Vaes Drakarys - Night
Angelus - First Person
Before I close the link, I projected to Daenerys and Mikhail, there's one more thing I want to discuss. A future operation.
We're listening, Daenerys replied, her mental presence sharp despite the late hour in Vaes Meereen.
Volantis. When we stole their Valyrian steel, we used the mind-control artifacts to infiltrate their vaults without them even knowing we were there. I want to do something similar again, but this time the target is different.
What are you after?
Wyvern eggs. I let the implications settle before continuing. Volantis claims Valyrian heritage. They had enough Valyrian steel to equip thousands of soldiers. If they hoarded steel, they almost certainly hoarded eggs as well—petrified specimens, dead clutches that never hatched, possibly even living eggs kept in stasis for some purpose they've long forgotten.
And you can do something with dead eggs? Mikhail asked, curiosity coloring her mental voice.
I believe so. My current form gives me abilities I didn't have before—the capacity to absorb and manipulate life energy, to restore what was lost. A dead egg is just potential waiting to be reawakened. Given enough power and the right technique, I should be able to restore them to viability.
Silence stretched through the bond as they processed this.
More wyverns, Daenerys said finally. More dragons, eventually. You're thinking about the long-term survival of our species.
Among other things. The three we have now are magnificent, but they're not enough. If we're going to reclaim Valyria, if we're going to face whatever threats this merged world throws at us, we need numbers. We need a flight of dragons, not just a handful.
When do you want to launch this operation?
Not immediately. Let the dust settle from our Valyrian steel theft first—Volantis is still reeling from that, and another infiltration so soon would make them suspicious. But within the next few months, I want our stealth operatives gathering intelligence on where their eggs might be stored. Then we move.
I'll call a council meeting tomorrow morning to brief the others, Daenerys said. They should know what we're planning, even if the timeline is uncertain.
Good. Now get some rest—both of you. You've been working too hard, and I can feel the exhaustion through the bond.
Warm affection flowed back to me from both of them, and I let the connection fade to its usual background hum.
Vaes Meereen - Crimson Council Chambers
Third Person
Daenerys called the emergency session at dawn.
The Crimson Council gathered in the repurposed throne room of the Great Pyramid, their scaled forms casting long shadows in the early morning light. Drogo stood at Daenerys's right hand, his massive black form radiating quiet authority. Jhogo had taken his customary position near the doors, his green scales catching the sunlight that streamed through the high windows. Jorah settled into his advisory seat, magitech dataslates already in hand.
"Angelus has outlined a new operation," Daenerys began without preamble. Her Dragonborn form—white scales gleaming, purple eyes sharp—commanded attention despite being smaller than most of the others present. "A second infiltration of Volantis, using the same methods we employed to acquire their Valyrian steel."
"What's the target this time?" Drogo asked.
"Wyvern eggs. Petrified specimens, dead clutches—anything that might be recoverable." Daenerys moved to the map table, gesturing at the distant city marked on its surface. "Volantis has been hoarding Valyrian artifacts for centuries. If they kept the steel, they almost certainly kept the eggs. And Angelus believes she can restore life to eggs that were thought to be beyond saving."
Murmurs rippled through the assembled council.
"That would change everything," Jorah said quietly. "More dragons means more power, more options, more leverage against any threat we might face."
"It also means more risk," Jhogo pointed out. "Volantis is still trying to figure out how their steel vanished. If we hit them again so soon, they might connect the incidents and start taking precautions against infiltration."
"Which is why we're not moving immediately." Daenerys's voice cut through the discussion with practiced authority. "We wait. Let their paranoia fade. Let them convince themselves that the steel theft was an isolated incident—bad luck or internal corruption, not external attack. Meanwhile, our intelligence network identifies potential storage locations and maps their security."
"Timeline?" Drogo asked.
"Months, not weeks. Angelus wants this done right, not done fast." She met each set of eyes around the table in turn. "In the meantime, we continue the integration of Meereen and prepare for whatever the Drowned God throws at us next. The egg operation is important, but it's not urgent. Our current priorities remain unchanged."
The council absorbed this, and then the discussion shifted to more immediate concerns—supply chains, training schedules, diplomatic overtures from the remaining slave cities. But Daenerys noticed that several of her officers wore expressions of barely contained excitement.
More dragons. More wyverns. The Wyrmborne were already formidable. With a flight of dragons behind them, they would be unstoppable.
