The black egg cracked at sunrise.
Daenerys had barely slept. She kept it nestled against her body all night, wrapped in linen and warmth. Her hands never left its shell. Every so often, it pulsed faintly, answering her heartbeat like a drum deep beneath the earth.
When the first scale peeled away—red-gold beneath black—she gasped.
I was beside her in seconds.
"Slowly," I said. "Let it come in its own time."
She nodded, eyes wide.
The crack widened.
And with a soft hiss, the dragon emerged.
It was smaller than Vaedron at hatching—sleek, shining, with black wings like stretched velvet and eyes like molten ruby. Its cry was thin but strong, and when Daenerys touched it, the little creature chirped and climbed into her lap.
She let out a shaky breath, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.
"I didn't know I could love something so fast," she whispered.
"You've always had a soft heart," I said, brushing her hair back.
"I thought that was weakness."
"No. It's your fire."
She looked up at me, smiling through tears.
"I want to name her Drakaina."
"Perfect."
Drakaina, unlike Vaedron, was calm from the start.
She nestled into Dany's neck, nuzzling skin with soft huffs. Her claws barely scratched, her wings twitching only when startled. Where Vaedron nipped and darted like a flame, Drakaina watched.
"You're opposites," I said as we fed them scraps of goat meat beside the fire.
"I think she's smarter than me," Dany replied, half-laughing.
"Give her a week. She'll be reading."
The khalasar reacted as expected.
Another dragon. Another queen. But now the whispers grew stronger—more reverent. Two sisters. Two flames. Two dragons.
Rakharo approached us that evening with a bottle of sweet Dothraki wine.
He bowed low—to both of us—and said, "The riders begin to say the sky walks among us."
Dany blinked. "Is that good?"
I translated. "It means we've become myth."
She looked down at Drakaina, sleeping against her chest.
"Then I hope we write it well."
But peace never holds forever.
Especially when Viserys is involved.
He escaped his bonds the next day.
Some fool in the khalasar—either bribed or too soft-hearted—untied his ropes. By the time anyone noticed he was gone, he'd stolen a blade and vanished into the northern side of the camp.
I found him by instinct.
He was waiting near the horses, cloaked in shadows and hate.
When I approached, he held the blade low, trembling.
"I should have been the one," he said. "They were my dragons. My kingdom."
I said nothing.
He stepped forward. "She was mine. You were mine. The crown—"
"You were never a king," I cut in. "You were a child playing dress-up with ghosts."
He growled and lunged.
Vaedron struck before the blade even reached me.
A burst of flame.
Bright. Quick. Controlled.
Viserys screamed, dropping the blade, his cloak alight. He rolled, slapped at the flames, gasped for breath.
I walked toward him slowly, stopping just close enough to look him in the eye.
"This is your warning," I said. "Next time, I won't hold him back."
He sobbed, shoulders shaking.
"Take him," I told the bloodriders behind me.
This time, they did not tie him to a tent post.
They tied him to the edge of the horse line, out in the open.
And no one looked at him again.
That night, Daenerys didn't speak much.
She simply curled into me beneath the furs, holding Drakaina close.
"I don't feel guilty anymore," she said softly.
"You don't have to."
She looked up, eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. "You knew this would happen, didn't you?"
"Not the details," I said, brushing my thumb across her jaw. "But I knew the direction. People like him… they always choose the fall."
"And people like us?"
"We rise."
She kissed me then—slow, sure, no hesitation.
And when her hands wandered beneath my shift, I let them.
We didn't sleep much that night.
The next morning, I sent word to Illyrio.
It was time to begin the real work.
My letter was brief, but precise:
The storm has passed. The dragons are born. Now we need land. I suggest the Bay of Serpents. You know the maps. Make the arrangements discreetly. Funds available from account 6E.
—A
Illyrio's reply arrived three days later, delivered by a quiet courier with dyed hands.
Your vision is dangerous. I like it. I'll have a man waiting in the city of Qarth. A merchant prince who doesn't ask questions. The bay is lawless—but lawless can be useful.
If you can build a home for dragons, Aelya…
The world will follow.
I folded the letter.
Daenerys leaned over my shoulder.
"What's that?"
"The first brick," I said. "Of the world we're going to build."
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