We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

A pillar of crimson fire shot skyward, blazing fiercely toward the silver dragon tearing through the black mist above.

The dragon was adorned with pristine, silvery scales and a delicate yet regal crown of horns.

It swiftly folded its membranous wings, evading the fiery column that ripped through the heavens. Then, like a seabird diving for prey, it plunged toward the source of the fire—a massive flame wyrm that had erupted from beneath the ground.

The wyrm reared its elongated body, issuing a silent roar of defiance at the skies.

"ROAR!"

A thunderous dragon's roar echoed across the ruins.

Golden flames, no less intense than the fiery pillar, poured from above like a cascading waterfall. The two streams of fire collided mid-air, exploding into a storm of fiery light. Scattered flames rained down like a firestorm.

Draezell grabbed Lynn, who was halfway out in the open, and dragged him beneath a protruding section of the ruins.

"Amos, Hoffa, gather everyone! We need to regroup with the Lord!"

The camp's inhabitants, led by Sebastian and Aslan, had already started moving toward the ruined tower. None were willing to wait idly after sensing the danger.

The bronze dragon emerged through the fiery mushroom cloud formed by the collision of flames, raising its razor-sharp claws toward the massive lizard-like head of the flame wyrm. Its enormous brownish wings, stretching wide like a canopy, obscured the sky. Even from a distance, Draezell could feel the creature's overwhelming size.

The flame wyrm retaliated fiercely, allowing the dragon's claws to tear through its rocky shell. It twisted its sinuous body, opening its jaws to bite at the dragon's chest and abdomen.

But it underestimated the bronze dragon's combat prowess. With a powerful swipe, the dragon struck the wyrm's gaping jaws shut, forcing its head to jerk back.

Seizing the opportunity, the silver dragon ascended rapidly with a beat of its wings, clamping its jaws down on the wyrm's "neck"—if it could even be called one.

The dragon's razor-sharp teeth crunched through the wyrm's rocky exoskeleton. Lava-like blood gushed forth in streams, sizzling and bubbling.

The flame wyrm thrashed in silent agony, its serpentine body writhing wildly. Torrents of flame spewed in all directions, but the bronze dragon's molten gold-like scales withstood the inferno. Its claws remained firmly embedded in the wyrm's skull.

A fiery breath from the bronze dragon engulfed the wyrm, deliberately sparing the silver dragon gripping its neck. The blazing flames melted the protective shell around the wyrm's head, causing it to crack and burst.

Draezell swallowed nervously.

Was this the gods' recompense?

It seemed... excessive.

The searing heat coursing through his blood gradually subsided. He could sense the fiery entities beneath the ground retreating rapidly from the area.

After all, this was only the outskirts of the Valyrian ruins. A single massive flame wyrm could dominate here, but now that their "king" had fallen to even mightier predators, the other lurking monsters were filled with terror.

When the bronze dragon's fiery breath ceased, it bit down on the wyrm's head. Its teeth effortlessly tore through the bloodied flesh beneath the shattered exoskeleton.

The silver dragon followed through with a sharp tug, separating the wyrm's head from its body.

Only then did the bronze dragon leisurely turn toward Draezell and his group, still holding the wyrm's severed head in its jaws.

The two dragons, carrying the wyrm's corpse, drifted down toward the ruins of the shattered tower.

The silver dragon briefly glanced at the skeletal remains of a fellow dragon, then resumed feasting on the wyrm's fiery flesh. The blood seemed particularly suited to their appetites.

The bronze dragon, however, loomed over Draezell and the others who had just regrouped beneath the ruins. Its eyes were icy, its gaze tinged with a subtle frenzy.

It was noticeably larger than the silver dragon, its maw much wider. When it opened its mouth, rows of jagged teeth gleamed menacingly.

Unlike the silver dragon's delicate horn crown, the bronze dragon's body was adorned with robust spikes, its long and thick horns forming a crown-like structure that exuded a savage majesty. Spines resembling a beard lined its jaw, adding to its menacing appearance.

"It seems the magical pollution of the Valyrian ruins is no longer suitable for dragons," Draezell observed, noting the faint hint of agitation in the dragons' behavior. The moment they arrived, the remnants of Valyria's corruption began to affect them.