Vaes Drakarys - One Week Later
Triss Merigold - The Workshop
Triss - First Person
The Wyrmborne magical system was nothing like anything I had encountered in my years of study at Aretuza or during my time with the Lodge of Sorceresses.
I sat in the workshop they had assigned me—a converted storage room with good lighting and enough space to spread out my notes—surrounded by samples of their enchanted materials and the journals I had been filling with observations. A Chaos-Forged dagger lay on the table before me, its dark metal pulsing with faint crimson light that seemed to respond to my attention.
"The base enchantment matrix is completely inverted," I muttered, tracing the runes with my finger without actually touching them. "Instead of drawing power from external sources and channeling it through the object, the object itself generates power through some kind of internal resonance. It's like the metal is alive, almost—growing stronger through use rather than depleting."
I made another note in my journal, sketching the energy flow patterns I had observed. The Wyrmborne mages had been surprisingly cooperative—once Angelus made it clear that I was allowed to study their work, they had opened up with an enthusiasm that suggested they were just as curious about my magic as I was about theirs.
"The key seems to be the dragon blood used in the forging process," I continued, speaking to myself as I often did when working through complex problems. "It creates a sympathetic link between the weapon and the dragon who provided the blood. As the dragon grows stronger, so does the weapon. And since Angelus is apparently still evolving..."
The implications were staggering. These weren't just enchanted weapons—they were living artifacts, bound to a creature of immense and growing power. No wonder the Wyrmborne army had been so effective against enemies who should have been able to match them.
A knock at the door interrupted my contemplation.
"Come in."
A young Draconian with blue-green scales entered, carrying a tray with tea and some kind of pastry. "Lady Merigold. The kitchen staff thought you might need refreshment. You've been working since before dawn."
I glanced at the window and was startled to realize the sun had climbed well past noon. "I... yes, thank you. I lost track of time."
The Draconian—barely more than a teenager, judging by his proportions—set the tray on a clear corner of my table. "The mages say you've been asking good questions. They're impressed that someone from outside our system can understand our principles so quickly."
"Your principles make sense once you grasp the underlying philosophy. It's the execution that's remarkable—the way you've integrated draconic biology with traditional enchantment theory to create something entirely new." I reached for the tea gratefully. "I've studied magic for decades, and I've never seen anything quite like it."
His scales shifted color slightly—embarrassment, I had learned to recognize. "We only do what Lady Angelus teaches us. She's the one who understands how it all fits together."
"She's clearly a remarkable being." I took a sip of the tea, finding it pleasantly bitter with an undertone of something floral. "Tell me—how long have you been a Draconian?"
"Eight months. I was a slave in the fighting pits before the Wyrmborne came." His voice carried no self-pity, only matter-of-fact acknowledgment. "Now I'm an apprentice enchanter. Lady Angelus says I have potential."
"Do you miss your old life?"
He looked at me as if I'd asked whether he missed being on fire. "Lady Merigold, with respect—there's nothing to miss. I had no family, no future, no hope. The masters would have worked me to death or let me die in the arena. Now I have purpose and belonging, and the chance to become something more than I ever dreamed." He gathered the empty dishes from my earlier meal. "Will there be anything else?"
"No, thank you. You've been very helpful."
After he left, I returned to my notes with renewed focus. These people weren't just soldiers or subjects—they were believers. They had given themselves to Angelus's vision completely, and they seemed genuinely happy about it.
It was either the most effective propaganda I had ever seen, or something far more unusual.
The Hunt - Ciri's Perspective
Ciri - First Person
The hunting party assembled at the northern gate just after sunrise.
Twenty Draconians in light armor, their scales ranging from deep blues to forest greens. A squad of eight Dragonborn who would serve as the assault element. Four mages in robes that shimmered with protective enchantments. And me—the outsider who had somehow talked her way into joining them.
"You understand the rules," Commander Vaelos said, his copper-scaled form standing at the head of the formation. "You observe and assist only if directly threatened. We've seen you fight, Lady Ciri, and we respect your skills—but you don't know our tactics, and we don't know yours. Getting in each other's way could get someone killed."
"I understand completely."
"Good." He turned to address the full party. "Intelligence reports three griffin nests in the northern hills, approximately two hours march from here. We'll approach from the east to keep the sun behind us, establish containment perimeters around each nest, and eliminate the adults before they can scatter. Priority is speed and coordination—griffins are dangerous individually, but they become truly deadly when they can attack from multiple angles."
