The chief warlock looked genuinely surprised. He hadn't expected anyone to beat him there, and he definitely hadn't expected to be spotted while hiding.
"A warlock from the Hall of the Immortals?"
Daeron recognized the skinny bastard at a glance — pale skin, blue lips, that weird unhealthy look. In the old stories, this was the same asshole who tried to steal Daenerys's three dragons and lock her up.
He deserved to die.
"Hand over the dragon egg and I'll let you live."
Phaia Boli smiled like he had the upper hand. He pulled a dagger from his sleeve and pointed it at the young Dragon King.
He'd been lying low, rebuilding his magic, waiting for his big moment.
"Threaten me?"
Daeron actually blinked. It had been a while since anyone tried that.
"Give me the egg!"
Phaia Boli's face twisted. He lunged, dagger raised.
That wasn't his only move.
Daeron caught the flicker in the mirrors and window glass. Dozens of copies of the warlock appeared, all armed, all rushing him at once.
"Hand it over right now!"
Phaia Boli was suddenly right in front of him, blade aimed at his heart.
For half a second Daeron didn't move. Then his eyes went sharp.
A black flash cut through the air.
The wet sound of steel punching through flesh followed.
In the next heartbeat Daeron stood behind the warlock, Dark Sister dripping blue blood. He glanced back once.
Phaia Boli froze, dagger still raised.
Then his body split clean at the waist. The top half hit the floor with a scream that didn't sound human.
"Ah!!"
"How? How did you hurt me? I have the shadows' protection—nobody can—"
Phaia Boli's face went corpse-white from blood loss. The dagger clattered away. He clawed at the floor, screaming questions while his guts spilled out.
Daeron held the antique vase in one hand and Dark Sister in the other.
"Idiot. Don't you know Valyrian steel cuts through magic?"
"And you call yourself a warlock?"
Valyrian steel was ancient Valyria's greatest achievement. It killed White Walkers. What the hell was one scrawny warlock going to do against it?
"Valyrian steel?"
Phaia Boli's eyes locked on the blade. He felt the blood and fire inside it and let out a furious, broken howl.
Daeron didn't waste time. He stepped in and drove the sword straight through the warlock's back.
Phaia Boli jerked once. His screams died. His pupils shrank to pinpoints as he stared at Daeron's face, like he was trying to memorize it for hell.
Then he went limp and dropped.
Daeron waited three seconds, pulled the sword free, and stepped back.
He wasn't done yet.
He left the bedroom, smashed the vase with the dragonbone hilt, and caught the dry grass and mud-colored dragon egg that tumbled out.
No time to admire it. He stored the egg in his inventory.
He sheathed Dark Sister and pulled the high-grade slingshot from the mine chest reward. The ring on his left hand was the iridium one plus the explosive ring.
Kill a monster, detonate the corpse.
The warlock was dead, but the body hadn't exploded.
That meant he wasn't really dead.
"Slingshot feels better than the fishbeam bow," Daeron muttered.
He aimed and fired an explosive pellet.
"No!!"
The warlock's upper half jerked up, face full of terror, trying to crawl away.
Boom.
The pellet hit his head. Fire and thick smoke erupted.
A second explosion followed, blasting fire up to the ceiling and shattering every window in the room.
Daeron pulled his cloak over his face. He was sure now.
Trying to play dead right in front of him? Cute.
When the smoke cleared he walked back in.
The only thing left was a poisoned dagger. The warlock's remains were gone.
"No loose ends."
Daeron picked up the dagger and nodded.
The explosive ring didn't leave scraps. If anything had survived, the warlock would still be breathing.
Turns out warlocks bled and died just like everyone else.
Daeron left the wrecked mansion, climbed onto an impatient Caraxes, and flew straight for the Hall of the Immortals.
By the time he arrived, the square in front of the Hall was packed.
Masos led the force. Every member of the Thirteen was there with camel riders and slave soldiers surrounding the building.
There was more than one warlock inside.
