For the past several days, Daenerys and Rhaenys had hardly left Rhaella's side.
Especially on the night before Viserys's funeral, the three of them had stayed awake together almost the entire night.
But Daenerys and Rhaenys were still children in the end.
When they woke the next morning, they discovered that Rhaella was already gone.
"Princesses, Her Majesty the Queen Mother has already finished preparing herself and is accompanying His Majesty now. Please allow us to help you wash and dress."
The septa caring for them spoke softly.
A few days earlier, both Daenerys and Rhaenys had cried so much that their eyes had swollen like peaches.
It had only improved slightly these past two days.
But the moment they saw or heard anything related to Viserys, tears still came uncontrollably.
And everything in this palace—No, in this city, in this entire world—Was filled with traces of Viserys.
Unless they buried their heads beneath blankets forever, it was impossible not to think about him.
For example, Daenerys currently had her face buried in a blanket, refusing to get up.
"Dany, we have to go. At least... at least see him one last time."
Rhaenys gently stroked Daenerys's back, her mournful voice sounding almost like a soft lament.
Her words only made Daenerys cry harder.
Her tiny shoulders trembled violently.
After a long while of comforting, she finally raised her head.
The white blanket was stained with tears and mucus, resembling a crying face itself.
The nearby septas and maids felt miserable watching the scene.
For them and their families, life before becoming Targaryen subjects was still fresh in their memories.
Hunger. Bandits. War. Slave raids.
There had never been a peaceful day.
Everything Gohor possessed today existed because Viserys had protected them.
His death felt no different from the sky collapsing.
After being dressed properly, the exquisite features of Rhaenys and Daenerys looked heartbreakingly fragile beneath their plain black mourning clothes.
Like porcelain dolls that could shatter at any moment.
The two girls walked out of the palace and immediately sensed sorrow and grief radiating from every single person around them.
It was as though the soul of the palace itself had been torn away.
Black drapery hung everywhere throughout the Dragon Palace. The oppressive atmosphere of mourning felt suffocating.
Then a massive black sedan chair covered in funeral cloth was carried out.
It looked incredibly heavy.
There were over twenty bearers carrying it together. Standing before and behind the sedan chair were four of Viserys's Kingsguard.
Queen Mother Rhaella walked at the very front holding a torch.
Although her hair had been carefully arranged over and over again, a few loose strands still drifted before her face.
She looked as though her soul had already departed, like a paper figure blown by the wind.
Seeing this nearly caused Daenerys to lose her footing.
Fortunately, Rhaenys was older and steadier. She suppressed her own grief and helped support Daenerys.
After Rhaella handed the torch to an attendant and boarded her carriage, Rhaenys pulled Daenerys inside with her.
The moment the curtains were drawn shut, the two girls collapsed into each other's arms and cried again.
"Rhaenys... I miss him so much. I really miss him."
"Dany..."
Rhaenys hugged her tightly, memories surfacing in her mind of the things Viserys had said that night.
He was a liar.
And a miser too.
Thinking about how Viserys had refused to give her even the slightest promise that evening somehow stirred a trace of resentment in her heart.
But the resentment was quickly swallowed by grief.
"Forget it. May the old gods and the new grant peace to his soul."
Rhaenys raised her head, trying desperately not to cry again.
The carriages finally began moving.
After traveling for some time, loud sobbing suddenly echoed from outside.
The roads on both sides were packed with commoners who had come to mourn.
The sky above was perfectly blue and cloudless, yet the cries of tens of thousands made it feel as though endless rainstorms filled the world.
"Your Majesty!"
"Your Majesty, sob...!"
"His Majesty died for us!"
Aside from the people Viserys had originally brought from Dragonstone, nearly every one of Gohor's million residents had suffered beneath Dothraki raids at some point in their lives.
This single campaign had permanently ended the Dothraki threat.
But the price had been the king's young life.
"If not for this war, he could have married and had children. He would have had his own queen... princes and princesses... He could have lived a long life..."
Everyone understood that Viserys could easily have acted like the governors of Pentos—
Buying peace with gold.
But the burden would inevitably have fallen upon the common people.
When the black sedan carrying Viserys's body appeared, many citizens cried so hard they nearly fainted.
The Dragon Riders maintaining order struggled desperately to restrain the nearly uncontrollable crowds.
Crown Prince Aegon and Prince Aemon walked at the rear of the procession.
Watching the overwhelming reaction from both nobles and commoners alike, they too could not stop tears from flowing.
