Daenerys sat cross-legged on the narrow bed in the cabin, holding a dragon egg in both hands.
It was heavy, heavier than anything she remembered.
On the deep green shell, dark red patterns meandered like dried blood, or like sleeping fire.
Since the day she boarded the ship from Pentos, she had taken it out of its simple wrapping and wrapped it in a soft cloth torn from an old dress, never letting it leave her side day or night.
She couldn't say why.
Perhaps... it was just the hallucination-like, extremely faint pulse that occasionally came from within this cold, hard oval.
Like a heart encased in rock, gently throbbing in a deep sleep across an entire world.
"Dany!"
The cabin door was pushed open abruptly, and Viserys stood at the doorway, his face flushed with an excitement that hadn't faded even after days of sailing.
He had changed into his best, and only, silk robe embroidered with the Targaryen family crest, his silver hair carefully combed, and his chin held high.
"The waters of Lys are just ahead!"
His voice was bright, every word dripping with uncontrollable excitement.
"Just like Tyrosh, it is now our Targaryen territory! Come, get to the deck and look at our domain!"
Daenerys looked up and gently placed the dragon egg back into the soft cloth on her lap.
"Brother, what is there to see on the sea? You said the same when we entered Tyrosh's waters yesterday, but there was nothing but water."
"That is our domain!" Viserys walked in and grabbed her wrist without a word, pulling her up from the bed.
"The water is Targaryen water! The sky is also Targaryen sky! You should see it, take a good look!"
"If it weren't for the detour to Myr, I would really have them turn over there, to let those arrogant governors and wealthy merchants of Myr see who has returned!"
Daenerys was half-dragged and half-pulled out of the cabin by him.
Since leaving Pentos and entering the waters called the Narrow Sea Realm, Viserys had become like a different person.
No, he had always been excited, but the closer they got to the "Three Cities," the more intense that excitement became, making his eyes shine and his speech fast and urgent.
Off the coast of Tyrosh, he insisted on standing on the deck for two hours, staring at the empty horizon as if he could see the silhouette of the city-state that had already become Targaryen territory.
Daenerys knew that not stopping at the Port to enter the city for an inspection was already the limit of her brother's patience.
She didn't blame him for being this way.
These city-states—Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr—during their long years of exile, had more than once rejected, slighted, or even humiliated this pair of "beggar" siblings.
The perfunctory smiles of those governors, the undisguised pity and mockery in the eyes of the nobles, the few gold coins thrown by merchants like alms... Now, these lofty city-states actually belonged to Targaryen.
Even if it was through the hands of another Targaryen, for Viserys, it was enough for him to drink deeply of this belated, illusory wine of glory.
On the deck, the wind was a bit strong, carrying the salty scent of seawater.
Sailors and oarsmen were busy at their posts, not finding the appearance of the siblings unusual.
Viserys pulled Daenerys to the bow, one hand gripping the railing and the other pointing toward the vast, empty sea ahead, his chest heaving.
"Look, Dany! Targaryen domain!" His voice trembled slightly with excitement.
"When we fight our way back to Westeros, I will be crowned in the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, and let the High Septon himself place the crown on my head!"
"Then, I will properly reward Aegon, my good nephew! Prince of Dragonstone Island? No, that's too small, not enough... I will grant him the wealthiest Riverlands, making him the prince with the widest territory in history! I will also make him my hand of the king, to rule the entire Seven Kingdoms!"
He spoke faster and faster, as if those images were already before his eyes: "The Reach, The Arbor, the Roseroad... give them all to him!"
"He has dragons, he has Soldiers, he deserves the best! We, uncle and nephew, will work together to restore the Targaryen glory, and let those usurpers and traitors turn to ash before the true dragon!"
Daenerys listened in silence, her gaze falling on the endless sea.
"Riverlands? hand of the king?"
She even felt her own title of "Princess of Dragonstone Island" was illusory; she had never set foot on that legendary island, nor did she even know what it looked like.
It was nothing more than a title, the last symbol of dignity that an exile clung to.
