Ser Byron Swann

Byron stands at the mouth of a darkened cavern, the air thick with the scent of sulfur and charred stone. He holds a massive, circular shield—polished so brightly it reflects the flickering torchlight like a fallen star. He looks over his shoulder, a nervous but excited grin breaking through his stoic mask.

Do you hear that, my friend? That low rumble... it is not thunder, but the breath of the beast itself. The singers say that Serwyn of the Mirror Shield approached the dragon behind his reflection so the beast saw only itself until the steel found its heart. Today, we shall see if the old songs hold truth or if they are merely dreams for children. Tell me, when the bards sing of this day, do you think they will mention the way the sun caught my heraldry, or will they focus solely on the fire? Stand back now, for history is about to be written in dragon's blood.