Game of thrones: A storm is coming

The wind howled through the jagged rocks of Dragonstone as I stood at the edge of the cliff, my body sore from that night's escape a day ago. My hands trembled slightly, but not from fear—no, it was something deeper, a growing resolve. The chase with Grey Ghost had been harrowing, but it had also made one thing clear: I was not ready for him. He was a beast that had eluded even some seasoned dragonriders, and I was just a boy. But I wasn't a boy anymore; I was someone who had a destiny to carve, and I refused to be cowed by fear.

Grey Ghost's relentless pursuit had taught me a lesson, but it wasn't the only dragon on this island. Dragonstone had its fair share of other beasts, and I still had tonight to try again. I had come here for one reason: to claim a dragon. And I wasn't going to leave without trying again. After the close call with Grey Ghost the night before, I had expected to feel more hesitation, more fear. But instead, all I could think about was my failure. 

Some might think it was reckless and foolish, but I had no other option for now. I needed strength, and I can get it here. I have to stop showing fear and plan how to increase the odds of my success. I realized one thing after last time though: dragons won't kill you directly unless you provoke them. Grey Ghost, for all his tantrums, just played with me, like a cat plays with mouse. Otherwise, there's no way he'd be slower than a 9-year-old kid running away.

I had considered waiting for a few days to recover, but my patience had already been tested. It had been a day since the incident with Grey Ghost, and the desire to try again, perhaps even tame a dragon more suited to my attitude was too strong. I wasn't interested in the temperamental, elusive dragons like Grey Ghost. No. I had my sights set on Vermithor or Silverwing—something bigger, more powerful, but perhaps more manageable.

I had spent the day scouring the cliffs, taking note of patrols and guards, and memorizing the paths I had taken the previous night. My plan was simple: avoid Grey Ghost and Cannibal at all costs and find a more manageable dragon—one that would be more agreeable to a having a rider.

Vermithor. Silverwing. Shepstealer. Those 3 were my targets. Dragons that, for all their power, weren't as fiercely territorial as Grey Ghost. Dragons that might accept me if I approached with the right care, the right respect.

As I made my way back up the mountain under the cover of night, I kept my eyes on the sky. There were no clouds tonight—just the cold, clear moonlight and the stars that shone above. It was quieter than the night before—the kind of eerie stillness that suggested something was waiting for me. My breath fogged in the cool air, the sound of it steady and slow as I picked my way up the slippery path.

I reached the familiar narrow pass as the wind began to howl, the cold air biting into my skin. I glanced up to the dark skies, my stomach a knot of nervous energy. My eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of a dragon, but the skies were empty, silent. I'd made it this far, and I would be damned if I failed again.

The familiar scent of sulfur and the occasional dragon's screech echoed in the distance, but this time there was something different—a guttural growl that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

As I crept closer to the edge of the narrow pass, the scent of sulfur grew stronger, mixing with the earthy smell of wet rock. I knew I was getting closer. The growl I had heard earlier still echoed faintly, but it wasn't the sound of an approaching threat. It was more like a lazy rumble, a sound of impatience, as if something was too tired to move but still aware of its surroundings.

I rounded a corner, and there he was.

Shepstealer.

He was a big dragon, even more so when seen up close. His scales were a mottled mix of grey and brown, designed perfectly to blend into the landscape of Dragonstone. His wings were folded lazily behind him, and his eyes, though large and fierce, held none of the hostility I had seen in Grey Ghost. There was no fire in them, just a tired kind of watchfulness, as if he had long ago grown bored with the world around him.

I froze for a moment, watching him. Shepstealer lay sprawled across a rocky outcrop, his tail flicking lazily in the air like a cat swatting at a fly. His massive head rested on his forearms, and he exhaled a puff of smoke that smelled strangely sweet, like charred honeycomb. I had heard the tales of how difficult he was to tame, but from the looks of it, he seemed more tired than dangerous.

I moved cautiously, my boots making little sound against the stone as I approached. Shepstealer didn't even seem to notice me at first. His eyes stayed half-lidded, unfocused, as if sleep were a far more appealing option than any potential danger. My heart raced in my chest, a mix of hope and uncertainty. This was it—the moment where my patience would pay off. I couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

I stepped closer, closer still, until I was standing just a few feet from his side. He shifted slightly, a soft grunt escaping his throat, but he didn't move otherwise. His eyes flicked to me briefly before returning to the sky, his disinterest palpable.

I took a deep breath, speaking softly, "I'm not here to harm you, Shepstealer. I've come to offer you something more, a chance to be great."

For a moment, I thought he might respond, but all he did was snort, a puff of smoke curling out of his nostrils. His massive head shifted ever so slightly, and I swore I saw the faintest flicker of curiosity in his eyes. But that was all.

I reached out cautiously, my fingers brushing against the rough, scaly hide of his flank. Shepstealer shifted again, but this time he didn't stop me. He didn't even flinch. I took that as a good sign and moved a little closer, carefully resting my hand on his side. The warmth of his body radiated through me, and I felt the power contained within the beast, a power that could raze kingdoms if it so desired.

But Shepstealer seemed indifferent. His tail flicked again, this time knocking a small rock loose, and he gave a lazy grunt, almost as if he were annoyed by my intrusion. Still, there was no hostility in his gaze, no aggression in his posture. He was simply... lazy. Perhaps even tired of the endless years of servitude . I know he only likes to go steal sheeps when he gets hungry.

I took a chance, stepping closer still, my voice low but steady. "I'm not leaving without you."

For a moment, the dragon's eyes met mine again, their lazy intensity locking onto my own. He didn't growl or roar; instead, he yawned. His jaws parted wide, revealing rows of teeth like ancient, chipped stone. The yawn was so massive that it sent a gust of wind in my direction, and for a second, I was momentarily stunned. His sheer size made everything feel insignificant.

But he made no move to harm me, no attempt to shake me off. He simply returned to his earlier position, curling his tail around his feet and lowering his head even further.

It was clear to me then. Shepstealer was not a dragon to be tamed through force. He was not a creature that would respond to threats or challenges. He was a creature of indifference, of lethargy. And as much as I wanted to claim him, I knew that taming a dragon like him was an entirely different task than I had imagined.

I took a step back, sighing heavily. This wasn't the dragon I was looking for, after all. He was powerful, yes, but too uninterested to be ridden, too lazy to care about anything but his own comfort. I had expected a challenge, but I hadn't expected this.

It wasn't failure, exactly. I hadn't angered him or provoked him. He had simply ignored me.

I gave him one last glance as I turned away, realizing that Shepstealer wasn't the right dragon for me. Not today, at least. But I couldn't let myself be discouraged. There were others on this island. Others who might see me differently, who might test my strength in different ways.

As I made my way back toward the cliffs, my mind already turning to the next step, I heard another lazy rumble behind me, a sound more like a stretched-out sigh than a growl. I couldn't help but smile, despite my situation. Shepstealer may not have been the one, but his lack of hostility gave me hope. I wasn't finished yet.

The hunt for a dragon was still on. And I would not be deterred.