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The Undying's response matched what Quaithe the Shadowbinder had told him. Now Drogo had every reason to believe that the method for taming dragons lay hidden within the Targaryen words: "Blood and Fire."
The khal stepped forward boldly, showing no reverence.
"I've come seeking the truth. Give me a full explanation."
The Undying's lips did not move, but countless voices floated softly through the chamber:
"We know all things... The truth of the Dragonlord begins with your rebirth… Rebirth in true dragon's blood… Blood… Fire cannot burn… Father in the flame… Father…"
Drogo memorized the repeating phrases, piecing together two key ideas: blood and father. He lowered his head and thought to himself:
"Blood. Father. I drank Daenerys's true dragon blood to become unburnt, to take on the scent of dragonfire and be recognized by the wyrm. If I were to drain all of Dany's blood, I might become the true heir of dragons. But that's impossible—Daenerys is my wife. Since I cannot walk the path of blood, then the only road left is fire. Every time I'm burned by the flames, I feel myself grow stronger—and the wyrm becomes more affectionate."
A sense of clarity dawned on him, like the clouds parting to reveal the sun. Excited, Drogo lifted his head and shouted:
"I understand! I understand! Hahaha!"
A stunning woman in minimalist attire picked up a colorful crystal goblet, its contents unknown, and smiled at him with bright, curved brows.
"Truth brings joy. Wine brings release. Seeker of truth, come—lose yourself in the sweetness of wisdom."
Just then, Snowball, who had been restless since entering, let out a fierce howl:
"Awooo—!"
Startled, Drogo looked at him. The Undying remained still, smiling as ever, frozen in those poses as if it were all they knew how to do.
The khal was shaken—Snowball had opened his vertical eye, awakened by the moonlight filtering through the stained glass.
Through the lion's slit pupil, Drogo saw the truth.
The Undying's youthful beauty shattered. Their flesh cracked like parchment, their bones shriveled like wood soaked in grease, their hair mossy and rotten like swamp reed.
The bewitching woman? She now held half a human skull instead of a goblet, and inside it sloshed a blue-black brew—Shade of the Evening.
The sweet singers revealed themselves as carrion birds: crows with rotting feathers, red eyes, and exposed bone.
The food on the table? Rotting entrails, squirming with maggots.
The Undying sat in deathly stillness. From the cracks of a massive door—also carved of ebony and weirwood—thick blue mist oozed into the hall, feeding them.
"Hsss! Caww!"
Suddenly, Drogon leapt forward and began biting at the heavy door. Something behind it had provoked him.
A shriveled crone let out a wheezing laugh:
"What a naughty little beast… Dragonlord, bring him here. I'll teach you the old and sacred tongue of dragons."
A skeletal warrior in ornate armor shouted:
"Beast! You dare show disrespect before the Undying!"
"Impudent… impudent… Disrespectful… disrespectful…"
A chorus of voices echoed through the fog—men, women, even a child—scolding Drogon, anxious and angry.
Drogo's eyes narrowed. Whatever lay behind that door was clearly of utmost importance to the Undying—and they did not want it revealed.
Having received visions and uncovered the path to become the dragons' chosen, Drogo decided the Undying were no longer of value.
They did nothing to stop him. Their fear of Drogon was obvious. His hesitation vanished.
The black dragon's fangs were like blades. In mere moments, he had gnawed a hole into the thick door, releasing even more of the blue fog into the room.
Driven by curiosity, Drogo rushed to aid his son. He raised his arakh and hacked at the door, blade flashing.
The corpse-crows sang ever sweeter, trying to seduce him. But he paid them no mind. Once the hole was wide enough, he kicked the broken door open and strode through into the fog-filled chamber.
A long stone table dominated the room. Suspended above it was a human heart, beating steadily in the air.
With each pulse, it gave off a deep thrum and released another wave of sapphire mist.
There was no doubt—this was the source of the fog that filled the House of the Undying.
All hearts looked alike. But Drogo knew with certainty: this was the one that had driven him mad with rage and bloodlust.
What heart but that of the Undying could beat after being torn from its body? What other heart could float in midair?
Like a true Lannister, Drogo believed in paying all debts. Without hesitation, he raised his blade to destroy it.
He was certain that severing this heart would sever their connection to the blue mist—the source of their false life—and stop their attempt to consume his soul.
But at that moment, a strange chant echoed in his ears—the same one Pyat Pree had once used.
It was the Undying, speaking again.
Drogo's blood began to churn. His heart raced faster than ever, and heat surged to his brain like strong wine. His head swam. His body failed him. His strike faltered.
In a blur, the Undying floated toward him, feet off the ground, gliding silently.
"Shadow of shadows… shape of tomorrow… drink from the cup of ice… drink from the cup of fire… Father of Dragons… Night King… Lord of Ashes…"
Their chant echoed endlessly through his skull. No lips moved. No breath stirred the air.
"Father of Dragons, you are destined to light three fires—one for life, one for death, one for love…
You are destined to ride three mounts—one for death, one for terror, one for love…"
The Undying grew louder. Drogo's heartbeat slowed. His breathing faltered. The air itself stood still.
"You are destined to endure three betrayals—one for power, one for jealousy, one for hate…"
Their chant ended. The fog churned. At last, the air flowed again.
Drogo inhaled hungrily, gasping for breath.
Suddenly, new visions crashed into his mind:
—A tall, pale-skinned man stood atop a decayed dragon wreathed in shadowflame, gazing down at a ruined city of stone where ice and fire clashed. Black fire spewed endlessly from the beast's maw.
—A black dagger, flickering with ghostlight, pierced the heart of a fiery red stallion. The killer was no man, but a tiny green tree.
—A silver-scaled fish leapt from a coral palace, breaching the surface to gaze at the dawn sun. A single pearl-like tear rolled down its cheek.
Then—
—A molten-skinned woman, glowing with magma, walked the world. Everywhere she passed, seas of grass shriveled, cities turned to ash, and all mankind screamed in grief.
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🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire
📢 Fire and Blood! 📢
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