The cave swallowed sound.
Each step Michel took seemed to vanish the moment it was made, as if the darkness itself devoured it. The torchlight behind him flickered weakly, pressed back by something unseen, something ancient.
The air was colder within.
Not the clean, sharp cold of the mountains.
But a dead cold.
Still.
Waiting.
Michel Arryn stepped deeper.
His hand rested lightly on the hilt of Fly.
Behind him, Jon Snow followed, his breath slow, controlled, eyes moving through shadow.
The fifty men remained near the entrance, uneasy, their instincts whispering what their pride refused to say.
This place was wrong.
"My lord…" one called quietly.
Michel did not turn.
"Stay here."
The command was calm.
Absolute.
Only Jon continued with him.
Two figures moving into the dark.
The cave stretched deeper than it should have.
The walls were smooth in places, jagged in others—as if shaped not only by time, but by something… else.
The torch crackled.
Then dimmed.
Jon frowned.
"The fire…"
Michel noticed it too.
The flame did not die.
But it weakened.
As though something unseen pressed against it.
"Keep moving," Michel said.
They walked.
Longer.
Deeper.
Then—
The tunnel opened.
A vast chamber revealed itself, hidden within the mountain's heart.
The ceiling rose high above, lost in shadow. The air here was different.
Heavier.
Warmer.
Jon stopped.
His eyes widened slightly.
"Do you feel that?"
Michel nodded.
Heat.
Faint.
But real.
Impossible.
There was no fire here.
No source.
And yet—
The warmth remained.
At the center of the chamber—
Something rested.
Michel stepped forward.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The torchlight flickered again—
Then steadied.
And in that moment—
He saw them.
The Dragon Eggs
Two shapes.
Resting upon a bed of dark stone.
Eggs.
But not like any egg of this world.
Large.
Heavy.
Covered in scales that shimmered faintly even in weak light.
One was deep blue, streaked with silver veins like lightning frozen in stone.
The other—
Pale, almost white—
With hints of gold beneath its surface.
They were not cold.
They radiated heat.
Jon stepped closer, unable to hide the awe in his voice.
"Dragons…"
The word barely escaped him.
Michel said nothing.
His eyes were fixed.
Not surprised.
Not shocked.
But… certain.
Because he had wished for this.
And now—
It was here.
Real.
He stepped forward.
Closer.
The air grew warmer with each step.
The ground beneath the eggs was blackened.
Scorched.
As if something had once burned there.
Jon hesitated.
"My lord… this…"
Michel raised a hand slightly.
"Stay back."
His voice was quiet.
But carried weight.
He knelt slowly before the eggs.
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
Then—
A faint sound.
A crack.
So soft it might have been imagined.
Michel's eyes narrowed.
The blue egg shimmered slightly.
A faint pulse.
Like a heartbeat.
Jon stepped back instinctively.
"Did you see—"
"I did."
Michel's voice remained calm.
But something deeper had awakened within it.
He reached out.
Slowly.
His hand hovered above the egg.
Heat rose to meet it.
Not burning.
But alive.
Then—
He touched it.
The reaction was immediate.
The egg pulsed again.
Stronger.
The silver veins glowed faintly.
Jon's breath caught.
"My lord…"
Michel did not move his hand.
The warmth spread.
Up his arm.
Into his chest.
Not pain.
Not fire.
Recognition.
As if something inside the egg—
Knew him.
The second egg trembled slightly.
Both now reacting.
Alive.
Jon whispered—
"This is impossible…"
Michel finally withdrew his hand.
The glow faded.
Slowly.
But the warmth remained.
Silence filled the chamber again.
But it was no longer empty.
It was waiting.
Michel stood.
"These…"
He paused.
"Will change everything."
Jon looked at him.
Then at the eggs.
"Dragons haven't lived for centuries."
Michel's gaze hardened slightly.
"They will."
No doubt.
No hesitation.
Only certainty.
The torch behind them flickered once more.
Outside—
The mountains remained silent.
Unaware.
That deep within their heart—
Something ancient had just begun to wake.
Michel turned.
Jon blinked.
The word fire still lingered in his ears like an echo that refused to fade.
"We… return to the Eyrie?"
His voice carried confusion.
And something else.
Concern.
Michel Arryn did not look back at the chamber.
At the eggs.
At the quiet, pulsing warmth that still breathed behind them in the dark.
"Yes."
The answer was simple.
Final.
Jon frowned slightly.
"My lord… we found—"
Michel stopped.
Slowly—
He turned.
The torchlight caught his face, half in shadow.
"And we will speak of it to no one."
Jon fell silent.
The weight of those words settled heavily.
"No one?" Jon asked quietly.
Michel's gaze sharpened.
"No one."
A pause.
"Not Lord Royce."
"Not the lords."
"Not the soldiers."
His voice dropped.
"Because the moment the world knows…"
A pause.
"…it will come."
Jon understood.
Not fully.
Not completely.
But enough.
Lords.
Kings.
Spies.
Men like Petyr Baelish.
Men like Tywin Lannister.
They would not see wonder.
They would see power.
And power—
Was always taken.
Jon exhaled slowly.
Because now—
He carried a secret that could burn kingdoms.
The soldiers looked at them expectantly.
"My lord?" one asked.
Michel mounted his horse without hesitation.when see in box .
"Nothing of importance," he said calmly.
The lie came easily.
Too easily.
"We return."
The men accepted it.
Because they trusted him.
Because they followed him.
But Jon—
Jon said nothing.
Because now he understood something.
Power was not always in what you showed.
Sometimes—
It was in what you hid.
As they rode away from the cave, the forest slowly swallowed it once more.
The entrance faded behind branches and shadow.
As if it had never been there at all.
But deep within—
The eggs pulsed again.
Warmer.
Stronger.
Waiting.
Far away—
In the Eyrie—.
[English is not native language so please under stand
Give me power stones and ticket]