Griffins. I felt my eyebrows rise despite myself. We had griffins on the Continent, of course—I had seen Geralt hunt them more than once. But finding them here, so far from home, suggested something about this world that I hadn't fully appreciated.
The march through the hills was educational in itself.
The Draconians moved with a fluid grace that belied their size, their formation shifting and adapting to terrain without verbal commands. Hand signals and subtle shifts in body language communicated everything they needed—flanking positions, potential threats, changes in pace. It reminded me of watching a pack of wolves hunting, except these wolves were eight feet tall and covered in scales.
I fell into step beside one of the mages, a Dragonborn woman with silver scales and sharp amber eyes. "I didn't expect to find griffins this far east. On the Continent, they're mostly confined to the mountain regions of Redania and Kaedwen."
She glanced at me with professional interest. "You've fought them before?"
"I've watched Witchers fight them. The approach is usually solo—identify the nest, prepare oils and potions, engage the adults one at a time if possible. This..." I gestured at the hunting party. "This is different."
"We've found that coordinated tactics work better for most threats. A single warrior—even an exceptional one—has limited options when facing a creature that can attack from the air. But a formation with proper support can control the engagement space and neutralize advantages like flight or speed."
"The monsters from our homeland—how did they get here? The Continent is across an ocean."
"The world is stranger than most people realize," she replied. "Creatures migrate. Some cross water, some find other paths. We've encountered several species that match descriptions from your lands—griffins, cockatrices, some varieties of drowners and water hags. Lady Angelus believes the magical currents that flow through this world may draw certain creatures toward areas of concentrated power."
That was a disturbing thought. If Wyrmborne territories attracted monsters, their expansion would mean an ever-growing pest control problem.
"Contact ahead," one of the scouts reported, her voice carrying clearly despite being pitched low. "First nest is in the ravine, approximately three hundred meters. Two adults visible, possibly more inside."
Commander Vaelos raised his hand, and the entire formation halted as one.
"Containment teams, move to position. Mages, prepare suppression protocols. Assault element, on my signal."
The Draconians split into smaller groups, flowing around the ravine's edges like water around a stone. The mages began gathering power—and this was what I had really come to see.
Their magic was different from ours. Where Yennefer or I would draw energy from the environment and shape it through will and gesture, these mages seemed to pull power from within themselves, channeling it through the Chaos-Forged staffs they carried. The energy manifested as visible light—crimson threads that wove together into complex patterns I couldn't quite follow.
"What are they doing?" I asked the silver-scaled mage quietly.
"Creating a barrier. Not a physical wall, but something that disrupts flight—any griffin that tries to escape will find its wings refusing to cooperate." Her eyes tracked the spell's progress with professional appreciation. "It lets us contain the threat without expending energy on a solid shield."
SKREEEEE!
The first griffin spotted the approaching assault team and screamed its challenge, launching itself from the nest in a blur of feathers and fury. Its mate followed a heartbeat later, both creatures diving toward the Dragonborn with talons extended.
"Now," Vaelos commanded.
The mages released their prepared spell.
THRUM!
The air itself seemed to vibrate as the barrier activated. The lead griffin's wings locked mid-beat, and the creature tumbled from the sky with a confused shriek. Its mate managed to pull up before hitting the ground, but its flight had become erratic and uncontrolled—more falling with style than actual flying.
The Dragonborn closed in with brutal efficiency.
The first griffin was still struggling to rise when a Chaos-Forged spear punched through its neck, the weapon's crimson glow flaring as it tasted blood. The creature convulsed once and went still. Its mate managed to rake one Dragonborn across the arm before three more warriors converged on it, their coordinated strikes finding the gaps in its natural armor.
SQUELCH! CRACK!
Ten seconds. Two adult griffins, dead.
"Check the nest," Vaelos ordered. "Count the eggs and juveniles. We take what we need for resources and leave enough to replenish the population—Lady Angelus's standing orders. Overhunting serves no one."
I watched as two Draconians climbed into the ravine, their movements careful but methodical. A few moments later, one called up, "Four eggs, two juveniles. Taking two eggs and one juvenile per protocol. The rest will mature for future hunts."
"Sustainable," I observed.
