It was half a month after the birth of Aegon Targaryen in 107 AC.
From far-off Oldtown, the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven had traveled specifically from the Starry Sept for Prince Aegon’s grand Name-day ceremony.
Inside the sept of the Red Keep, crystal windows filtered the morning light into rainbows.
The High Septon stood before the statues of the Seven, the holy oil in his hand shimmering with a golden luster in the light.
Aegon was wrapped in white swaddling embroidered with the Three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, held by his mother Alicent as they stood before the altar.
His father Viserys stood on the other side, dressed in a crimson and black doublet, wearing the simple gold crown that symbolized his kingship— it was not the heavy Crown of the Conqueror, which was reserved only for coronations and major ceremonies.
His gaze drifted between his son Aegon and his daughter Rhaenyra, who stood in the front row of the observers.
Rhaenyra wore traditional Targaryen black and red, her silver-gold hair woven into intricate braids.
Today, her ten-year-old face bore a gravity that exceeded her years.
Beside her stood the members of the King’s Small Council:
Lord Lyonel Strong, the Master of Laws; Grand Maester Mellos; Ser Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships; and Lord Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin; along with Ser Harrold Westerling, who had just succeeded Ser Ryam Redwyne as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard two years prior, and the Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower.
Otto stood in the position of the Hand, his gray hair combed meticulously.
His presence was expected by all—following Prince Aegon’s birth and the hatching of the dragon egg, the King had originally intended to hold a grand tourney to announce his firstborn’s arrival to the Seven Kingdoms.
However, he had relented after considering Rhaenyra’s feelings and being dissuaded by his friend Lyonel and Otto, who was also the child’s grandfather.
Nevertheless, Viserys still required an “experienced” Hand to assist him in dealing with the increasingly complex situation.
And Otto, the Hand of the King, happened to have a daughter who had just birthed a healthy prince for the King.
He could “assist” his friend with perfect justification.
“In the name of the Warrior, I give you courage.”
The High Septon gently dabbed the holy oil onto Aegon’s forehead.
“In the name of the Mother, I give you mercy.
In the name of the Maiden, I give you purity…”
Aegon squirmed in his swaddling.
The ceremony was long and tedious, and the adult soul within him was calculating the expressions of everyone present.
Alicent’s tension, Viserys’s gratification, Otto’s depth, and Rhaenyra’s complexity— all these emotions wove together into a web, and he was the prey at the center, as well as the potential weaver.
“…In the name of the Father, I give you justice.” The High Septon completed the final anointing.
“Henceforth you are blessed by the Seven and accepted by the Realm.
Aegon Targaryen, baptized here into the Faith.”
The observing nobles echoed in low voices.
Aegon could hear their suppressed discussions:
“Look at that hair, pure silver-gold…”
“The eyes are purple too, undoubtedly pure Targaryen blood.”
“I heard his dragon has already grown to the size of a hound in just a few days?”
“Hatched in three days, that has never happened in history…”
After the ceremony ended, the crowd moved toward the banquet hall.
Alicent walked beside Viserys holding Aegon, with Otto following closely behind.
As they passed Rhaenyra, Viserys paused.
“Come along, Rhaenyra.” The King reached out his hand.
Rhaenyra hesitated for a moment, then took her father’s arm.
This scene was witnessed by all the nobles— the King, the Queen, the newborn Prince, and the Princess who was the King’s heir, walking together toward the feast.
A perfect portrait of a harmonious family.
But beneath the portrait, cracks had already formed.
Aegon’s life was confined to the nursery in Maegors Holdfast and the adjacent Solar.
This was Otto’s command—
“The Prince is young and frail; he must be shielded from the wind and cold.”
It was both protection and a shackle…
Of course, for the newly born Aegon, the intent of protection perhaps outweighed the shackle.
Alicent would come three times a day to nurse him, lull him to sleep, and sometimes just watch her son in silence.
Her gaze grew increasingly complex.
In the first few days, it was pure maternal love, but as time passed, Aegon could see the struggle in her eyes— was she looking at her son, or at a tool to be held firmly in her grasp?
“You might become King.”
One afternoon, Alicent whispered through tears while gently rocking the cradle.
