"We consider true dragons to be priceless treasures," Gendry said, his gaze fixed steadily on the masked woman before him. "So how did you learn about them?"
Across from him stood Quaithe, her presence as elusive as ever. The faint shimmer of her lacquered mask reflected the flickering torchlight, concealing everything except her calm, knowing eyes.
"From the signs in the sky," Quaithe replied softly. "A storm… a herald of change. I was not the only one to notice. Many who walk the path of magic must have seen it as well."
Gendry gave a slight nod.
The red comet that had recently streaked across the heavens was impossible to ignore. Even ordinary people whispered about it in awe or fear. For those versed in magic or prophecy, it was inevitable that such a phenomenon would be tied to something far greater.
To dragons.
"To that," Quaithe continued, her tone measured, "you may also add the resurgence of magic itself."
Her gaze shifted slightly, passing over Maester Qyburn and the towering figure of Jon Strong standing behind him. Though her words were gentle, they carried an unspoken weight.
"Half a year ago," she said, "I doubt the Old Maester's 'headless' guardian could have succeeded."
Qyburn stiffened slightly at the remark, but curiosity quickly overcame discomfort.
"Are you saying… that everyone's magic is becoming stronger?" he asked, unable to conceal his interest.
Quaithe tilted her head, as though considering how best to explain.
"The river of magic has always existed," she began. "But like any river, its strength rises and falls. When the current is weak, most people cannot perceive it, let alone draw from it. Magic becomes faint… almost forgotten."
Her voice softened further.
"But now, the tide is rising again."
A faint pause lingered in the air.
"And dragons," she continued, "are the strongest manifestation of that rising tide."
Silence fell over the group as her words sank in.
"With the return of true dragons," Quaithe said, "the environment itself changes. Magic becomes easier to access, easier to wield. Even those with only a spark of talent can now grasp what was once beyond their reach."
Her eyes grew distant, as though recalling a memory.
"In Qarth, I once witnessed a pyromancer perform a remarkable feat," she said. "He conjured a ladder of flame—burning fiercely, rising nearly forty feet into the air."
Anguy leaned forward slightly, intrigued.
"A ladder of fire?" he asked.
Quaithe nodded.
"The mage leapt forward and climbed it swiftly, rung by rung, as though it were solid. With each step he took, the rung behind him dissolved into wisps of silver smoke. When he reached the top…"
She paused.
"…both he and the ladder vanished without a trace."
A murmur passed through the listeners.
"That sounds like a trick," Anguy said skeptically.
"It was no trick," Quaithe replied calmly.
Daenerys, who had been listening intently, finally spoke.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her violet eyes fixed on the masked woman.
Quaithe turned to her.
"Half a year ago," she said, "that same pyromancer could not even light a fire using dragonglass. His abilities were limited to crude displays—gunpowder, wildfire, simple illusions meant to entertain the ignorant."
She spoke without judgment, only certainty.
"He could walk across coals or create burning roses in the air. But a ladder of flame? That was beyond him."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"Just as a humble fisherman would never expect to catch a sea monster… that mage never imagined wielding such power."
Gendry folded his arms, his expression thoughtful.
"So you're saying…" he began slowly, "…that Daenerys and I are the reason for this change?"
Quaithe looked at him directly.
"Storm," she said, using the name that seemed to carry both respect and prophecy, "you and the Dragon Queen are the parents of dragons."
Her voice was steady, unwavering.
"And where dragons walk… magic follows."
She stepped closer, her presence almost weightless.
"Your path is correct. Rely on yourselves—not on others."
Gendry's eyes narrowed slightly.
He had long understood that power in this world often came from bloodlines or faith. But he possessed neither a strong lineage of magic nor unwavering belief in any god.
His strength… would have to come from somewhere else.
"Of course they are," Ser Barristan said firmly, his tone carrying both conviction and respect. He looked at Quaithe with a hint of caution. "There is no doubt about that."
He shifted slightly, clearly uneasy in her presence.
People of shadows rarely brought comfort.
"Go where you must go," Quaithe said, turning her attention back to Gendry. "Fight the battles you must fight."
Daenerys stepped forward.
"And where is that?" she asked.
Quaithe's voice took on a rhythmic, almost hypnotic cadence.
"To go north, you must go south."