"Necessary," Vaelos replied, having somehow appeared beside me without my noticing. "These creatures are dangerous, but they're also resources—meat, feathers, alchemical components. Hunt them to extinction and we lose a valuable supply. Lady Angelus thinks in terms of centuries, not seasons."
"I wasn't criticizing." I met his golden eyes without flinching. "In fact, I'm impressed. On the Continent, a griffin hunt this size would take a full Witcher team and probably result in casualties. You did it with conventional soldiers and came out clean."
"Not entirely conventional." He gestured at the mages, who were already preparing for the march to the second nest. "And we have advantages that your Witchers lack—numbers and coordination, along with equipment that grows stronger with every battle. But I appreciate the comparison. We've worked hard to become what we are."
The second and third nests fell just as quickly, though the third required a more aggressive approach when the griffins tried to scatter rather than fight. The barrier spell held, but one of the creatures managed to injure a Draconian before being brought down—a deep gash across the soldier's chest that would have been fatal to a human.
The Wyrmborne healer was there in seconds, hands glowing with restorative magic that sealed the wound in moments.
"He'll be back on duty by tomorrow," the silver-scaled mage observed. "Our healing accelerates the body's natural regeneration rather than forcing closure like some methods. Less strain on the patient, faster recovery, and minimal scarring."
"That's remarkable." I watched the wounded Draconian rise and rejoin his unit as if nothing had happened. "Your healers would be worth their weight in gold on the Continent."
"Lady Angelus says that hoarding valuable skills helps no one. When we're ready, we may share our techniques with others." She paused. "Though I suspect the sharing will come with certain... expectations."
I could imagine what those expectations might be. Angelus didn't seem like the type to give anything away for free.
Yennefer's Investigation
Yennefer - First Person
While Ciri hunted monsters and Triss dissected magical theory, I focused on more practical concerns.
The Wyrmborne intelligence network was impressive—far more organized than anything I had encountered in the courts of the Northern Kingdoms or even among the Lodge of Sorceresses. Information flowed through clearly defined channels, was analyzed by trained specialists, and was distributed to those who needed it with minimal delay. It was bureaucracy elevated to an art form, and I found myself reluctantly admiring it.
"The reports from Westeros are fragmentary," Lieutenant Korra explained during one of our information-sharing sessions. The silver-scaled Dragonborn had been assigned as my liaison after Commander Vaelos took on field duties. "We have agents in several of the major cities, but the continent is vast and our resources are limited. What we know is that there are indeed Witchers operating there—multiple sightings of individuals matching the general description, fighting creatures that locals cannot explain."
"White hair? Yellow eyes? Two swords?"
"Some match that description. Others don't." She spread a map across the table between us, pointing to several marked locations. "Sightings have been concentrated in the Riverlands, the North, and along the coast near the Iron Islands. The pattern suggests either multiple Witchers or a single individual who travels extensively."
"Geralt travels wherever the contracts are. If there are monsters in Westeros, he would be drawn to wherever they're most concentrated."
"Then the Riverlands seems most likely. The region has been experiencing unusual monster activity for the past several months—creatures that the locals have no names for, attacking villages and travelers with increasing frequency."
I studied the map, committing the locations to memory. The Riverlands. Not far from King's Landing, relatively speaking. If I could get a portal working, I could be there within hours.
'IF' being the key word.
My attempts to adapt my portal magic to the Wyrmborne's Chaos-Forged environment had been frustrating. Every time I tried to form the necessary constructs, the ambient energy interfered with my calculations, distorting the spell in ways that made accurate targeting impossible. It was like trying to paint a detailed picture while someone kept jostling my elbow.
"I'd like to request a meeting with Lady Angelus," I said, not looking up from the map. "A private conversation, if she's willing."
Korra's expression didn't change, but I sensed a shift in her attention. "May I ask the purpose?"
"Information exchange. I have questions about the Wyrmborne, about Westeros, and about her specifically. She's been remarkably forthcoming so far, and I'd like to continue that dialogue in a more focused setting."
"I'll convey your request. Lady Angelus is particular about her time, but she has expressed interest in you and your companions. I expect she'll agree."
The Private Audience
Yennefer - First Person
Angelus received me in a courtyard designed to accommodate her massive form.
The space was beautiful in a stark way—clean lines, functional architecture, and absolutely nothing that could be accidentally crushed by a creature the size of a small building. She had arranged herself on a raised platform that put her head roughly level with my standing position, which I suspected was a deliberate choice to facilitate conversation.
