The massive gate, cast of bronze and black iron, slowly swung inward with a heavy creak.
A wave of warm air, mixed with the cloying scent of spices and the aroma of food, washed over him.
Inside the gate, two rows of slaves dressed in pristine white linen bowed their heads, standing solemnly.
Their bare feet made no sound on the cold marble floor.
At the end of the line of slaves, a man resembling a mountain of flesh stood beside a bubbling fountain.
Illyrio Mopatis.
Magister of Pentos.
A man who had amassed endless wealth through spices, gems, slaves, and even war.
He wore a purple silk robe large enough to make two tents.
Heavy necklaces of jewels hung around his fat neck, one after another.
His stubby fingers were adorned with sparkling rings.
He was laboriously wiping the sweat constantly seeping from his forehead and chin with a silk handkerchief.
Those small eyes, hidden behind layers of fat, twinkled with a shrewdness and sharpness disproportionate to his obese frame.
"Honored guest from afar, welcome to Pentos."
Illyrio's voice was oily and smooth, a merchant's perfectly measured enthusiastic smile plastered on his face.
He had clearly received the news long ago.
He might even have personally witnessed the astonishing sight of the dragon landing on the beach outside the city.
But he didn't mention it, merely observing the young man who had come alone with a scrutinizing, impassive gaze.
The luxurious silk from the East that Lynn wore, along with his black hair and black eyes, made him feel somewhat unpredictable.
Such strange hair and skin color made him look like someone from Essos.
"Magister Illyrio."
Lynn nodded slightly, walking in with composure.
He acted as if returning to his own home, ignoring the exotic, luxurious furnishings around him, and walked straight up to Illyrio.
"I trust you know why I am here."
The smile on Illyrio's face stiffened.
He didn't like this feeling.
The feeling of being seen through, of the initiative being completely in the other person's hands.
"Please sit, my friend."
He quickly regained his composure, waving a fat arm to gesture Lynn to a lounge chair cushioned with velvet.
Female slaves filed in, serving chilled mead and silver platters filled with exotic fruits from the Summer Sea.
"Dragonrider from the West."
Illyrio sat opposite Lynn, sinking into the soft cushions with a groan.
"Your image has likely spread throughout the Free Cities by now."
"I am but a humble merchant; how may I be of service to you?"
"I want your connections, your fleet, and..."
Lynn's gaze turned toward a detached tower deep within the courtyard.
"The two true dragons you are keeping in your home."
Illyrio's heart constricted sharply, the fat on his face trembling.
He knew the real negotiation was starting now.
"I imagine... you would like to meet them first?"
Illyrio mused for a moment, then clapped his hands.
A servant departed to carry out the order.
Soon, light footsteps came from the depths of the corridor.
Viserys Targaryen walked in.
He wore a well-tailored black velvet tunic, the three-headed dragon sigil of House Targaryen embroidered in silver thread on the collar and cuffs.
His silky silver hair was meticulously groomed.
On his reasonably handsome face hung a haughty smile peculiar to royalty, carrying a sense of detachment.
Since the failure of the deal with Khal Drogo, under Illyrio's "advice," he seemed to have restrained himself a great deal.
He understood that roaring about the "wrath of the dragon" alone wouldn't trade for an army or a throne.
He needed allies, and he needed more valuable chips.
"Magister."
Viserys bowed to Illyrio first, then turned his gaze to Lynn.
"Presumably, this is the honored guest from Westeros?"
He examined Lynn with a scrutinizing look.
Deep within those pale violet eyes hid a trace of imperceptible wariness and jealousy.
"I am Viserys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."
He announced his titles in a flat tone.
Lynn smiled.
Missing one: Owner of a Golden Crown.
Lynn didn't stand up. He simply sat on the lounge chair, raising his goblet and gently swirling the amber liquid inside.
This silent arrogance made the smile on Viserys's face freeze slightly.
Just then, another figure quietly appeared at the entrance of the corridor.
The entire luxurious and noisy hall seemed to lose all color the moment she appeared.
Daenerys Targaryen.
She wore a pale violet gown, the hem gliding silently over the polished marble floor like flowing moonlight.
Her silver-gold hair was braided intricately, hanging loosely behind her head, a few stray strands brushing her smooth forehead.
Her beauty seemed not of this world.
It was a delicate beauty.
Her skin was so fair it seemed transparent.
Those world-renowned violet eyes were like amethysts washed by morning dew.
Clear, pure, yet carrying a melancholy and resilience unsuited to her age.
She was no longer the timid girl at the mercy of others.
That memory "tampered with" by Lynn, that prophecy like an oracle, had long since planted a seed named hope in her heart.
She stood there quietly, like a winter flower blooming silently in the wind and snow.
Fragile, yet possessing an inviolable sanctity.
Her gaze passed over everyone, landing directly on Lynn.
Their eyes met.
Daenerys's heart stopped beating for an instant.
