Everything happened too fast.
Daenerys, Rhaenys, and the khalasars barely had time to react.
"Kerse, my sun and stars, are you all right?" Daenerys and Rhaenys asked in unison, their voices tense.
"Khal!"
Although everyone knew that Kerse was powerful—better than anyone—the fear spread like wildfire. More than two hundred voices shouted at once, eclipsing even the agonized screeches of the shadow creature writhing on the ground, clutching its head as it was slowly consumed by the scarlet rays of King Ghidorah.
Xaro had also escaped death by a ridiculous margin.
It took him a few seconds to understand what had happened… and when he did, terror struck him head-on.
The man without braids whom he had despised.
He was not a nobody.
He was Khal Kerse.
The absolute king of the grass sea.
The chosen of the Horse-Head God Thor.
Xaro had heard rumors, exaggerated stories told by trembling merchants. But now, seeing him up close, he understood something that no rumor had ever fully captured: he had never seen a Dothraki so tall, so solid, so terrifyingly real.
The realization came late.
Too late.
His obese body began to tremble uncontrollably, like a pig before sacrifice. He cursed his arrogance. He cursed his carelessness.
Then, Kerse spoke.
He turned toward Smaug, who rested on Rhaenys's shoulder, and asked in a low, dangerous voice:
"Don't you think so, my son? What do you say we go together to destroy the secret?"
Before everyone's incredulous eyes, the dragon replied with restrained fury:
"Yes, father. I will kill them all."
A deadly silence fell over the scene.
Xaro, Pyat Pree, and Quaithe understood it instantly: the wisdom of dragons was not inferior to that of humans.
Smaug was the most aware of Rhaenys's dragons. He thought, he spoke… and now he was furious because his father had almost died.
When Kerse began to advance, the fear on Pyat's face became evident.
The mage who walked among shadows, who changed shape and drank ancient poisons… was trembling.
Not before the dragon.
Before the man.
How could a mortal inspire such terror?
The slight tremor of his body and the grimace of panic on his face betrayed him.
Kerse observed him closely.
That confirmed his suspicion: Pyat had not summoned the shadow creature. Even so, he did not lower his guard. He knew that the true dangers were always those that attacked unseen.
Pyat knew it as well.
The camels could not flee. And that man moved like the wind.
He clenched his teeth. He pulled out a small bottle of thick, dark blue liquid hidden among his clothes. He uncorked it and drank it in a single gulp.
His lips turned even bluer… almost black.
But he had no time to do anything else.
A gigantic fist slammed into his face.
Pyat was sent flying, rolling across the sand.
Kerse could have killed him in the first second.
He did not.
He had heard stories: mages who sought immortality, blue poisonous leaves from black-barked trees, essences mixed with forbidden substances. Drinks capable of opening the mind to illusions, gods, and ancient sorceries.
It reminded him of Euron Greyjoy.
Of horns, false gods, enslaved dragons.
True or not, he needed to verify it.
Because in this world witches still existed… and only by understanding their power could he protect himself from it.
Pyat did not die.
A pale blue mist began to envelop his body.
Kerse tensed immediately, ready to order Smaug to breathe fire.
But the mage spoke first.
He fixed a deep gaze on Daenerys and Rhaenys… and then on Kerse.
"The gods drove the comet to show the path to the new Dragon Master. They sent me to welcome you. If you can control a dragon, we should not be enemies. I will wait for you at the Immortal Temple of Qarth to open the Gate of Wisdom."
His body blurred.
And vanished.
Kerse spat on the ground in disdain.
"Bah. I didn't even hit him with all my strength. If I wanted to, he'd already be headless, meeting his gods. But since you invited me… I'll go."
Then, he turned his attention to the priestess.
He had understood the truth: the shadow was part of her. A torn-away reflection.
Quaithe groaned.
Her face began to burn, to itch. She screamed in pain as she tore off her mask.
Beneath it was rotten flesh. Maggots. Living decay.
Many women of the khalasar looked away. Some vomited. Even the hardened warriors, who licked blood from blades, felt revulsion.
"You will pay for this!" the priestess screamed.
Kerse smiled and uttered the words he had loved so much in his past life:
"Dracarys!"
Smaug did not hesitate.
The dragon's flames engulfed the priestess.
Quaithe stopped screaming. She looked at him with gray eyes, strangely calm.
"Mortals will die someday. I saw you die at the hands of your own people… hehehe."
And she was reduced to ashes.