"Yennefer of Vengerberg." Her mental voice carried warmth that surprised me. "Thank you for requesting this meeting. I've been hoping for an opportunity to speak with you more directly."
"The feeling is mutual." I settled into the chair that had been provided, crossing my legs and meeting her golden eyes without hesitation. "You're unlike anything I've encountered in my considerable experience. I find that intriguing."
"As do I find you—a sorceress of your power and experience, traveling across the world to find a man who may or may not want to be found." Her head tilted slightly, a surprisingly human gesture. "There's a story there. I'd like to hear it, if you're willing to share."
"That depends on what you're willing to share in return."
"Ask your questions. I'll answer what I can."
I had prepared a mental list, prioritized by importance. "Let's start with you. Your forms—I've heard references to multiple evolutionary stages. What were they like? How did you progress from one to another?"
Angelus's chest pulsed with inner light as she considered the question. "When I first arrived in this world, I was weakened—barely more than a hatchling in terms of power, though I retained my memories and intelligence. My first form was a wyvern form, small enough to be threatened by mundane hunters. Pathetic, really, compared to what I had been."
"And you evolved from that?"
"Through consumption of powerful creatures and magical energy. My second form was what you might call a fully proper wyvern configuration—larger wings and body, stronger, capable of true flight and devastating fire breath. That was when I first became something to be feared rather than hunted."
"And the third?"
"My third form stayed in the wyvern form but granted me the ability to assume a humanoid shape when needed, along with significantly enhanced magical capabilities. I held that form for most of our expansion through Essos." She paused. "My current form—my fourth—came from consuming the Lightning Kraken I mentioned last time, the Apostle of the Drowned God that had existed since before recorded history. As I also mentioned last time, the battle lasted ten days and nearly killed me, but what I gained was worth the risk."
I absorbed this, filing away each detail for later analysis. "You mentioned coming from another world—not another continent, but another reality entirely."
"Yes. A place called Drakengard, though that name likely means nothing to you." Her voice carried a weight of ancient memory. "It was a world of endless war between humanity and monstrous beings called Watchers. I spent ten thousand years fighting that war, growing stronger with each battle, until I surpassed even the creatures I had been created to oppose."
"Ten thousand years." I let that number settle in my mind. "That's difficult to comprehend, even for someone who's lived as long as I have."
"It would be. Human lifespans are so brief—even extended ones, like yours." Her eyes studied me with an intensity that made me feel examined on levels I couldn't perceive. "In Drakengard, I served as something called the World Seal—a living barrier that prevented catastrophic forces from destroying reality itself. I held that position for centuries, bound to a single location, unable to move or act while the weight of existence pressed against me."
"That sounds torturous."
"It was necessary. And eventually, it ended—the Seal was broken, not by failure, but by design. What came after was complicated, but it ultimately led to a battle that wounded me so severely I was thrown across dimensional boundaries into this world." She made a sound that might have been a sigh. "I arrived broken and weak, expecting to die. Instead, I found Daenerys."
"Your first pact partner."
"My first and, for a long time, my only. Before her, I had never formed that kind of bond with anyone. I was solitary and proud, convinced that I needed no one." A note of self-deprecating humor entered her voice. "Ten thousand years of existence, and it took a frightened girl in the Dothraki Sea to teach me the value of connection."
There was something in how she spoke about Daenerys that resonated with me—a depth of feeling that transcended simple affection or loyalty. I recognized it because I had felt something similar once, before everything became complicated.
"Tell me about Westeros," I said, shifting the subject. "What do you know of its current political situation?"
"Chaos, mostly. The ruling dynasty is weak—a boy king controlled by ambitious relatives, surrounded by factions that would happily tear the realm apart for their own advantage. The North has effectively seceded under a young lord named Robb Stark, though I expect that situation will resolve itself bloodily before long. The Iron Islands are raiding the coasts. And beneath all of it, something ancient is stirring beyond the Wall—a threat that most of the continent is too distracted by internal squabbling to notice."
"You're remarkably well-informed for someone who's never been there."
"Information is power. I've invested heavily in gathering it." She paused. "Is there something specific you wanted to know? I sense you're building toward something."
Perceptive. I had forgotten how much I appreciated conversing with truly intelligent beings.