On this day, Gohor contained far more than its own people.
The number of Free City nobles arriving for the funeral exceeded even the gathering during Viserys's announcement of the alliance against the Mother of Mountains.
For example, the Sealord of Braavos, Freygo himself, had personally come to Gohor.
And his carriage traveled directly ahead of Aegon and Aemon.
"A bunch of cowards," Aegon sneered coldly. "They just couldn't rest until they saw Uncle burned into ashes themselves."
Aemon said nothing.
He merely tightened his grip around his sword hilt.
His gaze swept sharply through the crowds.
Red hair. Black hair. Blue hair. Green hair. Andals. Rhoynar. Dothraki. Westerosi.
Aemon even spotted slave merchants from Slaver's Bay dressed in tokar robes.
It looked as though the entire world had come to attend Viserys's funeral.
Then suddenly he noticed a blond dwarf.
The dwarf wore expensive clothing and clearly did not come from a common background.
But the real reason Aemon noticed him instantly was because despite his tiny stature, he somehow stood at the very front of the crowd.
And there were clearly guards protecting him.
"Blond hair. Dwarf."
Aemon immediately thought of something.
He turned toward Ser Clement behind him.
"Ser Clement, that blond dwarf seems suspicious. He might be a Baratheon spy."
Clement said nothing.
He merely nodded before taking men with him to arrest the suspect.
He would never allow anyone to disrupt Viserys's funeral.
Under Aegon's influence, Aemon had also developed a love for reading.
But unlike Aegon, who read everything, Aemon preferred studying the noble bloodlines of Westeros.
He wanted to know who had launched the rebellion... Who the masterminds were... Who the accomplices had been.
Compared to Aegon, Aemon's desire for vengeance burned even stronger.
Over the past several years, he had memorized nearly every noble house in the Seven Kingdoms.
And the unmistakable golden hair of House Lannister had left a deep impression upon him.
The procession continued onward until they finally arrived outside the city.
The chosen site for the royal cremation stood at the confluence of the Upper Rhoyne and the Little Rhoyne.
Traditionally, Targaryen ashes were scattered into the sea.
But the mouth of the Rhoyne lay within Volantis. Holding the funeral there was obviously impossible.
Malaqo, who had also attended the funeral, naturally knew of this custom. He had already ordered his men to prepare barrels of filth and excrement.
Once Viserys's ashes drifted close to Volantis, they intended to dump it into the river.
A petty insult toward House Targaryen.
Under Davos's guidance, the sedan carrying Viserys's body was placed upon the prepared funeral pyre.
Rhaella descended from her carriage like a walking corpse.
She intended to personally send her son on his final journey.
Standing beside the sedan chair, she stared blankly at the gold fused into Viserys's skin.
She had refused the maesters' suggestion to remove the gold from his body.
"He'll be in pain," Rhaella had said.
Her thin hand gently stroked Viserys's head.
The frost coating his face had already melted away. Only a pale corpse-like complexion remained.
Rhaella stared at her son endlessly, unable to look away.
"This woman still won't light the damn thing?" Malaqo muttered impatiently.
The sun today was unbearably hot.
His old body could barely tolerate it.
He narrowed his eyes, making the heavy bags beneath them appear even more pronounced.
"Let her look," Tormo said calmly beside him. "One more glance is one less forever."
Watching an enemy disappear into ashes was one of life's greatest pleasures.
One quarter hour.
Then another.
More than ten minutes passed, yet Rhaella still could not bring herself to act.
Old Crab, Davos, and the other veteran ministers simply waited silently.
Finally Freygo stepped forward.
"Your Majesty the Queen Mother, the dead cannot return. Please allow King Viserys's soul to rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty," added a Lysene noble nearby.
A green-haired Tyroshi archon also attempted to speak, but Arthur silenced him with a single cold stare.
By now, Rhaella had finally steadied her emotions somewhat.
She turned toward Rhaenys, who carried the dragon eggs.
Following the scene she had witnessed in her dream, Rhaella placed the silver egg upon Viserys's left shoulder, the bronze egg upon his right shoulder, and the black egg above his head.
Is this your final wish, my son?
Rhaella thought silently.
Perhaps this had been the true meaning behind her dream. Perhaps Viserys's final wish had been to restore dragons to House Targaryen.
"They're really using dragon eggs as burial offerings?"
A Pentoshi governor spoke regretfully.
"He deserves it," Audro replied unhappily.