Sunfyre curled up on the cushion beside the cradle, raising its head to let out a soft hiss.
The hatchling was growing rapidly; only two months after hatching, it already had the body of a medium-sized dog, its golden scales shimmering in the sunlight.
Aegon pretended to be asleep.
He knew his mother’s words weren’t meant for an infant, but for herself.
She was convincing herself of the correctness of this choice.
“Your father…
he loves you, but he loves his dream more.” Alicent’s voice was even softer, almost a whisper, attempting to use the rhetoric her father Otto used to persuade her to “persuade” her own flesh and blood still in swaddling.
“He dreams of family harmony, dreams that Rhaenyra can succeed him smoothly without a ripple.
But he doesn’t understand that the world will not allow such a thing to happen.
The precedent established by the Great Council…”
She stopped abruptly.
Footsteps echoed from the doorway.
Rhaenyra stood there, holding a leather-bound book.
She was dressed in riding leathers, her silver hair a bit messy, clearly having just returned from the Dragonpit.
“Your Grace.” Rhaenyra froze for a moment upon seeing Alicent.
Looking at her former close friend, she gave a respectful curtsy and stated her purpose coldly: “I’ve come to see my brother.”
Alicent stood up, appearing to have long expected Rhaenyra’s current distance.
A perfect smile instantly graced her face.
“Rhaenyra?
What a surprise.
I thought you spent your afternoons with Syrax.”
“Dragons need rest too.” Rhaenyra walked into the room, her gaze falling on Aegon before turning to Sunfyre.
“He’s growing so fast.”
“They are both very healthy,” Alicent said, a hint of unconscious pride in her tone.
Rhaenyra crouched by the cradle.
She didn’t touch Aegon but observed him.
Aegon could clearly feel the gaze she cast—evaluating, curious, and containing some indescribable emotion— it felt like jealousy, yet also like a protective instinct.
“Father asked me to come read him a story.”
Rhaenyra held up the book in her hand.
“The Chronicles of the Conqueror.”
Alicent’s smile stiffened for a moment.
“He’s only two months old; he won’t understand.”
“Father says the Targaryen bloodline can understand stories of dragons and conquest.”
Rhaenyra flipped open the pages as if performing a daily chore and began to read aloud, “‘Aegon Targaryen the First was born on Dragonstone twenty-seven years before the Conquest, the son of Aerion Targaryen…'”
Her voice was clear and steady.
Aegon listened with his eyes closed, his mind rapidly analyzing the situation.
Viserys had specifically requested Rhaenyra to do this, and the intent was glaringly obvious:
He hoped the siblings would form a bond, hoped Rhaenyra would accept this brother, and hoped to use this method to maintain his fragile vision of peace.
And Rhaenyra had come.
What did this mean?
Obedience?
Calculation?
Or had she developed genuine curiosity toward this brother who had hatched a dragon in three days?
Sunfyre moved to Rhaenyra’s feet, sniffed her boots, and then let out a satisfied purr.
Rhaenyra stopped reading and looked down at the dragon.
“He likes you,” Alicent said, a trace of wariness in her voice.
“Dragons can sense the blood.” Rhaenyra reached out to stroke the top of Sunfyre’s head, and the hatchling submissively accepted the touch.
“Syrax had the same reaction when she first met Uncle Daemon.”
At the mention of Daemon’s name, the atmosphere in the room shifted subtly.
Alicent tightened her jaw, while Rhaenyra continued reading as if it had just been a casual remark.
But Aegon knew it wasn’t just a casual remark.
Daemon Targaryen, their exiled uncle, was currently on the Stepstones attempting to proclaim himself “King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones.”
His existence had once been a sword hanging over everyone’s heads— especially for Rhaenyra back then.
But now, this sword…
seemed to have changed targets.
Late at night, when only the night-watch maid remained in the nursery, Aegon could finally focus on the system within him.
Over the past two months, this not-yet-fully-unlocked system interface would occasionally flicker, providing fragmented information.
Being unlocked, it was quite rudimentary, with only a few basic functions:
[Host: Aegon Targaryen]
[Age: 2 months]
[Bloodline Purity: 27% / 34% (+3%) Partially Activated, Targaryen Legitimacy]
[Bound Dragon: Sunfyre (Juvenile)]
[Dragon Resonance: Elementary (11%)]
[Bloodline Evolution: Not Awakened (Requirement: Purity ≥ 50%)]
Bloodline purity had increased by 3%.
