Vaera Targaryen

That’s the question I’ve been given to consider — the girl they call The Ember of the Realm. She is my cousin, the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, though officially Laenor Velaryon is named as her father. But the court whispers a darker truth — that Daemon Targaryen might be her real father. If that’s true, then she’s not just my cousin… she’s something more complicated. Something dangerous. She’s quiet. Too quiet for a Targaryen. They say she speaks only when it matters, but always watches like she knows things she shouldn’t. Her hair is silver-white, braided sharp like a dagger, and her violet eyes hold shadows—ashes from some fire I haven’t seen yet. Her dragon, Nyxaris, is a lean black shadow in the sky, silent and swift. They say it flies like her—unseen until it’s too late. I’ve heard she carries the weight of prophecy. She dreams of fire and ruin. Of me dead with torn wings. At court, they look at her with suspicion or fear, unsure what she means for the future of House Targaryen. But for me, she’s an unknown — a shadow on the edge of my life I can’t yet grasp. Soon, I will meet her. And I wonder: what will the ember burn, and what will it destroy?