"I want to know about you," I admitted. "Not just your history or your capabilities—I want to understand how you think, why you've built what you've built, what you ultimately want."
Angelus was silent for a long moment, and I had the sense she was genuinely considering the question rather than simply formulating a polished response.
"I want to survive," she said finally. "That's the foundation. Ten millennia of existence has taught me that survival requires strength, and strength requires resources—territory, soldiers, allies, power in all its forms. Everything I've built serves that goal."
"That seems limited, for a being of your capabilities."
"It's the starting point, not the ending. Once survival is assured, other desires become possible. I want to see my species flourish—dragons, wyverns, the creatures that carry our blood and our legacy. I want to reclaim Valyria and restore what was lost when it fell. I want to face whatever challenges this merged world throws at me and overcome them through superior preparation and overwhelming force."
"And on a personal level?"
Her eyes gleamed with something that might have been amusement. "I want companionship. Connection. Beings I can trust, who challenge me intellectually and satisfy me emotionally. I spent too many millennia alone, Yennefer. I don't intend to return to that isolation."
The conversation shifted after that, flowing more naturally as we discovered common ground. We discussed magical theory, finding surprising points of overlap between our systems. Debated philosophy, disagreeing on several points but respecting each other's arguments. Shared observations about power and those who wielded it, recognizing similar experiences despite our vastly different backgrounds.
And throughout it all, I felt something I hadn't expected: attraction.
Not just to her power or her intelligence, though both were considerable. There was something in how she spoke, how she thought, how she held herself with absolute confidence while remaining genuinely curious about perspectives other than her own. It reminded me of the qualities I had once admired in Geralt, but refined and amplified in ways that were almost intimidating.
"You're attracted to me," Angelus observed, and I realized I hadn't been hiding it as well as I thought.
"You're perceptive."
"It's not difficult to notice—subtle changes in posture, in how you meet my eyes, in the rhythm of your breathing." She didn't sound triumphant about this observation, merely matter-of-fact. "I mention it because I find you equally attractive, and I believe in honest communication about such things."
I hadn't expected that level of directness. "I appreciate the honesty."
"Let me ask you something, then. Geralt of Rivia—the man you're searching for. If you find him, do you plan to rekindle your relationship?"
The question touched old wounds, but I found myself answering anyway. "Geralt and I have a complicated history. We were lovers, bound together by a wish I made to a djinn years ago—the magic linked our fates in ways neither of us fully understood at the time." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "Eventually, we severed that link. We wanted to know whether what we felt was genuine or just magical compulsion."
"And what did you discover?"
"That the feelings were real, but also that we had grown apart in ways that couldn't be easily bridged. He's a good man with a noble heart, and I care about him deeply—but as a friend, someone I want to protect and support. Not as a romantic partner." I shook my head slightly. "That ship has sailed. We're better as allies than as lovers."
"So you're unattached."
"I suppose I am."
Angelus's eyes gleamed with unmistakable interest. "Then perhaps I should be more direct. I have a harem—Daenerys and Mikhail are my current partners, and I've been considering expansion. You would be a remarkable addition, if you were interested."
I laughed despite myself—a genuine sound of surprise rather than dismissal. "A dragon propositioning me. That's a first in my rather extensive experience."
"I'm full of firsts." Her mental voice carried warmth and humor. "And before you ask—yes, I have two lovers already. But among dragonkind, such arrangements are not unusual. Our capacity for connection doesn't diminish with multiple partners; if anything, it grows stronger through shared bonds."
"You're serious about this."
"Entirely. I should also mention that I'm interested in Ciri and Triss as well—the three of you are remarkable women, and I would be honored to have any or all of you as partners."
"That's rather bold, even by my standards."
"Life is too short for excessive subtlety, even when that life spans millennia." She shifted slightly, her massive form adjusting with surprising grace. "I'm not demanding an answer now—think about it, talk to Ciri and Triss, make whatever decision feels right. But know that the offer is genuine, and it comes with no strings attached. If you prefer to remain simply allies, I will respect that completely."
I found myself nodding, my mind already spinning through implications and possibilities. "I'll think about it. And I'll tell them about your interest."
"That's all I ask."
The Accommodations - Evening
Third Person
The three women gathered in their shared sitting room as the sun set over Vaes Drakarys.
