From Storms to Thrones (Part 1)

Chapter 21: The Weight of Waiting

With the last buckle secured, I took a deep breath and settled into the saddle on the Cannibal's back. Beneath me, I could feel the raw power of the beast, his muscles coiled and ready to launch us into the sky. There was an intensity in the air, a charged anticipation that hummed between rider and dragon, a silent acknowledgment of the storm we were about to unleash.

Syrax went first, Rhaenyra's dragon shooting into the sky like a bullet, her gold scales catching the early light as she ascended with a grace that was almost otherworldly. The world below seemed to shrink away as the Cannibal spread his wings, a dark, menacing shadow against the lightening sky. His muscles tensed beneath me, and with a powerful thrust, we were airborne, the ground falling away rapidly as we soared into the sky.

The familiar weightlessness of flight took over, the wind roaring in my ears as the sky opened up around us, vast and endless. The Cannibal's wings beat rhythmically, each stroke powerful enough to propel us higher, faster, until we were soaring alongside the others. The dragons moved in unison, a coordinated force of nature, their presence dominating the heavens as they flew with a purpose that was almost palpable.

Below us, the landscape blurred, becoming a patchwork of greens and browns as we left Dragonstone behind and headed toward Rook's Rest. The sun was beginning to rise, casting long shadows and bathing the world in a golden light. But the beauty of the dawn was lost on me; my thoughts were consumed by the battle ahead, by the role I would play in it, by the uncertainty of what was to come.

The mixture of dread and exhilaration that had settled in my chest only grew as we flew onward. This was no ordinary battle. The stakes were higher than anything I had ever faced. The outcome of this day would define the course of history, and there was no turning back.

And yet, despite the fear gnawing at the edges of my resolve, there was also a fierce determination.

Whatever happened next, I would be a part of it.

I had been chosen, by fate or by the Cannibal himself, to take my place in this moment.

I would not falter.

As we continued flying, the air grew colder, and the anticipation among the dragons and their riders became almost palpable.

This was the calm before the storm, the final moments of quiet before the world erupted into fire and blood.

I gripped the pommels tightly, feeling the Cannibal's heartbeat thrumming beneath me, steady and powerful, a reminder of the life I was now tied to.

He was ready, and so was I.

The battle was inevitable, but as we flew toward Rook's Rest, I knew one thing for certain: history would remember this day.

And it would remember us.

***

We were in a small clearing, just a few miles south of Rook's Rest, surrounded by the dense, silent forest. The sun had barely risen, casting long, eerie shadows across the ground, and the chill of dawn clung to the air, making every breath feel sharp and crisp. The only sounds were the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft snorting of dragons as they shifted restlessly, sensing the tension that gripped their riders.

Rhaenys and Meleys had taken off just a few minutes ago, their silhouettes disappearing into the morning sky, leaving us behind in a silence so thick it felt suffocating. I sat tense on the Cannibal, every muscle in my body taut, my nerves frayed like an overstrung bow. My hands gripped the reins tightly, knuckles white, and I could feel the slight tremor in my fingers, betraying the calm facade I was trying to maintain. The Cannibal was restless beneath me, his massive body coiled like a spring, ready to explode into action the moment the signal came.