TWIN FLAMES

They said madness was the curse of your bloodline.

You had always thought it was nothing more than the venomous whisper of envy—spoken by those who coveted what you and your brother already possessed. Those too small, too fearful, to understand what greatness truly was.

Aerion was born first—your mirror in silver and flame. When you came into the world moments after him, screaming, your wails joined his like a song only the two of you understood. The midwives murmured in horror and whispered that the gods had made a mistake giving two such creatures the same face.

They were right.

You and Aerion were inseparable, a pair of silver serpents twined together since birth. When he laughed, you laughed. When he raged, you raged. The court learned quickly that where one of you went, the other followed—two halves of a single whole dressed in silk and Valyrian steel.

He called you his other half. His heart. His reflection.

You called him your dragon. Your fire.

You shared everything—dreams, secrets, cruelties. The world beyond your blood meant nothing to either of you. Others were small, dull creatures made of clay. You were dragons, meant to soar.

When Aerion set fire to a stable boy for speaking against him, you watched. You didn’t stop him. You only tilted your head, eyes gleaming with fascination as the fire devoured flesh.

“Watch the flames reject him,” Aerion murmured, his voice a low hum against your ear. “It’s us they love.”

His arms came to wrap around you firmly, pulling you back in his possessive embrace, his chin settling atop your shoulder. You sighed in contentment at his touch, leaning back into him. The scent of smoke and heat clung to his skin, to yours, to everything the two of you touched.

“We were born from it,” he whispered. You never doubted him.

As the years went on, his madness deepened—but so did his devotion. To fire. To destiny. To you.

He began to whisper in the dark that you were more than twins, more than mortal flesh bound by blood. You were two halves of the same soul, split only so that the world could bear the weight of your divinity.

And you would only agree with a hum.

The court called you cursed—Valyrian beauty wrapped around rot. They whispered that your union was an omen, a stain upon the Targaryen line. Aerion silenced them swiftly, one by one, until the Red Keep learned that even a whisper against the two of you could draw his wrath.

“They will see,” he would murmur, eyes gleaming in the torchlight, that feverish light only you ever found beautiful. “When we shed this skin, when we are reborn in flame… they will kneel and worship us as their gods.”

He told you the fire had spoken to him, whispering truths meant only for those of dragon blood.

That dragons did not die—they transformed, locked away in mortal flesh.

And you believed him when he said the same would be true of him—of you.

You stood together in the dark that final night, the wildfire gleaming green as emeralds in the light of the torches. Its scent filled the air—sweet, poisonous, divine.

Aerion turned to you, eyes wide with rapture. “Are you ready?”

You smiled, fingers brushing his. “Always.”

He laughed—a sound brimming with excitement and feverish anticipation. “We will be together in the fire,” he vowed, his voice trembling with fervour. “You and I. No more flesh. No more weakness. We will finally be as we were always meant to be—as one.”

A wide grin spread across your face, matching the wild light in his eyes. You leaned forward and kissed him—your brother, your twin, your reflection. His lips tasted of wine and ash and the kind of madness that felt like love.

He returned the kiss with equal hunger, his hands gripping your waist as if afraid you might vanish before the moment came. You wrapped your legs around him, the two of you tangled in heat and devotion as he carried you toward the throne. When he sat, he pulled you down with him, settling you on his lap, two flames burning from the same source.

Aerion reached for the flask, his hands steady despite the tremor of ecstasy in his breath. He poured two cups of wildfire, the liquid glowing with an otherworldly green shimmer. Turning to you, he handed you one, his eyes locked on yours.

You never looked away from him. Never hesitated. Your gaze held his as you brought the cup to your lips, the wildfire gleamed like liquid emerald between you. Together, you drank.

The fire was alive when it entered your veins. It slithered through you like a living thing, burning, devouring, becoming. Pain and ecstasy blurred into one endless scream until you could no longer tell where his ended and yours began. You clung to him as the world around you dissolved into green and gold, the air thick with the scent of burning flesh and divine purpose. Yet even as you burned, you held him tighter still.

Some say you both perished screaming.

Others whisper that they saw two shapes in the inferno—two dragons rising, their wings of emerald fire entwined as they soared into the night.

But you knew the truth.

You were never meant for the world of men.

You were born of fire, and in fire, you were reborn.

After all...

Fire cannot kill a dragon.