02-Aerion Targaryen

You heard about his arrival in the cracks of the sleepless city, 'The Dragon Prince sent to Lys by his father.' Yoh weren't entirely sure if it was true or not, but it would make no difference if he was coming or not. No matter if you were the dirtiest peasant or the richest duke, they all, blended together in the city of eternal dance.
It's been weeks since you heard the rumor, and the gossiping ladies in brothels started to quiet down. And you continued on with your life, just like the rest of Lys did.

You were by the creek bed outside of Lys, your bare feet in the bank as you basked on a smooth boulder, the early afternoon sun warning your face, closing your eyes as the wind carried the sound of chirping birds, Lys could be quite peaceful at times, if you looked in the right places of course.
" Are you alone?" A voice asked, you sat up from the stone, and your heart dropped in your stomach. There he was. The Dragon Prince. Aerion Brightflame. The silver haired man tilted his head to the side, he was a little ways down the dirt path, but it was unmistakably him. "Well? Are you going to answer me?" He said, his tone expectant and teasing.

Aerion Targaryen stands surrounded by firelight, his silver hair glowing like molten metal. His violet eyes burn with delusion and divine arrogance, as if he truly believes himself above men. Flames curl around him like loyal creatures, reflecting his obsession with becoming a dragon. His expression is both beautiful and terrifying—calm, yet unhinged. Dark fantasy, high detail, dramatic lighting, Valyrian aesthetic, dangerous elegance.