Viserys might be dead, but House Targaryen remained strong. Audro's position had not changed.
"Maybe it's better this way," Malaqo muttered. "If the Targaryens regained dragons, they might conquer the whole world."
Seeing the dragon eggs placed beside Viserys, Malaqo naturally assumed they were intended as grave goods.
Inside the Temple of the Lord of Light in Volantis, he had once heard prophecies about a savior awakening stone dragons.
But now the savior himself was dead.
The prophecy had become meaningless.
Melisandre, who constantly preached that "the savior would be born amidst smoke and salt," was naturally present as well.
She too appreciated Viserys— Though only because he had left behind this foundation for Aegon.
A useful helper for the promised savior.
After placing the eggs properly, Rhaella accepted the torch from Ser Willem.
She realized this might truly be the final time she ever saw her son. And once again, she hesitated.
The entire world seemed to fall silent.
Soft sobbing echoed through the crowds.
Not far away, the High Septon stood in his magnificent robes, drenched in sweat beneath the blazing sun.
The scheduled cremation time had passed long ago. But he dared not complain in the slightest.
At long last, Rhaella lowered the torch. The flames upon it gently kissed the neatly stacked firewood.
She walked slowly around the pyre, lighting the sedan chair piece by piece.
Golden flames soon engulfed Viserys entirely.
Freygo. Malaqo. Tormo.
The governors of Pentos. The Archons of Tyrosh.
Volantenes. Braavosi.
The rulers of the Three Daughters.
All of them finally breathed sighs of relief once the flames rose.
At the same time, the fire pushed the grief of Gohor's people to even greater heights.
"King Viserys!"
"Your Majesty!"
The cries surged endlessly like waves.
Even the roaring currents of the nearby river were drowned out.
At that moment, Ser Willem suddenly realized that Rhaella showed no intention of leaving the pyre.
Ignoring etiquette entirely, he forcibly pulled her down.
Rhaella's emotions finally shattered completely. She broke into uncontrollable sobs toward the flames.
Elia wiped tears from her eyes.
Lyanna's nose had turned red from crying.
Rhaenys and Daenerys trembled from grief.
Aegon and Aemon could not openly weep before the crowds. They could only clench their teeth so hard that their jaws visibly shook.
"Viserys!"
Suddenly, a sharp, heartbroken cry pierced through the crowds.
A small figure forced her way inside.
Arianne.
She had arrived one step ahead of Prince Doran himself, practically threatening her own life until Doran finally agreed to send her to Gohor.
Yet even so—
She had still arrived just a little too late.
Meanwhile, within the endless darkness, Viserys finally sensed change.
The cold, boundless void around him gradually became warm.
He had once floated in endless night. But now it felt as though a blazing crimson sun was slowly rising.
The darkness around him shifted from black to red—Then from red to gold.
Slowly, Viserys realized he could feel his body again.
The flames melted the gold fused into his flesh. His body was destroyed and reborn simultaneously.
At this moment—
Blood and fire became one.
As Viserys regained control over himself, he discovered exactly as the Old Man of the River had promised—
Power still remained.
Turning his head, he saw one dragon egg to his left, another to his right, and one above his head.
Fortunately, Rhaella had placed the eggs beside him.
Otherwise, the remaining divine power left after merging with the godhood would have gone to waste.
Before channeling the power into the eggs, Viserys looked through the curtain of flames and saw the world outside.
An endless sea of people mourning him.
"Mother, what's that?"
Suddenly, a child pointed toward the heavens.
The woman looked up.
A red comet streaked across the sky. Beneath the blue heavens, it shone with a blood-red glow.
More and more people noticed it.
Everyone became captivated by the sight.
"The bleeding star! The bleeding star!"
The High Septon immediately dropped to his knees.
Others did not understand at first.
But they quickly realized such an omen must surely be connected to Viserys's death.
Everyone believed even the gods and heavens themselves mourned him.
Davos looked up toward the red comet stretching across the sky.
Thinking about how he had spent the past several days cursing the Seven inside the sept, he suddenly felt rather uneasy.
'Only His Majesty deserves such signs,' Davos thought silently.
With the High Septon kneeling first, more and more people followed. They raised their eyes toward the comet while bowing toward Viserys's pyre.
The scale of the kneeling made Freygo and the others deeply uncomfortable.
Almost everyone else had fallen to their knees. Only they remained standing. It suddenly felt as though they too should kneel.
But those still standing were governors, archons, magistrates, and high priests. They had no obligation to kneel before a dead king.
