The visions were so vivid, so intense, and filled with a malice beyond human comprehension that Drogo felt like his head was about to burst.
The visions were so vivid, so intense, and filled with a malice beyond human comprehension that Drogo felt like his head was about to burst. His eyes ached unbearably.
"Drogon… Snowball…"
His heart pounded with such force that his voice came out as barely more than a whisper—faint and weak, like the murmurs of the Undying Ones.
He felt as though he were about to explode, suffocating. The only help he could count on now was the two beasts beside him.
Snowball leapt about frantically, desperately trying to pull down the floating Undying and tear them apart—but no matter how hard he tried, it wasn't enough. Some things couldn't be overcome by effort alone.
Fortunately, Drogon roared to life. With a great beat of his wings, he scattered the blue mist, and with a furious shriek, he disrupted the Undying's incantation.
The chanting stopped. The illusions vanished at once, retreating without a trace.
"Cursed demon-dragon! We must be reborn! We must be eternal! We must devour fresh souls!"
The Undying shrieked with rage, swarming around Drogo. Their cold, withered hands clawed at his skin, some even biting him.
Their twisted limbs carried a strange magic that drained his strength—his arms and legs went limp. He couldn't move at all.
But their frenzy lasted only seconds before they were engulfed in searing dragonfire.
BOOM! BOOM!
The mist-filled hall turned into a sea of orange flame. Cries of hunger turned into wails of agony.
The hands grasping at him vanished. Heat surged over his skin. Freed, the Khal squinted up at the blazing figure of the black dragon above.
Wings spread wide, Drogon sank his teeth into the eerie heart, ripping it to shreds.
Then his head lunged forward, and he spewed flames upon the thing, incinerating the source of the Undying's unnatural life.
The Undying clutched their chests, shrieking in forgotten tongues until they, too, were consumed by fire.
With the cursed heart and the Undying annihilated, the blue mist and magical illusions collapsed entirely. The House of the Undying returned to its original state—crumbling, cobweb-ridden, draped in dust.
As Drogon's flames burst through the ruined ceiling of the Dust Hall, Rhaegal and Viserion—following Daenerys's command—joined the assault, breathing fire from above.
BOOM! HISS! CRAAACK!
With the Undying gone, the ancient structure, long overdue for collapse, began to tremble and fall apart.
"Drogon! Snowball! Run!"
Through a tide of fire, Drogon and Snowball followed Drogo as he dashed through the doors and down a corridor into the unknown.
The winding, shadowy passage was lit only by the flickering orange glow of flames behind them.
Drogo ran at the front, scanning both sides for a way out. Left—nothing. Right—still nothing. Only endless twisting stone walls.
The floor beneath them shifted like it was alive, rolling in pursuit, trying to trap them.
Hands of rotted, flame-touched warlocks reached out from the broken floor and walls, nearly grabbing Drogo several times.
The white lion trailed behind; the black dragon couldn't let loose at full force—he wasn't immune to fire either.
Without turning back, Drogo shouted, "Snowball, go ahead!"
The white lion instantly surged forward, overtaking his master.
"Drogon—dragonfire!"
With nothing behind him to guard, Drogo ordered the black dragon to unleash his fury.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Crimson-black fire poured from Drogon's mouth, torching the twisted hands and serpentine blue tendrils flitting through the air.
There was no way to avoid this battle—only to run harder. Drogo searched for an exit when, suddenly, a door appeared ahead—like the gaping mouth of a monster.
"Dragonfire! Dragonfire!!"
He screamed the command. Drogon blasted the door with scorching flame. The strange gate weakened. Drogo backed up several paces, then sprinted forward and smashed it open in one blow.
As per his orders, once flames erupted from the House of the Undying, the khalasar and the dragons were to burn the entire shadowed land to the ground.
The more there were, the stronger the blaze. Outside, the fires raged even fiercer than within.
Drogon, whose very flesh was born of fire, could soar high above it untouched.
Drogo, the Unburnt, would survive so long as he didn't fall into a pool of molten rock.
But Snowball wouldn't. The lion was no ordinary beast, but his essence leaned toward ice and shadow.
To Drogo, Snowball was no longer a mere pet. In his heart, the lion stood equal to the three dragons. He could not let his son die.
To make things worse, the weather suddenly turned. Bitter winds fanned the flames higher and higher.
The nightshadow trees that wrapped around the Dust Hall caught fire one after another, sending sky-high pillars of blue smoke curling into the wind.
Soon, all of Glorious Qarth would be blanketed in smoke—and the dawn sky would turn deep indigo before the sun even rose.
Drogo ran with Snowball, dodging through the weakest flames. But the more he panicked, the more chaotic his flight became.
He forced himself to breathe.
There's always a way out, he thought, forcing himself calm.
Tapping into his wisdom from both lives, the Khal found a solution.
"Drogon!"
He shouted at full volume toward the black dragon, who was gleefully playing with Viserion and Rhaegal in the firestorm.
Like a naughty child, Drogon looked at him for a moment—then went right back to playing.
"Damn it!"
Drogo stomped in frustration and kept yelling until his voice turned hoarse. Only then did Drogon finally flap his wings and fly over.
As soon as he landed, Drogo tore off his medal-belt, tightly bound Snowball to the dragon's claws, and shouted:
"Fly—fly as high as you can!"
Drogon took off instantly, rising higher and higher, ignoring Snowball's terrified roars as he vanished into the smoky sky.
"Let's see if this trial by fire teaches him obedience…"
Hopeful, Drogo turned and charged toward the shadowy figures revealed by the blaze.
Without the power of nightshadow, the warlocks were nothing more than ordinary men.
They didn't last long. Drogo cut them down with ease. One by one, they fell, burned and broken.
After a while, no more sorcerers appeared. Grinning, the Khal ran into the fiercest part of the fire.
The inferno raged for a full day and night before it finally died.
Worried, Daenerys rallied every Unsullied and Dothraki to comb through the ashes—some half a foot thick—in search of their Khal.
Again and again they searched. But Drogo was nowhere to be found.
Tension gripped every heart. Their king was no ordinary man—his charm had earned true loyalty.
The first to break was Daenerys. The Mother of Dragons collapsed among the ruins, weeping without end.
Just as her tears dried, and she began to accept the truth, the three dragons returned from their hunt over the bay.
Suddenly, they stiffened.
They sniffed the air, then moved toward a pile of charred bones near Daenerys, their nostrils twitching.
The Dothraki feared death's curse and never disturbed corpses, so the pile had been left untouched.
But after only a few sniffs, the dragons grew excited. They beat their wings, stirring gusts of wind, and shrieked with glee.
HISSS! CRAAAK!
Most were too lost in grief to pay them any mind—some were even annoyed by the ill-timed joy.
But one figure stirred beneath the bones.
A crimson hand reached up from the ashes.
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🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire
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