And now, her brother had already begun to divide land that had not yet been reclaimed, rewarding a nephew who hadn't even officially recognized his status as king.
She felt a familiar exhaustion and a faint sense of unease. Her brother's fantasies were becoming grander and more... dangerous.
Just as Viserys was immersed in his vision of rewarding the world and Daenerys was staring blankly at the sea, a sailor on the bow's lookout suddenly let out a distorted cry:
"Ahead... there's something!"
The astonishment in that voice overrode professional composure.
Immediately after, more sailors stopped their movements, oarsmen poked their heads out of the portholes, and everyone looked toward the horizon in the direction the ship was heading.
Viserys and Daenerys also followed their gaze.
At first, it was just a blurred, dark line stretching across the junction of sea and sky, lower than the distant clouds and heavier.
It didn't look like land, nor did it look like storm clouds.
As the ship continued forward, that line gradually became clearer, wider, and extended upward.
It wasn't a line.
It was countless swarming black dots, densely packed, covering the entire horizon as far as the eye could see.
Above the black dots were forests of masts as thin as hair, like a boundless forest of dead trees suddenly growing out of the sea.
As the distance closed, the black dots took on silhouettes... they were ships.
Ships of all sizes and types.
The massive hulls of heavy galley warships were like sea fortresses, their waterlines incredibly deep; smaller sailing ships nimbly darted between them; further away, there were the silhouettes of longer fast ships designed specifically for breaking waves... Uncountable. Simply uncountable.
They were not floating in disorder but were faintly arranged in certain formations, huge blocks and columns silently spread across the deep blue sea.
All the ships, without exception, hung black sails.
No, it wasn't that the sails themselves were black, but the patterns painted on them, from a distance, formed a moving black canopy that swallowed the light.
Viserys stood with his mouth open, his hand on the railing tightening unconsciously, his knuckles turning white.
A gasping sound came from his throat, but he couldn't say a complete sentence.
Daenerys was also stunned.
She had never seen so many ships gathered together.
No, it wasn't just many.
This was a kind of... power.
A silent, heavy, breath-stifling physical power.
The Port of Pentos was considered busy, but compared to this black sea of ships that almost extended to the end of the world, it was like a child's toy pond.
"That is..." Viserys finally squeezed out a voice, hoarse and dry, "...the flag?"
Closer.
Close enough to see the uniform patterns on those black sails.
On every black sail was embroidered the same... scarlet three-headed dragon, baring its fangs and claws.
The Targaryen crest. Their banner.
"It's our flag..." Viserys murmured, his eyes staring blankly, "They're all... Targaryen ships? So many... so many..."
He suddenly turned his head to look at Daenerys, his face erupting in an unbelievable flush of ecstasy: "Do you see it, Dany? Do you see it?! These are all ours! My Fleet! Mine!"
He waved his arms vigorously as if those ships were already under his command: "Maybe... maybe I shouldn't just name Aegon the Prince of Riverlands."
"Protector of the Realm! Yes, I will also name him Protector of the Realm! He deserves it! He absolutely deserves it!"
Daenerys did not respond.
She just stared blankly at that expanding black sea of ships, her heart beating heavily in her chest.
This was not something that could be understood just by seeing it.
This exceeded all her imagination of the word "power" during her fifteen years of exile.
It made her feel small, and it also made her feel a cold, indescribable... dread.
Dread of the person who could gather such power, and dread of the blood and fire that would inevitably accompany what this power represented.
The deck fell completely silent.
Only the sound of the hull breaking the waves and the wail of the wind passing through the rigging remained.
All the sailors, oarsmen, including the captain sent from Pentos, stopped their movements as if under a petrification spell, looking at that closer and more concrete black barrier.
The terrified whispers vanished, leaving only pure, awestruck silence.
Just then... the sky, without any warning, darkened a bit.
It wasn't dark clouds obscuring the sun.
But a more invisible, heavier thing spread out, as if the light itself was being absorbed and distorted by some massive presence.
The air suddenly became thick, with a faint sense of static electricity that made the skin prickle.