Combined with their distinct physical characteristics, Draezell concluded that these two dragons were likely the very ones described in intelligence reports—belonging to the surviving Targaryen family, once dragonlords of Valyria. These were the companions of King Jaehaerys I, known as the "Conciliator," and Queen Alysanne, the "Good Queen".

They were none other than Vermithor, the bronze-scaled, battle-hardened "Bronze Fury," and Silverwing, the majestic and graceful silver dragon.

These dragons had once belonged to Draezell's maternal grandfather and grandmother.

Among the known dragons of that time, Vermithor's size was second only to the ancient Vhagar.

The gods, it seemed, were rather generous—if Draezell could survive Vermithor's flames, that was.

"Valar," Draezell called to his younger brother. He sliced open his palm and smeared blood across both his and Valar's faces.

Silvery streaks of blood slowly dripped down their cheeks. Valar hesitated only for a moment before his confusion gave way to excitement, and he eagerly followed his brother.

The dragons, preoccupied, didn't seem to notice the two "little insects." Vermithor crushed the wyrm's skull with a loud crack, devouring the jelly-like, lava-thick contents within as though savoring a fine delicacy. Despite its apparent enjoyment, the steady streams of smoke billowing from its nostrils suggested its mood was far from content.

Meanwhile, Silverwing lowered her head, tearing through the wyrm's rocky exoskeleton with deliberate care, slowly feasting on its steaming flesh.

Vermithor rummaged inside the wyrm's skull for a moment, then turned to Silverwing with a thunderous roar.

"ROAR!"

Silverwing paused, seemingly startled, and stepped aside with an almost sullen demeanor. But then, as if realizing something, she let out a defiant snarl in return.

"HISSS."

Her response was brief; she flicked her head and tossed a chunk of the wyrm's flesh toward Vermithor before resuming her meal, nibbling delicately at the remaining meat.

Vermithor, seeing this, didn't pursue the matter further. Lowering his head, he began tearing into the chunk of meat Silverwing had thrown his way.

Draezell, now clinging to the edge of Vermithor's wing, was as pale as a ghost. He finally understood why dragons were so terrifying.

Vermithor's immense size—hundreds of feet in length and a wingspan surpassing a thousand feet—appeared in his magical vision like a blazing volcano. Within its core, an endless inferno raged. Fire flowed through its blood and surged within its muscles.

From a magical perspective, dragons were living embodiments of flame. If not for the two dragons gradually absorbing the magical pollution of the ruins, Draezell's protective runes—designed by his father through his studies on this contamination—would have been utterly insufficient. There was no way he could have subtly influenced the dragons' emotions using the faint connection between them.

In truth, he had barely managed to affect them. Whether it was the lingering influence of their former riders or something else, these two dragons exuded an odd harmony. Even with their emotions tainted by the ruins, they didn't behave like wild beasts, tearing into one another over food.

Grasping the black, faceted stone embedded with silver veins that hung from his neck, Draezell steeled his resolve. This "Shadowbinding Stone" from Asshai was a relic his father had entrusted to him, instructing in his notes that it might prove useful should he ever have the chance to tame an adult dragon.

As for what the stone actually did, his father hadn't known.

Resolved, Draezell gripped one of the spikes on Vermithor's scales and began climbing.

The dragon immediately sensed something crawling on it. Vermithor shook itself, attempting to dislodge the nuisance. Draezell clung desperately to the spike, barely managing to avoid being thrown off.

"This isn't sustainable," Draezell muttered, realizing he couldn't hold on much longer if Vermithor continued to move. Gritting his teeth, he slapped his palm against one of the dragon's spikes.

Blood surged from the wound the spike inflicted, but instead of dripping away, it seeped into Vermithor's scales. A faint silver light pulsed, and Draezell's injured palm healed almost instantly.

Seeing Vermithor momentarily calm, Draezell resumed his climb toward the depression on the dragon's back, where a cluster of bone spines provided stable handholds.

Vermithor, having just swallowed a chunk of flesh, noticed that the small insect had not fallen off but had somehow made its way onto its back.

This was intolerable.

"Vermithor, ***sōvēs***!" Draezell shouted in High Valyrian.

The dragon's response was immediate and merciless. Vermithor twisted its massive neck and unleashed a torrent of dragonfire straight at its back.

"ROAR!"