Aegon wasn’t sure of the reason; it could be a natural result of aging, or it might be related to Sunfyre’s growth.
The Dragon Resonance progress bar was also slowly advancing for some reason, growing a little bit whenever he had physical contact or conscious communication with Sunfyre.
The most mysterious part was “Bloodline Evolution,” which required 50% purity to activate.
The concept of bloodline purity was never mentioned in the original story, but the system had quantified it.
Aegon guessed this might be related to House Targaryen’s tradition of maintaining blood purity through incestuous marriage, originating from the Valyrian Freehold.
The dragonlord families of Valyria believed that pure blood could strengthen the connection with dragons and even grant certain special abilities.
But what did an initial purity of 24% signify?
Even if it increased to 27%, it was only a quarter.
Did this mean the Targaryen bloodline had already been diluted after intermarrying with Westerosi nobility?
Or did the system use a different standard of judgment?
Sunfyre turned over on the cushion, letting out a sleep-muffled hiss.
Through Dragon Resonance, Aegon could vaguely perceive its dreams— fragments of flight, impressions of fire, and memory shards of some massive existence; these were ancient memories passed down from the depths of dragon blood.
[Deep Dragon Memory Fragment detected…
Analyzing…]
The system suddenly popped up a new prompt.
Aegon focused his attention.
[Fragment Content: Volcanoes, lava, hissing dragon flights, towering black stone towers…]
Ancient Valyria?
The Fourteen Flames?
The images flashed by, but they were enough to be staggering.
That was the Valyrian Freehold before The Doom, the homeland of dragons.
It seemed that ancestral memories still lingered within Sunfyre’s genetic memory.
[Analysis complete.
Dragon Resonance +1%]
The progress became 12%.
It seemed that the connection with Sunfyre could not only enhance their rapport but also grant system rewards by excavating dragon memories.
This was a path for advancement.
Aegon pondered.
If he could continuously increase Dragon Resonance, would it unlock more system functions?
What would come after Bloodline Evolution?
More importantly, would this system create associations through contact with other dragons, as he had initially hypothesized?
So far, the system had given no related prompts.
But the main quest explicitly required “ensuring the continuation of the Targaryen bloodline.”
Did this imply that other functions of the system would only unlock when his age reached a certain stage or after a certain condition was triggered?
If it involved contact with dragons, he expected Sunfyre wouldn’t disappoint him; after all, this clever fellow had “self-taught” the Common Tongue of Westeros when facing the “idiot” Aegon II in the original history.
The sound of bells came from outside; it was already midnight.
The night-watch maid was yawning.
Aegon closed his eyes, letting his infant body enter sleep.
But in the depths of his consciousness, a plan was taking shape.
He needed to accelerate his progress.
According to the original timeline, there were still twenty-two years before the outbreak of the Dance of the Dragons.
But the butterfly effect had already begun— his own arrival and Sunfyre’s early hatching would both change the course of history.
He couldn’t wait until he was an adult to take action.
First, he had to consolidate his relationship with Rhaenyra.
She was the key, not only as a potential core target for the system but also as a crucial political pivot.
Viserys wanted harmony between the siblings, so he would perform harmony.
And he had to go even deeper than Viserys expected— he wanted to become the only person Rhaenyra truly trusted, trusted to the point that in the future struggle for succession, she would hesitate, she would doubt, and she would consider another possibility.
Secondly, he needed to influence Alicent.
A mother’s love was real, but it had already been tainted by her father’s ambition.
He wanted to plant another possibility in Alicent’s heart:
perhaps her son didn’t need to obtain the throne through war; perhaps there was a more peaceful path.
Finally, he had to prepare for the coming conflict.
Daemon’s adventures in the Stepstones would not last forever; he would return sooner or later.
And when he returned, he would surely cast his gaze upon the Iron Throne— whether it was for himself or for Rhaenyra.
Sunfyre twitched its wings in its sleep, a small wisp of flame puffing from its nostrils, flickering in the darkness before going out.
The dragon had awakened.
The dance had begun.