Recalling the method Daenerys had used in the show, Aedric thought for a moment and shook his head.
Too dangerous. He wasn't about to risk it.
After all, the Unburnt might have immense resistance to fire—but she still needed to breathe.
Flames devoured oxygen, and if one stayed within them too long, even Aedric could end up suffocating to death.
As for the show's version—burning both herself and the eggs overnight—Aedric could only sigh. That was pure protagonist plot armor.
Like Zhang Wuji mastering the final layer of the Nine Yang Divine Skill inside a suffocating bag—it worked only because of author's mercy.
Try it again, and you'd probably ascend to heaven on the spot.
He refused to believe that, for hundreds of years, every member of House Targaryen had been hatching dragon eggs through ritual self-immolation.
Even dragons didn't have that many lives to spare.
To test whether this egg was truly alive, Aedric decided to try something gentler.
He placed a palm against the black shell and sent a small stream of inner core qi into it—only for the energy to vanish instantly, swallowed whole without a trace.
"Interesting…"
Intrigued, he sat cross-legged, holding the massive egg in both hands, channeling a steady flow of power into it.
No matter how much energy he poured in, it disappeared like stones sinking into the sea—as if the egg itself were a bottomless abyss.
Minutes passed. His reserves of inner core energy began to run dry.
Any more and he'd start damaging his core.
Aedric sighed and was about to stop—when suddenly, the egg pulsed.
A surge of foreign energy shot outward, flowing into his hands.
His palms burst into flame—roaring golden fire—yet he felt no pain, no heat.
"This is… Dragonfire?"
The golden blaze danced along his fingers, majestic and alive.
Within it, Aedric could feel an ancient, overwhelming power.
Delighted, he drew the sword Blackfyre and tried channeling the flame into the blade.
At once, the entire sword ignited in black fire, blending with the golden dragonfire in his palms.
A perfect resonance—one of light and shadow.
Now, the sword didn't just slice through steel; it burned through existence itself.
A combination of physical might and elemental devastation.
"So this is the sword's true form," Aedric realized.
"No wonder even the Targaryens never used it properly—those techniques must have been lost with Valyria."
After all, they had long forgotten how to draw dragonfire from unhatched eggs.
It was probably only possible for someone with dragon blood—and only from a slumbering, unborn dragon.
Once a dragon was hatched, its fire would be far too strong for any human vessel to bear.
He tested the energy on several other Valyrian steel weapons.
Only the dragonglass dagger he'd taken from Joffrey flared with blue flame; the rest merely glowed red-hot before cooling again.
"So even Valyrian steel has grades. Mastercrafts versus mass production—no contest."
The flame from the egg lasted only a few minutes before fading, but Aedric could still sense its seed lingering in his palms—ready to rekindle with time.
"You've got a sense of fairness, huh? Not just mooching off my energy," he chuckled.
"Fine then, little one. Let's keep trading—you feed me dragonfire, I feed you qi."
Dragonfire—the supreme energy of this world.
It could annihilate magic itself. Even the Night King, who had lived for thousands of years, couldn't withstand its might.
Understanding now that this dragon egg was his greatest treasure, Aedric stored it carefully in his living-space dimension, while placing Blackfyre and the rest of the Valyrian steel gear in his inanimate-space dimension.
As for the Valyrian steel cabinet—it was simply too large to bother carrying.
Then, stepping out onto the deck, he summoned the entire crew.
"From this day forward," he announced, "I am your new captain."
The mute sailors, still pale with fear, fell to their knees in submission.
Aedric nodded, satisfied, and ordered the Silence—now renamed Serenity—to set sail for the northern ports.
He planned to pick up Arya Stark and head east across the sea.
The Iron Islands, and all their squabbles, no longer concerned him.
Meanwhile, with Euron Greyjoy meeting his untimely end, chaos erupted back home.
After over ten days of fierce political struggle, it was Yara Greyjoy—supported by the majority—who claimed victory and was crowned ruler of the Iron Islands.
Out of caution for Lord Eddard Stark's influence, she did not execute her brother Theon, merely banished him and forbade his return as long as she lived.
Then, thinking much like her late uncle, Yara assembled the Iron Fleet and sailed to King's Landing to propose an alliance with Joffrey Baratheon.
Her terms: Joffrey must recognize her as Queen of the Iron Islands and grant her the right to raid all coastal cities except King's Landing.
"Better to take by force than toil for scraps," she declared. "If I am to be a queen, I'll be a pirate queen."
Joffrey and his council—led by Tywin Lannister—readily agreed to the first request, since it cost them nothing.
The second they did not officially sanction, but neither did they forbid it.
Turning a blind eye was the best compromise; openly approving piracy would unite every coastal lord against the Iron Throne.
Though slightly dissatisfied, Yara accepted the terms, officially allying with King's Landing as their private fleet, to oppose Stannis Baratheon's navy from Dragonstone.
Meanwhile, Tywin's forces in the West marshaled for war against the combined armies of Renly Baratheon—now styling himself King Renly—and the Reach.
The North, quiet for now, still worried him.
Tywin knew better than to underestimate Eddard Stark—or his mysterious champion.
He spent lavishly to secure the loyalty of House Frey, ensuring the Twins would block any northern army that tried to march south.
And he ordered Varys to send spies everywhere, seeking any trace of the "Storm Sword Saint," Aedric.
Tywin understood all too well the kind of terror such a being represented.
A warrior capable of turning the tide of battle singlehandedly—of rewriting wars in an instant.
"If only that kind of power could be mine…" Tywin thought grimly.
But Aedric had no interest in southern politics or their brewing wars.
Upon returning to Winterfell, he found a restless Arya Stark already waiting impatiently.
Together, they boarded the newly christened Serenity and set sail—
toward the faraway eastern continent, and a new chapter awaiting beyond the Narrow Sea.
~~--------------------------
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