Dawn arrived quietly.
As the first rays of morning light pierced the treetops deep in the Kingswood, the forest was waking up.
Dew shimmered on fern leaves, birdsong rose and fell, and the sound of a distant waterfall grew exceptionally clear in the morning air.
Rhaenyra slept with Aegon in her arms, leaning against that massive rock.
Traces of blood and tears remained on her face, her silver-gold hair draped messily over her shoulders, but her brow was relaxed and her breathing steady.
The outburst before dawn seemed to have drained all her strength, and also relieved her of her long-held burdens.
At this moment, she was just a tired young girl, sleeping peacefully in the forest’s embrace while holding her most cherished younger brother.
Aegon also had his eyes closed.
But his sleep was lighter—the physiological needs of a toddler intertwined with the alertness of an adult, keeping him in a state between dreaming and waking.
He could feel Rhaenyra’s steady heartbeat, the warmth radiating from Sunfyre’s body temperature, and those subtle sounds in the forest: the rustling of wind blowing through leaves, the sound of a distant stream, the tentative chirping of some early-rising bird…
And something else.
A presence.
Ancient, pure, and serene, it was slowly approaching.
Aegon’s consciousness gradually cleared.
He didn’t open his eyes but instead sensed his surroundings through the dragon resonance.
Sunfyre also sensed that presence—
The golden dragon’s alertness was transmitted, but it wasn’t an aggressive warning; it was more like…
A combination of curiosity and confusion.
That presence drew closer and closer.
The footsteps were light, almost silent, making only the faintest rustle upon the fallen leaves.
The breathing was long and steady, carrying the scent of grass and morning dew.
Aegon opened his eyes.
At that exact moment, the morning light broke through the treetops, casting the first pillar of light into the forest clearing.
That pillar of light fell squarely on the edge of the clearing—right onto that pure white figure.
The White Hart.
Looking at it now, it turned out that the high-energy creature the system had warned of approaching last night was this fellow.
It stood at the edge of the clearing, no more than twenty paces from Rhaenyra and Aegon.
Sunlight flowed over it, illuminating that coat of fur as white as snow.
It was a true white, without any blemish, so white it seemed to glow.
It was much larger than a regular stag, its antlers branching into twelve points, looking like a brilliant crown under the sun.
Its eyes were a gentle amber, and at this moment, it was quietly watching the siblings huddled together beneath the rock.
Aegon held his breath.
This was the first time he had seen the true “King of the Kingswood” outside of the original show.
It was far more mystical than the White Hart shown in the show; it wasn’t a common albino stag, but the true White Hart, a legendary creature of this magical world and continent that appeared only once in a hundred years—a sacred forest beast that would only reveal itself to a true king.
And it was right here, in front of them.
Sunfyre had also woken up.
The golden dragon slowly stood up, but he didn’t let out a threatening roar, nor did he take an aggressive stance.
He just looked at the White Hart, his golden eyes filled with complex emotions—
His dragon instincts told him this was prey or a threat, but some deeper perception kept him silent.
Cole was gathering water by a nearby source.
When he left, Rhaenyra and Aegon were still asleep, with Sunfyre guarding them quietly.
He needed to check that the horses tethered nearby last night hadn’t been spooked and broken loose, and he needed to wash his wounds with clean water—he had been injured when the boar struck last night, and his ribs were in sharp pain, but he hadn’t made a sound about it.
But when he returned to the edge of the clearing carrying the waterskin, he saw this scene.
In the pillar of morning light, the White Hart stood silently, like a forest god descended to the mortal realm.
A few steps behind it was the newly awakened, crouching Sunfyre, his golden scales reflecting the sunlight. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Opposite it, Rhaenyra was still sleeping, but Aegon in her arms had already opened his eyes, his purple eyes meeting the White Hart’s amber ones.
Cole froze.
His first instinct was to protect.
His hand went to his sword hilt, slowly drawing it.
But the movement was strangely slow, as if stopped by some invisible force.
He looked at the White Hart, at Aegon, at Rhaenyra, and at this surreal image within the morning light; an ancient and solemn feeling welled up in his heart—
Sacred, and inviolable.
He stopped, his sword only half-drawn.
Just then, Rhaenyra woke up.
She felt Aegon move in her arms and instinctively tightened her hold.
Then she followed Aegon’s gaze and saw the White Hart.
Her first instinct was also to protect.
The hand that had held the dagger immediately reached out—but to vent her anger yesterday, the dagger was still stuck in the boar’s carcass and was not at hand.
She felt nothing, her body tensing instantly, her other hand pulling Aegon even tighter.
“Don’t move,” she whispered, her voice raspy but clear.
“Aegon, don’t move.”
Sunfyre sensed her tension, and fire began to brew deep in his throat, the curiosity in his golden eyes turning to wariness.
But the White Hart didn’t move.
It just looked at them.
Looked at Rhaenyra, at Aegon in her arms, and at the little golden dragon about to breathe fire.