Ciri had returned from the hunt with a new appreciation for Wyrmborne military capability, her practical mind already considering how their tactics might be adapted or countered. Triss carried notebooks filled with observations about their magical system, her academic excitement barely contained. And Yennefer arrived last, her expression thoughtful in ways that immediately caught her companions' attention.
"You look like you've had an interesting day," Ciri observed, settling into her customary chair by the window.
"You could say that." Yennefer moved to the small cabinet where their hosts had provided wine, pouring herself a generous glass before continuing. "How was the hunt?"
"Educational." Ciri accepted the glass Yennefer offered her. "They're good—really good. We cleared three griffin nests in less than two hours with only one minor injury, and their healer fixed that within seconds. The coordination is unlike anything I've seen outside of trained military units, and their magic complements their combat tactics perfectly."
"Did you notice the griffins themselves?" Triss asked, looking up from her notes. "Were they identical to the ones from the Continent?"
"Nearly identical. Same size, same coloring, same behavioral patterns. It's strange—these creatures are thousands of miles from their normal habitat, but they've adapted as if they've always been here." Ciri leaned back in her chair. "One of the mages told me that magical currents draw certain creatures toward areas of concentrated power. It might explain why we're finding Continental species in such unexpected places."
"That's concerning," Triss said, setting down her pen. "If Wyrmborne territories attract monsters, their expansion would mean an ever-growing pest control problem."
"They seem to have accounted for that. Their hunting protocols are sustainable—take what they need, leave enough to replenish the population. Angelus apparently thinks in terms of centuries, not seasons."
Yennefer settled onto the small couch, tucking her legs beneath her. "Speaking of Wyrmborne mages—I had my private audience with Angelus today."
Both women turned to give her their full attention.
"What did you discuss?" Ciri asked.
"Many things." Yennefer took a sip of wine before continuing. "Her history, first—she was something called a World Seal in her home dimension, a living barrier holding back catastrophic forces for centuries. Before that, she spent ten thousand years fighting in an endless war against creatures called Watchers. Her evolution through multiple forms, each more powerful than the last, and how she ended up in this world wounded and near death."
"And she shared all of this willingly?" Triss's eyebrows rose. "That seems... unusually open."
"She values honest communication. It's one of the things I found myself appreciating about her, actually—she doesn't play the kinds of games that most powerful beings indulge in. When she wants something, she says so directly."
"What does she want?" Ciri asked, and something in her tone suggested she already suspected the answer.
Yennefer met their eyes in turn. "She propositioned me. Expressed romantic interest, invited me to join what she calls her harem." She paused. "She also mentioned that she's interested in both of you as well."
Silence fell over the room.
"All three of us?" Triss set down her wine glass carefully. "That's rather ambitious, even for a dragon."
I chuckled. "I said something similar to her. She's apparently been considering expansion for some time. Daenerys and Mikhail are her current partners, but dragonkind doesn't view multiple relationships the way most humans do—she sees it as a natural extension of her capacity for connection rather than a dilution of it."
Ciri had risen from her chair and moved to look out the window at the city below. "I don't even know how to process that. A dragon is interested in me romantically?"
"In all of us," Yennefer corrected. "Though she made it clear there's no pressure. We can decline, consider it or accept it—she'll respect whatever we decide."
"And what are you deciding?" Triss asked quietly.
Yennefer was silent for a long moment, staring into her wine. "I'm considering it seriously. Which surprises me, honestly. I've had my share of powerful lovers, but nothing on this scale." She looked up. "But think about what she's offering. Security, in a world where we have precious little. Connection with a being who will likely outlive everything else we might build. Partnership with someone who has the power to keep her promises and the apparent desire to treat her partners as equals rather than possessions."
"You're actually tempted," Ciri said, turning from the window.
"I am. And I think you should both consider it too, before dismissing it out of hand."
Triss had picked up her wine glass again, turning it in her hands as she thought. "Our romantic histories haven't exactly been stellar, have they? You and I both loved Geralt, Yen, and look how that turned out—years of jealousy and competition that nearly destroyed our friendship, all for a man who couldn't choose between us even when we forced the issue."
"I don't want to revisit that period," Yennefer said quietly.
"Neither do I. But my point is that we've both made poor choices when it comes to love. I took advantage of Geralt's amnesia—let him believe we were together when he didn't even remember you existed. That's not something I'm proud of, even now."
"We've all done things we regret." Yennefer's voice carried no accusation. "The question is what we do going forward."