It's him!
She didn't know this face, but she knew those eyes!
The eyes that had appeared again and again in countless midnight dreams!
Eyes carrying the northern wind, looking down on mortals like a god!
[The Prince lies in the West.]
That prophecy branded deep in her soul exploded in this moment!
Daenerys's body began to tremble uncontrollably.
Her breathing quickened, an abnormal flush rising on her cheeks.
"Dany?"
Viserys noticed his sister's strangeness and frowned in dissatisfaction.
He didn't like Daenerys looking at other men like that.
It made him feel his precious commodity was being coveted by others.
Daenerys ignored him.
Slowly, step by step, she walked toward Lynn.
Everyone present was stunned.
Viserys's face was full of astonishment, while Illyrio's small eyes twinkled with intense interest.
Daenerys walked up to Lynn and stopped.
She didn't speak, just looked at him unblinkingly with those violet eyes brimming with moisture.
In that gaze, there was shock, confusion, expectation, and the waiting and torment of countless days and nights.
"Lord Lynn."
Viserys finally couldn't help but speak, a trace of displeasure in his tone.
"My sister is... being somewhat rude."
"No matter."
Lynn put down his goblet and stood up.
He was a head taller than Daenerys, his tall figure completely enveloping her in shadow.
He could feel the throbbing deep in her soul.
It was an incredibly pure emotional fluctuation, a mix of faith and adoration.
It seemed the seed he had planted back then had taken root and sprouted, even blooming into an unexpected flower.
"The blood of the dragon is indeed unique."
Lynn reached out, gently lifting a strand of Daenerys's silver hair with his fingertips.
It was cool and silky to the touch.
Daenerys's body trembled violently, but she didn't shy away.
"King Viserys."
Lynn turned his gaze to the "Beggar King," whose face had turned somewhat ugly.
"You wish to reclaim the Iron Throne, correct?"
"That is what belongs to me by right." Viserys lifted his chin.
"Good." Lynn withdrew his hand.
"I can give you an army, give you countless Gold Dragons, let you cross the Narrow Sea in glory and take back everything you desire."
Viserys's breathing instantly became rapid.
Even Illyrio beside them subconsciously sat up straight.
"But, why should I trust you?"
Viserys suppressed the ecstasy in his heart, asking in a tone he tried to keep calm.
"Because of this."
Lynn turned and walked to the terrace of the courtyard.
He looked up at the cloudless blue sky of Pentos and let out a long, piercing whistle.
All was silent.
Only the sea breeze rustled through the palm leaves.
Viserys and Illyrio looked at each other, seeing confusion in each other's eyes.
However, the next second.
A roar, seemingly from the primordial age, came from the distant horizon!
The sound was filled with supreme majesty, as if the very sky trembled!
In the city of Pentos, countless people bustling in the streets looked up sharply.
They saw it.
A massive black shadow, sweeping in from the horizon at an incredible speed!
The shadow grew closer, larger...
When it flew over Pentos, everyone saw it clearly!
Wings that blotted out the sun, a spine bristling with savage bone spikes, and... three massive heads!
It was a dragon!
A three-headed dragon that didn't exist in any ancient legend!
Its scales were not the legendary black or red, but a translucent blue like ice crystals.
With every breath, visible streams of air jetted from its mouths and nostrils, seeming to freeze the surrounding air!
"Roar—!"
The dragon circled above Pentos, roaring to announce its arrival!
The entire city fell into a dead silence instantly.
Followed by an eruption of screams and panic like a landslide or tsunami!
Countless people dropped their goods, fleeing with heads in hands, trying to find anywhere to hide!
On the terrace of Magister Illyrio's manse.
The goblet in Illyrio's hand fell to the ground with a clang.
His fat jiggled violently like waves as he collapsed into the lounge chair, color draining from his face.
The nobility and reserve on Viserys's face were long gone.
He gripped the terrace railing tightly, knuckles white from the force.
Mouth agape, he stared blankly at the mythical beast in the sky, unable to make a sound.
On that handsome face, extreme terror intertwined with a near-manic ecstasy!
A dragon!
It was their Targaryen dragon!
Their family's glory had returned!
However, only one person present didn't scream, nor showed ecstasy.
Daenerys.
She had walked to the very edge of the terrace at some point, letting the airflow from the dragon's wings blow her violet dress and silver-gold hair.
Head raised, she stared entranced at the three-headed ice dragon in the sky.
Tears fell uncontrollably from her beautiful violet eyes, sliding down her pale, burning cheeks.
[But a true monarch from the Lands of Always Winter, commanding a three-headed ice dragon.]
Three-headed dragon.
The oracle... was true!
Everything was true!
She slowly turned her head.
Turning those eyes, wet with tears and frighteningly bright, toward the figure standing amidst the chaos, yet calm as a mountain.
Her Prince.
Her King.
He had come.
He had truly come for her.