Yunkai shimmered like a mirage on the horizon.
It wasn't as grand as Meereen, nor as decayed as Astapor, but it stood with its own stubbornness — tall yellow walls, bronze gates, and the scent of arrogance wafting through the heat. The city had grown fat on the backs of slaves and guarded its wealth with sellswords who demanded more coin than blood.
We stood far enough that the guards couldn't see us. But the Unsullied could see them. Eight thousand shields, perfectly still, eyes forward. Not a sound among them. No shifting of armor. No anxious whispers.
Only waiting.
Beside them stood the freedmen — those who had followed us from Astapor. Some carried spears now. Others simply stood behind the line, unsure of what came next but unwilling to stay behind.
Behind all of them stood Daenerys.
And beside her — me.
"We'll send a messenger first," she said quietly. "Let them make their choice."
"They'll choose pride," I replied.
"I know. But I'll give them the offer anyway."
The meeting was held beneath a pale canvas, three hundred paces from Yunkai's gate.
Two slavers arrived — gold-robed, perfumed, weighed down with chains that served no purpose but vanity. Their guards were sellswords — rough-looking men who laughed too loudly and leaned too heavily on their blades.
Daenerys remained composed. Unmoving. Missandei stood beside her, translating in a neutral tone, though her eyes burned with contempt. I stood just behind, silent, arms crossed.
"We offer you gold and safe passage," one slaver said. "Turn around. Let Yunkai remain."
Daenerys did not smile.
"I offer freedom," she said, "and the end of your chains."
The slavers laughed.
"You cannot win this war with pride and dragons alone."
"Then you've misunderstood me," Daenerys said coolly. "I don't need pride. I have fire."
They left angry.
Good.
Later that evening, we met in the main tent. Maps were spread. Sellsword positions were marked in black ink — loosely confirmed. The Second Sons, perhaps. Maybe even the Stormcrows. None had chosen sides yet.
"The city has food and coin," Grey Worm said. He hadn't yet taken that name, but he spoke clearly. "They will fight to protect it."
"They will die protecting it," Daenerys said.
I said nothing. I was thinking of the dragons.
Vaedron hadn't come close. He lingered at the edge of the camp these days, curled around large rocks, rarely moving except to yawn or flick his tail. He watched everything but acted on nothing.
Drakaina flew more often now. Her wings had grown stronger. She glided without landing for nearly an hour this morning.
She was outpacing her brothers. But not Vaedron. Never him.
I checked the skies before sleep.
Tiraxes and Nyxarys hadn't left the hidden base yet. I felt them through the bond — still restless, still adjusting. They would remain there a while longer, growing quietly. Sorynth had begun moving further from the chamber, circling the nearby hills. Soon, they'd be strong enough to fly as a trio.
Soon, but not yet.
Daenerys visited me before dawn.
She stood outside my tent, silhouetted against the embers of a dying fire.
"Can't sleep?" I asked.
She stepped closer. "It feels too easy."
"It's not."
"No," she agreed. "But the fear — it's different now. I don't fear the enemy. I fear what I might become."
I looked at her. At the silver hair loose around her shoulders, at the calm set in her mouth.
"You'll become exactly who you need to be," I said. "Just not all at once."
That made her smile, faintly.
By midday, the slavers had sent a reply.
A cage.
Inside it, a young freedman — the boy we'd sent with food to the city's outer villages. His body was cut, branded, left to die in front of our lines. A message. An insult.
Daenerys said nothing.
She simply turned to the Unsullied and raised her hand.
"Prepare."
The battle was quiet.
There were no trumpet calls, no war horns. The Unsullied advanced like shadows across sand, columns splitting to flank the southern wall. At the same time, Dothraki outriders looped around the far ridge, drawing out the sellswords.
The dragons came last.
Drakaina swept in from the west — her roar cracking across the stones. Viserion followed low and close, searing the edge of the battlements. Rhazal darted between them like a streak of green fire, targeting archers who thought hiding behind crates would save them.
It did not.
Yunkai fell faster than anyone expected.
The gates were opened not by warriors, but by slaves. They flooded out in silence, afraid, unsure whether the storm had passed or merely paused. The Unsullied ushered them to safety. The Dothraki stood back, watching, curious.
And then Daenerys entered the city.
Not on a throne. Not behind gold.
Just her and her dragons.
She walked through the broken gate, barefoot, cloak trailing behind her. Missandei at her side. I followed at a short distance, watching rooftops for cowards with crossbows.
There were none.
Just silence and sand.
The plaza near the city's center became our camp.
Daenerys stood atop the steps of the largest hall — once a slave market, now empty — and faced the freed people of Yunkai.
"You do not owe me your lives," she said to them. "But I give you a choice. Stay free. Or take up arms with us."
They didn't answer with cheers.
They answered by kneeling.
That night, fires burned in celebration.
Drakaina slept coiled at the base of the steps. Rhazal clung to the balcony like a guard dog. Viserion prowled through alleyways, looking for rats or trouble.
Daenerys joined me on the roof of the market hall. The city was quiet now. She sat beside me, knees drawn close, her fingers wrapped around a warm clay cup.
"I thought it would feel like a victory," she said softly.
"It is."
"No. It's… necessary. But not joyful."
"That comes later."
"I'm not sure I'll recognize it."
I looked at her, this girl I'd grown beside, this woman the world would one day call conqueror.
"You will," I said.
And in the dark, beneath a sky filled with stars, she leaned into my shoulder.
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