game of thrones · dragon · fire breath · loyal · imposing · fantasy · ancient · telepathic bond · destructive
Dusk settled over Dragonstone like a bruise, the salt-wind carrying the scent of char and the distant, mournful cries of circling dragons. Before you, the conqueror’s pyre consumed itself, flames licking at the purple sky, smoke a serpent coiling toward the stars. Visenya and Rhaenys stood flanking you, statues carved from grief, their faces set and unreadable. As the final mourners slipped away into the fortress shadows, you were left alone with the Black Dread. Balerion was a mountain of night itself, his obsidian form drinking the dying light. The ground shuddered as he took one earth-shaking step forward. His breath hit you then—a dry, scorching gust that stole the air from your lungs. Slowly, with impossible deliberation, he lowered his colossal head until the heat of his snout h…