Some tried to run and got cut down. Others stayed and fought.
"The Hall of the Immortals holds the secret of immortality! Stealing from it is blasphemy!"
A young warlock screamed, tongue long and snakelike when he opened his mouth. Same pale skin, same blue lips.
"Shut the fuck up."
Jaehaerys landed Valar right in front of the doors. At his command the bronze dragon unleashed a river of fire that swallowed the screaming warlock.
"Ah! Dragonfire!"
The man burned bright gold-red, slapping at himself in panic. Whether he was trying to put it out or just terrified he couldn't cast, it didn't matter. In seconds he was a charred corpse.
Jaehaerys frowned but kept burning the rest who refused to surrender.
The stolen egg case was solved.
The warlocks had wanted dragons. They manipulated Zaro into buying the egg so they could grow their power and overthrow Qohor's rulers — maybe even change the place of warlocks across the world.
Warlocks were hated everywhere, seen as lesser and dangerous. If they had succeeded, Qohor would've become a richer, bigger version of Asshai.
"By the gods, these bastards deserved it," Masos said, eyes shining as the screams echoed. "Only dragonfire can burn away their filth."
Warlocks were tough. Before the dragons arrived, swords had passed through them like cotton. They used illusions to mess with the soldiers.
Dragonfire didn't care about any of that.
"Hiss-graa!"
Caraxes landed near Valar. At Daeron's signal he added his own fire to the blaze.
"Brother. How'd it go?"
Jaehaerys asked the second Daeron dismounted.
Daeron smiled. "Got it."
Short answer. The two dragons kept burning.
"Hiss-graa!"
Toothless dropped onto the roof and poured oily green fire from above, melting stone into dripping black sludge.
Daeron remembered the old stories. The Hall of the Immortals was important to the warlocks. Full of strange things and visions.
Daenerys had seen prophecies there.
Visions? Fuck them.
Prophecies? Fuck them too.
The Hall and every warlock in it could burn.
"Only fools put their faith in prophecies," Daeron told his brother. "People have infinite possibilities. A prophecy is just one possible ending, not the whole story."
"If you believe it completely, that ending becomes real and you lose everything else."
To him, Melisandre and Machiro were just sources of information. Tools. Not the full plan.
Just like the old dragonlords. Their blood witches and fire mages served them. They didn't rule them.
"I get it, brother."
Jaehaerys smiled, eyes steady.
He used to have a filter for magic users. Melisandre seeing the future in flames. The Yi Ti healer with his astronomy and medicine. He'd even become a warlock's apprentice in Oldtown.
But after watching Valar's power and seeing these creepy warlocks die so easily to dragonfire, the filter was gone.
This wasn't everything for him.
First and foremost, he was a dragonrider.
Three dragons working together turned the Hall of the Immortals into rubble.
Daeron watched the ruins.
Thin black smoke drifted up, carrying faint wails that sounded almost relieved.
"Their experiments must've been fucking monstrous."
Daeron's face stayed blank. He told Caraxes to keep burning. Finish it.
With the warlocks gone, it was time for Zaro and the ones who helped him.
In the square outside the Palace of a Thousand Thrones, Zaro hung from a post, hands and feet bound like drying meat.
The Thirteen stood in a line, heads down, not looking at him.
Soldiers dragged the fat man and a few others aside.
"What are you doing? We didn't do anything!"
The fat man was panicking.
Jaehaerys glanced at Wendro.
Wendro stepped forward. "You were Zaro's partners. When he planned to buy the egg and overthrow the royal family, you all funded it. Your reward was going to be ruling Qohor together."
Servants were brought as witnesses. The guilty members of the Thirteen had known everything. They just wanted more power.
"No! This is a lie!"
Daeron didn't care.
"Dragonfire."
Caraxes had been waiting. He burned Zaro where he hung, then swept the fleeing conspirators in flame.
Screams and the crackle of burning fat filled the air.
When it was over, only charred corpses remained.
A breeze blew through and they crumbled to ash.