A storm in the north | cregan stark

6

Atop the towering summit of the ancient mountain, a three-headed golden dragon held dominion, its immense form casting a regal silhouette against the canvas of the heavens. The creature's scales shimmered with a resplendent gold, catching the glint of sunlight that managed to pierce through the turbulent storm clouds. Each head, adorned with intricate horns and eyes gleaming with an otherworldly intelligence, surveyed the vast expanse below.

The mountain itself seemed to bow in deference to the dragon's majestic presence, its craggy peaks accentuating the mythical aura that enveloped the scene. Below, an untamed storm unfurled its wrath across the sky, thunder echoing through the valleys and lightning veins coursing through the thick, brooding clouds. The clash of elements mirrored the duality of the dragon—both awe-inspiring and fearsome.

As the colossal wings of the dragon unfurled, they spanned the horizon, eclipsing even the most tempestuous clouds. A surge of power emanated from its wings, and with each majestic sweep, bolts of lightning burst forth, illuminating the darkened firmament in a celestial ballet. The dragon's roar, a symphony of dominance, resonated with such force that it reverberated through the mountain itself, the very earth trembling beneath the echoes of its power. The ground quivered as if an earthquake had stirred, underscoring the dragon's dominance over both sky and land.

The darkened sky, once an impenetrable shroud, now transformed into a luminous tapestry as the dragon's radiant wings painted streaks of brilliance across the canvas above. The landscape below, momentarily bathed in an ethereal glow, revealed the intricate details of the rugged terrain, glistening with the dragon's transformative touch.

In this convergence of mythical prowess and elemental fury, the three-headed golden dragon stood as a sovereign sentinel atop the mountain—a living embodiment of the untamed forces that shaped both the heavens and the earth. The spectacle, witnessed by those fortunate enough to behold it, etched itself into the annals of legend, an indelible testament to the boundless wonders of the natural world and the magic that dwelled within it.

Aelora stirred from her slumber, the remnants of a vivid dream still lingering in her mind. For weeks, the same dream had visited her since the day she acquired the dragon egg. As she awoke, her gaze instinctively turned to the precious treasure resting at her side. The egg, bathed in an otherworldly glow, seemed to possess a life of its own.

Reaching out, Aelora gently embraced the egg, a routine that brought her comfort in the waking world. However, an unexpected sensation jolted through her as her fingers made contact with the egg's surface. A tingling pain, akin to the strike of lightning, surged through her hand, prompting a swift withdrawal. Confused, she examined her hand, half-expecting to find visible marks, but there was nothing.

Shaking off the strange occurrence, Aelora cautiously reached for the dragon egg once more. This time, the egg felt ordinary, devoid of any mysterious energy. A subtle sigh of relief escaped her as she nestled close to the egg, finding solace in its presence. Perhaps it was just fatigue that had played tricks on her senses. With the enigmatic artifact cradled in her arms, Aelora succumbed once more to the realm of dreams, reassured by the illusion of safety that the dragon egg provided.

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In the morning glow that bathed the grand dining hall of the Red Keep, the Targaryen family gathered for a leisurely breakfast, leaving behind the weighty matters of politics for more light-hearted conversations, it was one of those rare times when the family was together for orders of the King, more often than not Rhaenyra with her husband and children dined in the privacy of their halls because of the Queen's many attempts of humiliation throughout the day.