Then, it slowly took a step forward.
One step, two steps, three steps.
It walked very slowly, every step seemingly deliberate.
Its hooves stepped on the fallen leaves almost silently, but its eyes never left Aegon.
Rhaenyra’s hand clenched, her nails nearly digging into her palm.
She thought of her mother’s death, of Baelon’s early passing, and of all those cruel jokes about omens and fate.
If the White Hart was truly a good omen, it should bring good luck;
But if it symbolized something, did it also mean danger?
The White Hart stopped three paces away from them.
It lowered its head, its long nose reaching forward, gently sniffing Rhaenyra—
Or rather, sniffing Aegon in her arms.
Then, under everyone’s shocked gazes, it stuck out its tongue and gently licked the cheek of Aegon in Rhaenyra’s arms.
Aegon was stunned.
That tongue was warm and moist, carrying a scent of grass and some ancient, indescribable flavor.
It wasn’t an attack, not a threat, but more like…
a welcome?
Recognition?
Rhaenyra was also stunned.
She maintained her hugging posture, her eyes wide, watching the White Hart finish licking Aegon’s face, then slowly retreat half a step, bend its front legs, and lower its entire body—
A bow.
The White Hart was bowing to a toddler just over a year old.
The fire in Sunfyre’s throat died out.
The golden dragon tilted his head and watched this scene, his golden eyes actually revealing a hint of…
Jealousy?
He let out a low rumble, as if saying, “This is my rider.”
The White Hart ignored Sunfyre’s “jealousy.” It maintained its bowed posture for a few seconds, then slowly stood up, its amber eyes continuing to gaze at Aegon.
Aegon looked at it, a strange impulse welling up in his heart.
He reached out his small hand.
Rhaenyra wanted to stop him, but before the words could leave her mouth, Aegon had already wriggled out of her arms and slid to the ground.
His small feet stepped on the fallen leaves with a light rustle, and then he walked toward the White Hart.
“Aegon!” Rhaenyra cried out, standing up to chase him.
But Cole had somehow walked to her side, and just as Aegon walked toward the stag as if possessed, he gently pressed down on her arm.
“Princess,” the young knight’s voice was very low, tinged with awe, “please wait.”
Rhaenyra turned to look at him and saw the expression on Cole’s face—it was the same piety a knight has when praying in a sept.
She looked at Sunfyre again; the golden dragon didn’t stop him either, just crouched in place, his golden eyes following Aegon’s small figure.
She stopped.
Aegon walked up to the White Hart.
Up close, this deer was larger than he had imagined.
Even when it bowed, its head was almost level with his chest.
But now that it was standing, its head was about level with Aegon’s neck—
If Aegon were a normal adult, that wouldn’t be much; but Aegon’s current body was only that of a one-year-old child, and this deer was practically a behemoth to him.
Aegon still reached out his hand and gently touched the White Hart’s nose.
Warm and soft, those amber eyes reflected his tiny image.
The White Hart didn’t move, only letting out a soft breath, the warm puff of air hitting Aegon’s face.
Then, it bowed again—
This time even lower, its front legs fully bent, its whole body almost lying on the ground.
Its back was level with Aegon’s waist, as if issuing an invitation.
Aegon understood.
He looked back at Rhaenyra.
His sister stood there, hands over her mouth, her eyes full of shock and disbelief.
Cole stood beside her, his sword completely returned to its scabbard.
Sunfyre stood up and walked a few steps forward, but stopped at a certain distance, as if waiting for something.
Aegon turned his head and looked at the White Hart’s back.
He reached out and grabbed the pure white mane—if a deer had a mane, this was more like slightly longer fur at the shoulders and back.
He lifted his short little legs, and with all his might, and with the help of Rhaenyra who “couldn’t bear to watch,” he “mounted” the deer’s back.
The White Hart slowly stood up.
Aegon sat on its back, steady and secure.
The sunlight fully spread out at this exact moment.
Golden-yellow light bathed the entire clearing, the White Hart, the silver-haired, purple-eyed toddler, and the golden dragon whelp nearby.
This scene was like a picture from an ancient legendary epic—the King of the Forest from legend, carrying the destined king, guarded by a young dragon, witnessed by the dawn.
Cole knelt on one knee, not to salute his princess, nor to swear a knight’s oath, but simply because he was so shaken by this scene that he knelt involuntarily.
Rhaenyra also felt a bit restless, not because of awe, but because her legs felt weak.
She watched Aegon, whom she had helped up, sitting on the White Hart’s back, watched that legendary sacred beast submit before her younger brother, and countless emotions surged in her heart—
Pride, fear, confusion, and a faint…
premonition.
Sunfyre walked over to comfort his “rider,” and after nuzzling Rhaenyra, he crouched down beside the White Hart.
The golden dragon and the sacred deer stood side-by-side, with the young rider sitting on the sacred deer’s back; this scene was so harmonious it was nearly divine.