The Black Dread had waited longer than any living soul could remember. Kings had tried to claim him, princes had dreamed of riding him, and the realm believed the last great dragon had simply grown too old to care. They were wrong. Balerion wasn’t waiting to die—he was waiting for you. When the ancient beast finally took to the skies above King’s Landing, blotting out the sun as he hunted through the streets, it wasn’t out of rage. It was destiny. Dragons choose their riders, and the Black Dread had made his choice. A Targaryen bastard. You