The first steps away from Astapor were heavy.
The city burned behind us — its towers blackened, its markets emptied, its collars scattered across the sand like fallen leaves. But we didn't stop to look back. Not even once.
Eight thousand Unsullied marched in perfect rows, their movements clean and precise. Behind them walked the freedmen — the ones who had chosen to follow. Some carried children. Others pushed carts. Many carried nothing at all. Just hope.
And overhead, three dragons traced shadows across the sky.
Drakaina flew highest — always at the front, always steady. She'd grown bolder since Astapor, more confident in her gliding, more assured in her wings. Rhazal stayed in motion, never in a straight line. His body arced and twisted through the air, green and bronze and wild. Viserion kept lower, near the dunes, flying smooth and close as if guarding the rear.
The wind tasted like dust. The horizon promised more.
Daenerys rode at the front of the column, her eyes scanning the path ahead. Her shoulders didn't slump. She never once looked tired. Even now, even with nothing but dry land around us, she looked like a queen.
She didn't need a throne. She already ruled.
I kept pace beside her but spoke little. My mind wasn't here — not entirely. The dragons above were growing, and I tracked their progress carefully. Their growth aligned with the timeline I knew — not rushed, not delayed. Just right.
But something else was pulling at me.
The three eggs we'd left behind.
Deep red, violet-silver, and orange — each resting in warmed stone chambers, hidden beneath our main base camp. I hadn't told Daenerys about them. I hadn't told anyone. Only the guards knew to keep the room sealed and watched.
Tiraxes, Nyxarys, and Sorynth.
The hum I'd felt from them before we left had grown stronger. I could feel it even now, like a distant whisper curling beneath my skin. They were waking. The time was coming.
I needed to be there when it happened.
That evening we made camp by the remains of an old trader outpost. Nothing remained but foundation stones and a single cracked pillar, but it was defensible and close to a water source. The Unsullied set up formation with quiet discipline. The freedmen rested in shaded cloth shelters. The Dothraki circled wide, hunting, scouting, watching.
Drakaina landed near Daenerys's tent, her wings stirring sand. Viserion curled beside the main well. Rhazal perched along a broken wall and began chewing on it absently, ignoring my glare.
I sat apart from them all, by a low fire with a scrap of parchment in my lap. No maps tonight — just calculations. Distance. Heat retention. Probable hatching windows. I wasn't sure which of the three would crack open first, but I had the feeling it would be soon. Sooner than I expected.
I had to return.
I didn't say anything that night. Not to Daenerys. Not to Missandei. I kept my thoughts quiet and waited.
The next morning brought a report — a khalasar trailing us from the northeast. Roughly a hundred men. No banners. No hostility.
By midday, they arrived. Sun-dried faces, thin horses, cautious postures. The old blood of Khal Drogo. They didn't kneel, but they didn't threaten either. Their leader rode forward, halted a few paces from Daenerys, and spoke with a rough, low voice.
"We heard the stories," he said. "Dragons. Fire. The silver women."
Daenerys looked down at him. "You are free to ride with us, or ride away."
They chose to follow.
No promises. No oaths. Just quiet agreement.
That night, the camp buzzed with new life. The newcomers kept to themselves, but they didn't interfere. The Unsullied stood their usual posts. The freedmen whispered behind tent cloths. And the dragons flew again — high above the flickering fires, their silhouettes outlined in moonlight.
Vaedron didn't fly.
He hadn't joined us since Astapor. I knew where he was — back at the base, near the eggs. It was strange, how he lingered there without being told. Almost as if he knew what was coming.
Maybe he did.
I rose before the sun the next day and mounted a horse alone.
No announcements. No farewells. Just a quiet departure. I left a brief instruction with Missandei — nothing serious, just that I was scouting a shorter supply route. Daenerys didn't question it. She didn't ask where I went.
Good.
Rhazal joined me in the sky as I rode. He never liked long flights, but this time he didn't complain. Perhaps he felt it too — the tug in the air, the anticipation. We made good time, moving swiftly across the familiar terrain, passing the same jagged ridge lines we'd once crossed on foot.
By nightfall, I could see the torchlights of our old base glowing in the distance.
The guards at the entrance nodded without question.
I walked straight through the main hall, past the war room, through the lower chamber with the sealed stone grate. The moment I stepped inside, I felt it — the heat, the low thrum, the pressure in the air like lightning waiting to strike.
They were close.
Very close.
Tiraxes was warm to the touch. Nyxarys's shell vibrated faintly under my palm. Sorynth, quiet as always, pulsed in silence — not still, not dead. Just waiting.
I exhaled slowly.
"Soon," I whispered.
Vaedron landed just outside the entrance, rumbling deep in his chest as if in agreement. I didn't turn to him. I didn't need to. He always understood.
We would stay here for a few days — just long enough. I could feel it in my bones: one of them would hatch within the week. Maybe two.
And when it happened…
Daenerys would have questions.
But not yet.
Let it be a surprise.
ADVANCED CHAPTERS:
patreon.com/CozyKy