Chapter 162: You Seem to Have Been Talking in Your Sleep
The moment the light touched Aka's mother, it began to seep gently into her body.
As the glow faded little by little, the sickly pallor on her face gradually disappeared—replaced by a healthy flush.
She frowned slightly.
The spot that had once ached now felt… faintly itchy.
Pressing her hand against it, she realized—
there was no pain at all.
None.
Her eyes widened.
After carefully sensing the changes within her body, she suddenly flipped herself upright from the wooden board and stood.
"Aka—!"
Startled, Aka rushed forward, afraid she might collapse after just recovering—
but she raised a hand and stopped him.
"I'm fine."
More than fine.
She felt… better than she ever had.
Stronger. Lighter. Whole.
Around them, the entire khalasar froze.
Then—
as realization dawned—
they all dropped to their knees in unison.
Facing the distant direction of Meereen, they bowed deeply, offering sincere prayers to their Dragon God.
At that same moment—
far away on Dragonstone—
a surge of faith flooded into Drogon's mind.
It poured into the Divine Light like a rising tide, rapidly replenishing everything he had just spent—
and more.
The Divine Light swelled, brighter and larger than before.
Drogon blinked.
Then inwardly grinned.
[Profit.]
"Drogon… I think you were talking in your sleep."
Curled in bed, Daenerys slowly opened her hazy eyes, looking down at the dragon in her arms as she murmured sleepily.
Drogon: […]
She had been deeply asleep just moments ago—
yet in that half-dreaming state, she distinctly remembered hearing someone speaking right beside her ear.
Now that she was awake…
she realized—
it had been Drogon's voice.
Looking at him now—fully alert, eyes sharp and focused—
a thought suddenly struck her.
That hadn't been sleep talk.
That had been his thoughts.
Which meant—
she had just told him she heard him… talking in his sleep?
"…!"
Daenerys stiffened.
Then, without another word, she quickly sat up, tidied herself in a hurry, and walked out of the room—
as if absolutely nothing had happened.
Drogon: […]
Far from Dragonstone—
out on the sea.
Remembering Daenerys's repeated warnings before departure, Yara Greyjoy remained exceptionally cautious.
She had no intention of failing before even reclaiming the Iron Islands.
If anything went wrong now—
it would be humiliation, not glory.
Dawn was approaching.
A fleet of one hundred ships moved slowly through the lingering morning fog.
On the lead vessel, an experienced helmsman glanced at the sea chart, then adjusted the wheel slightly to the left, eyes fixed ahead.
On the deck—
Alchi, a drowsy Ironborn on watch duty, climbed up to the lookout platform, rubbing his eyes.
He raised the telescope gifted to them by Lys—
and casually scanned the horizon.
Just as Alchi was about to lower the telescope—
his eyes suddenly widened.
He raised it again.
Through the thinning morning fog, he could vaguely make out ships emerging from behind an island to the right.
One… then several… then more.
The number kept growing.
"Enemy ships!"
Catching sight of the banner fluttering above them, Alchi shouted at the top of his lungs, yanking the alarm bell.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sharp ringing shattered the quiet dawn.
Half-asleep, Yara Greyjoy was jolted awake. She grabbed a coat and rushed out of her cabin.
"Where?!"
"Over there!" Alchi pointed toward the island, handing her the telescope.
Without hesitation, Yara climbed up the observation platform and looked through it.
The first thing she saw—
was the banner.
A crowned red eye.
Her pupils shrank.
Sliding down the mast in one swift motion, she barked orders at the crew scrambling onto deck:
"Bring those three men—Euron's people. Now!"
She strode to the bow, eyes narrowing as she gauged the approaching fleet.
At least a hundred warships.
Two minutes later—
three battered men, hands bound, were dragged onto the deck.
"Tie stones to them. Lower them."
Her crew froze for a split second—
then realized why she had ordered ropes and stones prepared before departure.
The stones were secured in thick rope nets and fastened tightly to the men's waists.
No chance of escape.
With Yara's nod, they were lowered overboard.
As the men neared the water—
Yara knelt at the bow.
From her cloak, she took out a brilliantly colored conch shell.
Holding it reverently, she faced the sea and began chanting the ritual words she had long memorized.
The moment the men touched the water—
they began to thrash violently.
But it was useless.
Bound to stone, they were dragged down into the depths.
The ropes trembled wildly on the surface.
Then—
one rope stilled.
Then another.
Finally—
all three hung motionless, swaying gently with the tide.
At that exact moment—
the conch in Yara's hands began to glow.
Ancient runes flickered across its surface.
She stopped chanting.
Took a slow breath.
Lifted the conch to her lips—
and blew.
Woooo—
A deep, haunting sound echoed across the sea.
It was distant… ancient… almost sacred.
Anyone who heard it felt as if they stood alone on a quiet shoreline at night, listening to waves endlessly brushing the sand.
At the same time—
a ripple spread outward from the bow of Yara's ship.
Then another.
And another.
The sea began to stir.
The waves grew stronger.
Above, the thinning clouds seemed to gather again, drifting toward the distant waters.
The Ironborn stared in shock.
Their eyes moved between the glowing conch… and the changing sea.
A legend resurfaced in their minds—
A sacred conch.
One that could command the tides.
One that could overturn ships and drown fleets with ease.
Now—
that legend was real.
And it was in Yara's hands.
The doubts they once held—
about following a woman…
vanished completely.
This was no mere captain.
No mere princess.
This was the chosen ruler of the Iron Islands.
The true sovereign of the sea.
On the other side—
Euron Greyjoy stood at the prow of his fleet, excitement barely contained.
Ever since leaving Shipbreaker Bay, anticipation had gnawed at him.
He could already imagine it—
his dear niece, staring at him like prey before a starving wolf.
Yara thought that aligning herself with that dragon queen made her his equal?
Today—
he would teach her what true naval warfare looked like.
Who ruled the seas.
Who was king.
As the distance between the fleets shrank—
Euron loosened his collar, letting the sea wind wash over him, his hand resting on his axe.
Then—
it came.
A distant, echoing sound.
The call of a horn.
Low. Ancient. Mesmerizing.
His men froze.
So did he.
For a brief moment—
the restless agitation in Euron's heart…
calmed.
Completely.