"To reach the west, you must go east."
"To move forward, you must first go back."
"To touch the cold, pass through fire."
"To reach the light… pass beneath the shadow."
The words hung in the air like a riddle.
Gendry frowned slightly.
"Asshai… and Dragonstone," he said after a moment. "The land of shadows and the land of fire."
He looked at her carefully.
"But what is in Asshai? No armies. No fleets. No power in the traditional sense."
His tone sharpened.
"What exactly are we meant to find there?"
Quaithe answered with a single word.
"Truth."
Silence followed.
Daenerys studied her carefully.
"You've helped us," she said slowly. "You've warned us… guided us. Why?"
Her voice carried genuine curiosity.
Quaithe tilted her head slightly.
"To see dragons again brings me joy," she said simply. "You are the ones who will break the stalemate of this world."
Her tone grew more intense.
"Dragons are blood… and fire."
She paused.
"Many covet them. But I am not one of those."
Her gaze hardened slightly behind the mask.
"Those who seek to possess dragons seek power. But there are many paths to power… and not all require chains."
Daenerys hesitated, then asked quietly:
"Are you… connected to us somehow?"
Quaithe did not answer.
She neither nodded nor denied it.
Instead, she spoke again.
"You should visit the House of the Undying," she said. "There are visions there—glimpses of what is to come."
Gendry let out a short breath.
"Visions and prophecies are unreliable," he said firmly. "Chasing them blindly will only lead to death."
His voice carried a rare intensity.
"Use them as reference, perhaps—but never depend on them."
He shook his head.
"The Targaryens chased dragon dreams… and many of them paid with their lives."
Quaithe regarded him quietly.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"Storm is truly Storm," she said.
There was something almost amused in her tone.
"No wonder Durran was called Godsgrief."
She stepped back slightly.
"Fearless. Defiant. Unwilling to bow even to the gods."
Her voice softened.
"That is the essence of the storm."
She paused briefly before continuing.
"These words were not meant to be spoken yet… but I could not wait."
Her voice grew darker.
"I see mountains of corpses… and seas of blood behind you."
A heavy silence fell.
"Your crown will be greater than before," she continued. "And so will your war."
Her gaze lingered.
"I wonder… when you will return to Qarth."
Then her tone shifted again—becoming distant, prophetic.
"Listen carefully, Gendry. Daenerys Targaryen."
"The glass candle will burn."
"The pale mare will come."
"And more will follow."
Her voice lowered.
"Trust not the sea monster… nor the black flame."
"Beware the titan… the griffon… the son of the tower… and the mummer's dragon."
A pause.
"And beware the Undying."
Her final words came like a whisper.
"And the perfumed seneschal."
With that, she bowed slightly—and vanished.
Not in a flash, not in smoke…
But like mist dissolving into the air.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
"She…" Anguy muttered. "…she just disappeared."
Qyburn exhaled slowly.
"She is a true mage," he said quietly. "One of extraordinary skill."
There was genuine admiration in his voice.
"And… unlike others… she does not carry the corruption that often accompanies magic."
He shook his head faintly.
"What a pity. Someone like her will never serve us."
Gendry waved a hand dismissively.
"Forget her," he said. "Focus on the dragons."
His expression hardened.
"And tell that Warlock in Qarth to stay away from us."
He had no interest in the Undying.
Creatures that clung to life by draining others… were no better than parasites.
"Yes, Your Grace," Qyburn replied.
Daenerys remained thoughtful.
"She helped us… yet asks nothing in return."
Her brows furrowed slightly.
"It doesn't make sense."
Gendry shrugged.
"She doesn't covet dragons," he said. "That already makes her wiser than most."
Still…
Her words lingered.
Sea monster. Black flame. Griffon. Mummer's dragon.
War.
It seemed inevitable.
Qyburn spoke again.
"There are others like her," he said. "Scholars at the Citadel who study the deeper aspects of magic."
He paused.
"I've already sent word to Oldtown."
Gendry glanced at him.
"Who?"
"Maester Marwyn," Qyburn replied. "An old acquaintance."
His tone carried respect.
"He wears a Valyrian steel link—proof of his mastery in the higher mysteries."
Gendry nodded slowly.
The world was changing.
Magic was returning.
And with it…
War was coming.
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