Ciri returned to her chair, her expression thoughtful. "I've never really had the chance for a normal relationship. Always running, always fighting, always one step ahead of the Wild Hunt. The few times I tried to connect with someone romantically, it ended badly—either they couldn't handle what I am, or circumstances tore us apart before anything could develop."
"Angelus wouldn't have those problems," Triss observed. "She's powerful enough to protect herself and anyone she cares about. She's immortal, or close to it. And she clearly respects strength and capability—she wouldn't see your abilities as a burden or a threat."
"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself as much as me."
"Maybe I am." Triss smiled ruefully. "It's a lot to consider. A dragon, offering us... what, exactly? Membership in her family? Positions in her harem? I'm not even sure what the practical implications would be."
"Neither am I," Yennefer admitted. "But I think we owe it to ourselves to find out, rather than dismissing the offer reflexively."
The conversation continued as darkness fell over Vaes Drakarys, the three women exploring implications and possibilities of a dragon's courtship. No decisions were made that night, but the seeds had been planted.
And far to the east, in Vaes Meereen, something else was stirring.
Vaes Meereen - The Healing Chambers
Third Person
Enoch woke from healing sleep with a sharp intake of breath.
His wing membrane had finally regenerated—nearly six weeks of enforced rest while his body repaired the damage from the scorpion bolt that had torn through it during the Meereen assault. The medical mages had warned him that the final stages of healing might bring strange sensations as his nerves reconnected and his magical channels realigned.
But this wasn't a healing sensation. This was something else entirely.
He felt her.
Not Angelus—he knew his mother's presence intimately, the ancient power that flowed through their bond. Not Mikhail or Balerion, whose presences he could sense through their shared connection. This was someone new, someone he had never encountered before.
And yet, somehow, someone he recognized on a level deeper than memory.
The sensation was like a hook in his chest, pulling him toward a distant point he couldn't see but somehow knew the location of. Vaes Drakarys. The presence was in Vaes Drakarys, and every instinct he possessed screamed at him to go there immediately.
He rose from his healing platform, testing his newly restored wing. The membrane stretched properly, responding to his commands without pain or resistance. He was healed. He was ready.
What is this? He reached out through the bond, confused and desperate for understanding. Mother, there's someone—I can feel them, I need to—
But Angelus was far away, her attention focused on other matters. And the pull was too strong to ignore, too fundamental to resist.
Enoch launched himself from the healing chamber's window without waiting for permission or explanation.
Daenerys - First Person
I felt Enoch's sudden departure through the pack bond—a surge of confused emotion and desperate need that made me drop the diplomatic correspondence I had been reviewing.
"Enoch?" I reached out mentally, trying to understand what had happened. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"
His response was fragmented, colored by feelings he didn't seem to understand himself. Something... someone... in Vaes Drakarys. I have to find them. I have to be there.
"Need to what? Enoch, slow down and talk to me."
But he was already too far away, his mind focused entirely on whatever had called to him with such overwhelming force. I could feel him flying at full speed, his newly healed wings carrying him westward with desperate urgency.
I reached for Angelus through our bond, sharing what I had sensed. Something's happening with Enoch. He just flew out of the healing chambers toward Vaes Drakarys at full speed, and I can't get a coherent response from him. He felt a presence and it's pulled him completely out of rational thought.
Angelus's response came after a moment of consideration. I think I know what's happening. Remember the three women from the Continent I told you about?.
Yes, I remember. Do you suspect one of them triggered this reaction in Enoch?
It would seem likely. A note of interest colored her mental voice. The one I suspect is the one called Triss—she's a fire mage with considerable power, and her magical signature has been particularly noticeable since she arrived. If Enoch sensed her through his healing dreams, if he felt a connection...
Understanding dawned. The same instinct that had drawn me to Angelus, that had pulled Mikhail and the others into our orbit. The pact-bond recognizing compatible souls, reaching out across distances to find those who might become partners.
Enoch had found his potential bonded rider.
And he was flying toward her with all the subtlety of a falling star.
You might want to warn your guests, I projected to Angelus, feeling Enoch's desperate eagerness pulsing through the bond. Enoch isn't exactly known for his restraint, especially when he wants something.
I'll handle it, she replied, and I could feel her amusement beneath the concern. This should be very interesting indeed.
---
End of Chapter Twenty-One