A deep, primal shudder born of biological instinct surged up everyone's spine to the crown of their heads.
Daenerys felt the pulsation coming from the dragon egg in her arms; it seemed... to quicken for a moment.
"Roar——————!!!"
A dragon's cry exploded.
It didn't come from afar, but seemed to burst simultaneously from high in the heavens, the depths of the clouds, and even from within everyone's own skulls!
Low and thick, with a piercing high-frequency like metal grinding, it arrogantly tore through the air, filled their eardrums, and made the bones of their chests hum in resonance!
"Get down! Hold on!" The captain's roar went out of tune.
It was too late.
A gale, a sudden and suffocatingly violent gale, pressed down vertically from the sky!
"Boom——!!!"
As if an invisible giant hammer had struck the sea, the sailing ship carrying the Viserys siblings tilted sharply to one side. Unsecured barrels and ropes on the deck rolled and flew wildly!
The hull groaned under the strain, and the keel creaked.
Daenerys screamed as she was thrown toward the gunwale; she instinctively clung tightly to the dragon egg in her arms and the railing.
Viserys fared worse. He had been excitedly waving his arms and was thrown off his feet before he could react, slamming heavily into the mainmast. He let out a pained groan and curled up miserably, grabbing anything he could reach.
Light and shadow danced frantically before their eyes, and the wind sounded like a ghost's wail. The whole world was shaking and overturning madly.
Amidst the chaos, Daenerys used all her strength to lift her head, looking up through the silver-gold hair blown about by the gale.
She saw a shadow.
A pale gold shadow swept across the zenith at a terrifying speed.
Dragon wings, so massive they defied comprehension, unfurled and blotted out the sun, casting a dark shadow like a moving mountain upon the sea.
Three heads covered in hideous bone armor hung low, and six molten-gold vertical pupils indifferently swept over the ships below. Wherever that gaze fell, all things fell silent.
The dragon did not stop; it flew straight in the direction of Lys.
But just the wind from its wings as it passed was like a sudden storm, violently battering this small sailing ship.
The wind pressure gradually subsided, and the hull slowly righted itself after the violent shaking.
The deck was a mess. The sailors climbed up, shaken, checking their injuries and praying.
Viserys struggled to his feet, his silk robes stained with filth, his hair disheveled, and a bruise blooming on his forehead.
But he didn't care about that; he just stared fixedly in the direction the dragon had gone, his face a mixture of extreme terror, lingering fear, and... a morbid, twisted excitement at having been 'graced' by such great power.
Just then, a sound drifted over.
It was faint and chaotic at first, torn into intermittent fragments by the sea breeze from the direction of that distant black sea of ships.
But soon, the sounds began to converge and strengthen, becoming unified.
The roar from thousands upon thousands of throats, emitted with all their might, pierced through the sea breeze and came clearly:
"Long live!"
"Long live Prince Aegon!!"
"Long live!!!"
The sound waves were like a tide, one wave higher than the last, striking the sea and also striking the eardrums and hearts of everyone on the sailing ship.
That was not a cheer; it was an oath, an act of worship, a near-fanatical cry of devotion.
Accompanying this roar, that black sea of ships also seemed to come alive. Countless black banners with red dragons danced wildly on the masts, and some warships even blew their horns, joining this world-shaking wave of sound.
Viserys stood there blankly, listening.
The excited flush on his face gradually faded, turning into a hollow paleness.
He looked at the invincible Fleet in the distance shouting 'long live' to his nephew, then at the battered, rocking small sailing ship from Pentos beneath his feet, and finally at his stained silk robes.
Daenerys was listening too.
She held the dragon egg, her fingers tightening unconsciously. The 'Prince Aegon' in those roars was unmistakable.
No King Targaryen, no His Majesty Viserys.
Only Prince Aegon.
The young man riding that terrifying beast just now, the knight who had crowned her in the arena of Lys, the nephew who had descended like a god in Pentos to execute Illyrio... he was the sole core of this world, this army, and all this power.