If only commoners were kneeling, it would not have mattered.
But combined with the words "the bleeding star," the pressure became overwhelming.
"Hold firm! Do not kneel!"
Malaqo barked at Alios beside him.
Freygo also leaned against Quairo for support.
The foreign rulers who remained standing all felt an immense invisible pressure.
It was almost enough to crush them.
"A red comet? Why now? Could it be... R'hllor?!"
Before transmigrating, Viserys had once heard a theory—
Whether it was called the red comet or the bleeding star, its appearance brought something known as a magical tide.
In other words, this world had once been low magic or perhaps entirely magicless.
But the comet drastically raised the level of magical energy throughout the world.
Because of that surge, dragons could hatch and magic itself grew stronger.
Likewise, the Doom of Valyria may have been connected to the ebbing of that magical tide.
Valyria undoubtedly possessed countless magical structures.
The Fourteen Flames alone almost certainly relied upon magic.
Mining directly beneath volcanoes would surely require magical formations stabilizing them.
But as magical power receded, those formations destabilized— Leading ultimately to disaster.
The Valyrians must have created things even more magical than dragons. That had likely been the true cause behind the catastrophe.
Viserys had always believed magical tides were caused by something natural.
Something unavoidable.
Something beyond mortal influence.
But after personally being killed by R'hllor—Things no longer seemed so simple.
Perhaps even the Doom of Valyria had been connected to R'hllor somehow. And Viserys would never forget how terrifyingly powerful R'hllor truly was.
The God of Destiny.
Destiny itself.
As the flames burned and his body continued reforming, Viserys slowly regained his senses.
First came touch.
The gold fused to his body melted once more beneath his fingers like boiling animal fat.
Then sight.
Golden flames wrapped around him.
Smell.
Well, everything smelled burnt.
Taste.
A faint woody fragrance lingered in his mouth.
Hearing.
Crack. Crack.
Viserys sat upright and looked toward the dragon eggs beside him.
The black egg cracked first.
A black olive-shaped head emerged.
"Hiss—"
The hatchling cried toward Viserys.
Golden slit pupils stared into purple eyes.
Fear. Confusion. Familiarity.
Once the creature realized the charred black figure before it posed no threat, instinct immediately drove it toward food.
The hatchling crawled out from its shell like a wrinkled little black umbrella and immediately began devouring the shell behind it.
Viserys turned toward the other eggs.
The bronze egg cracked next.
A tiny claw no larger than a chicken's foot emerged first. Then the hatchling pushed its nose through the opening.
The first thing it saw was also Viserys.
Tilting its bronze little head curiously, it quickly determined he posed no danger and also began eating its shell.
By the time the black hatchling had devoured nearly one-third of its shell, the silver dragon finally emerged.
"Hiss! Hiss!"
Oddly enough, although it hatched last, it was the fiercest.
It hissed aggressively at Viserys twice.
Viserys simply flicked it on the head with a finger joint, immediately making it behave.
Outside the pyre, Arthur frowned toward the still-burning flames.
He thought he had heard something.
But after glancing around and seeing nobody else react, he assumed he had imagined it.
Inside the flames, the black hatchling finished its shell but still seemed unsatisfied.
It crawled toward the nearest silver hatchling.
The silver dragon immediately attacked to protect its shell.
Naturally, Viserys would never allow such "fratricide", so he separated the two little creatures at once.
Grabbing the still-scalding black hatchling in one hand, Viserys examined it carefully.
Though obviously unhappy, the hatchling did not resist.
Looking into its golden slit pupils, Viserys realized a strange connection existed between them.
Suddenly thinking of something, he opened his Panel.
[Kingsguard ×4]
[Royal Guards ×556]
[Dragon Riders ×8,733]
[Longbowmen ×24,400]
[Heavy Infantry ×16,700]
[Reserve Legion ×31,000]
[Young Dragons ×3]
If the hatchlings were acknowledged by the system... Then perhaps essences could also be transferred?
Viserys checked his essences.
Most could not be transferred. Except for the Holy Son essence obtained from Drogo.
"Transfer."
Unable to possess a true Holy Son himself, Viserys divided the essence into three parts and transferred them into the three hatchlings.
Closing his eyes, Viserys suddenly realized he could share the dragons' vision.
Wargs.
Among the Free Folk beyond the Wall, there existed people with abilities like this.
The Stark children themselves were wolf wargs.
Which meant that he was now...
A dragon warg.
___________
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