storm, through the rain, through the endless void, until they were nothing but specks lost to the sea.

Vellena could not breathe.

Her hands were trembling.

Her ears were ringing.

She felt nothing nothing except the violent, gut-wrenching pain splitting through her chest.

From where she hovered in the sky, she saw Aemond.

He was still.

He was staring down at the sea, his single eye wide, his hands shaking as they gripped the reins of his dragon.

He had lost control.

Aemond had killed not just a boy—but his own kin.

Vellena saw it—the moment Aemond realized what he had done.

Then, without a word, he turned Vhagar and vanished into the night.

Vellena did not move.

Did not blink.

Did not breathe.

The cold was unbearable, but nothing compared to the pain in her chest. She felt something warm running down her cheeks—tears.

Silverwing let out a soft, mournful sound beneath her.

She had lost him.

Lucerys was dead.

Vellena descended slowly, her body moving on instinct, her mind numb.

She landed near the shore, her boots sinking into the wet sand as she dismounted.

The storm was still raging, but she barely heard it.

Her knees buckled.

She fell.

"LUCERYS!"

Her scream tore through the night, raw and broken.

It was her fault.

It should have been her.

She was the one who had taken Aemond's eye—not Luke.

Aemond had wanted her.

If she had just given herself up, if she had stayed behind— Lucerys would still be alive.

A choked sob ripped from her throat as her hands clawed at the wet sand, her shoulders trembling violently.

She had failed him.

She had failed.

Silverwing nudged her gently with her snout, a soft, mournful sound rumbling in her throat.

Vellena gasped for breath, her body convulsing with the force of her grief.

She could not go home.

Not like this.

She could not face her mother—not when she had let her brother die.

But there was only one person she could go to.

One person who could maybe understand.

Jacaerys.

Vellena swallowed her sobs, her hands balling into fists. She staggered to her feet, wiping at her tear-streaked face.

Her heart ached.

But she had to move.

She mounted Silverwing once more, gripping the reins tightly. The dragon sensed her desperation, her sorrow.

The North was far, but she would get there.

She had no other choice.

With a mighty push, Silverwing lifted into the air, carrying Vellena into the early morning sky.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

ACT I IS DONE. I cried writing this😭
Jacellena enemies/lovers with benefits era coming😏 also Cregan and Jocelyn (need a ship name tbh)😩
I'm publishing so much bc I'm sick at home lol😭🙏🏻