Chapter 161: The Mutation of Divine Light
Back in her chambers, Daenerys Targaryen still hadn't fully calmed down.
She had grown up listening to stories told by Viserys Targaryen—stories of the Seven Kingdoms, of the rise and fall of House Targaryen, of the great lords of Westeros.
The longer she listened, the deeper her hatred grew.
Hatred for those who had overthrown her family.
For those who had betrayed them.
They had taken her father from her.
They had killed her brother.
They had forced her into a life of exile from the moment she was born.
She had once sworn—
that when she returned to Westeros… when she reclaimed the Iron Throne…
those traitors would pay with their lives.
Robert Baratheon.
Jaime Lannister.
And even House Stark—
all of them had stood among those she hated most.
Now, she had everything she once dreamed of.
Three dragons.
A hundred thousand soldiers.
The power to decide the fate of nobles and commoners alike.
And yet—
when the man who killed her father stood before her…
she had not taken revenge.
She had accepted Shireen Baratheon.
Trusted Tyrion Lannister.
Even considered aiding the Stark family.
Every step she took now…
contradicted the oath she had once made.
Part of her blamed herself—for lacking the ruthlessness to fulfill that vow.
Another part felt something heavier—
guilt.
Guilt toward her family.
Toward the father and brother she had lost.
Would they forgive her… for failing to avenge them?
Watching her, Drogon gradually understood what weighed on her heart.
But this—
this was not something he could easily fix.
This was the burden of a ruler.
The slow, painful process of learning how to wield power.
All he could do… was stay by her side.
He leaned in, nudging her soft cheek with his small head.
Daenerys looked at him, then smiled faintly. She lifted him from her shoulder and held him close.
The warmth of his body spread through her arms.
Slowly, she closed her eyes.
Thinking back on everything—on how he had been with her from the very beginning—
her heart eased.
Holding him, she lay down on the bed… and drifted into sleep.
"Dr… Dragon God… p-please… please save… save my mother… she's… she's all I have… I don't want to lose her… please…"
[So noisy… who's talking?]
Half-asleep in Daenerys's embrace, Drogon stirred irritably, his thoughts laced with annoyance.
"Dragon God… my mother… she's always been so good to me… please… please save her…"
After muttering that complaint, Drogon was just about to drift back to sleep—
when the whisper came again.
This time, clearer than before.
[Who is it? Who's speaking?]
He opened his eyes and poked his head out from Daenerys Targaryen's arms, scanning the room.
Empty.
No one inside.
He listened more carefully—even the next room was silent.
For a moment, he thought it was just his imagination. He curled up again, ready to sleep—
"Dragon God…"
The voice came again.
[Aka?]
Drogon immediately recognized it.
But this was Dragonstone… how could he possibly be hearing Aka's voice here?
Focusing more carefully, he realized something strange—
the voice wasn't entering through his ears.
It was coming from inside his mind.
As his consciousness sank inward, the voice grew clearer—emanating from the Divine Light itself.
Only then did Drogon notice—
something had changed.
The Divine Light, which had once been pure white and radiant…
now carried a faint crimson tint.
Even its halo glowed with a subtle red hue.
He examined it closely, but aside from the color shift, nothing else seemed different.
Left with no better option, he focused again on the voice within the light.
Aka was praying.
His mother was gravely ill—on the verge of death.
With no way to save her, the boy had turned to prayer… hoping the "Dragon God" would answer.
Drogon frowned inwardly.
Was it because of this change in Divine Light that he could now hear prayers?
He wanted to help.
Aka was the first one who had ever given him faith—had ever believed in him.
But wanting to help… and knowing how to help were two very different things.
He could hear the prayer—
but he had no idea what to do.
After all, this so-called "Dragon God"…
was good at eating, breathing fire, and being hard to kill—
not saving lives.
Just as he was stuck between intention and helplessness—
something changed.
The halo around the Divine Light began to gather… forming a faint, crimson pathway leading outward from his mind.
Drogon froze.
Then, slowly—
he understood.
Carefully, he tried guiding a small cluster of those reddish light particles out from the Divine Light… into that pathway.
As more and more particles flowed out—
he began to feel strained.
Two minutes passed.
Only when he felt it should be enough to heal Aka's mother did he stop.
The moment he did—
the pathway vanished.
The Divine Light dimmed noticeably… and even shrank slightly.
Drogon let out a mental sigh.
[That cost… a lot.]
That thought immediately reminded him of Melisandre—
the Red Priestess who burned people to glimpse visions in the flames.
Even she had to rely on sacrifices.
And Stannis Baratheon, lacking power, had to constantly borrow strength.
Clearly—
even gods paid a price for power.
He then thought of the legends—
of the greenseers shattering the Arm of Dorne…
of the gods destroying Valyria.
Such catastrophic feats—
must have required unimaginable energy.
But how did they replenish it?
Far away, in the Dothraki Sea—
within Aka's khalasar.
A pale, sickly woman lay weakly on a wooden board, her eyes filled with reluctant tenderness as she looked at her kneeling son.
Around them, the Dothraki stood in silence.
Some pitied her.
Others pitied Aka—the "voice of the Dragon God."
To them, his desperate prayers were nothing more than self-comfort.
The Dragon God was powerful—
but healing?
That was another matter entirely.
And besides—
they hadn't even seen the Dragon God for days.
He hadn't come to their khalasar to eat roasted meat.
They couldn't find him—
so how could he possibly hear Aka's prayers?
"Aka… what's that in your hands?!"
A sudden shout broke the silence.
Startled, Aka looked down.
"…This is—?"
His tear-filled eyes widened as a growing crimson glow gathered in his palms.
"It's the Dragon God…! It must be him! He heard me—he answered me!"
The surrounding Dothraki froze—
then, one by one, dropped to their knees.
A miracle.
A true miracle.
They had only ever heard of such things in stories—
never witnessed one with their own eyes.
As the light in Aka's hands stopped growing—
he turned toward his mother, who was staring at him in shock.
Without hesitation—
he pressed the glowing light into her upper left abdomen… where the pain had always been worst.