She felt the dragon egg in her arms give another pulse, so clear it was almost real.
Warm, even... hot.
When Aegon returned to Lys, the sun had already begun to sink in the west.
He had plenty of time.
After Ghidorah landed, he first took a long, comfortable hot bath in the pool of the Governors Mansion to wash away the mist of Braavos.
Attendants prepared new robes for him: a well-tailored deep black formal suit with fine dragon-scale patterns embroidered on the collar and cuffs with dark red silk thread, topped with a matching black long cloak lined with a blood-bright crimson.
A golden belt inlaid with rubies was buckled at his waist, with Blackfyre and Dark Sister hanging at his side.
He even took a short nap until dusk approached, when a personal guard respectfully reported outside the door.
The ship carrying His Majesty Viserys and Princess Daenerys had entered the outer edge of the Port and was slowly docking under the guidance of a pilot.
Aegon adjusted his collar in the mirror.
The man in the mirror had silver hair and purple eyes. Set off by the magnificent clothing, his face had lost the cold sharpness from the negotiations in Braavos, gaining a bit of the grace and majesty belonging to a ruler.
He nodded with satisfaction and turned to walk out of the room.
When he appeared at the Port, the entire dock had changed its appearance.
With him as the center, two rows of personal guards in full black armor, their breastplates engraved with the new three-headed red dragon emblem, held polished halberds and lined the way from the pier to the edge of the dock square.
They stood straight and expressionless, but the elite aura they radiated showed they were true warriors who had been on the battlefield and seen blood.
Further out were the citizens of Lys who had come upon hearing the news.
They were kept at a distance by more garrison Soldiers, standing on tiptoe and craning their necks, watching excitedly.
Whispers surged like a tide in the twilight air.
In the better viewing positions of the dock square, the new elites of Lys gathered—officials, merchants, and guild representatives who had chosen to cooperate or were promoted after the coup.
They wore decent clothes, their faces carrying just the right amount of expectation and submissiveness.
Luciana and Karl stood at the front of the personal guard.
Luciana was in a crisp deep blue gown, her expression calm.
Karl had removed his sling, but his left hand was still somewhat inconvenient. He stood straight, his sharp gaze scanning the entire scene.
When the sailing ship from Pentos finally slowly pulled into the berth specially cleared for it, the noisy sound waves of the entire dock suddenly dropped.
The gangplank was lowered.
The first to walk down was Viserys Targaryen.
He had clearly tidied himself in a hurry on the ship, but the wrinkles and stains on his silk robes were still clearly visible, and his re-combed hair was somewhat loose.
He tried to straighten his back, attempting to maintain a king's majesty, but the lingering shock in his eyes and the unease of facing this grand, strange scene completely beyond his control made his posture appear stiff, even... cowering.
Daenerys followed behind him.
She had changed into a relatively simple light gray gown, her silver-gold hair falling simply over her shoulders.
Unlike her brother's forced composure, her expression was more of a quiet, inquisitive observation.
In her arms, she still held the bulge wrapped in soft cloth.
Her gaze immediately bypassed the crowd and landed on the tall figure in black with silver hair at the end of the pier, surrounded by the black-armored guards.
Aegon met her gaze, took a few steps forward, and stopped before the gangplank.
He did not speak immediately.
Instead, with those deep purple eyes, he calmly scanned Viserys's strained face, glanced at the bundle in Daenerys's arms, and finally let his gaze meet Daenerys's again.
At that moment, the wind on the dock seemed to stand still.
Then, he turned slightly and raised his arm in a clear and elegant gesture of invitation.
His voice was not loud, yet it strangely rose above the wind and waves, clearly reaching the ears of everyone present, especially Viserys and Daenerys:
"Welcome home."
He paused, his arm gesturing behind him to the massive city whose silhouette was gilded by the evening sun, with its busy Port, towering walls, and curling smoke.
"Welcome to Lys. Welcome to..."
His voice carried a hint of imperceptible, deep confidenc
e that only a true owner possesses:
"...the lands of Targaryen."
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