The massive bronze and black iron doors slowly creaked open inwards.
A warm breeze, mingled with the sweet scent of spices and food, wafted out.
Inside, two rows of slaves, dressed in pure white linen, stood with bowed heads.
Their bare feet pressed against the cool marble floor, not daring to make a sound.
And at the end of the line of slaves, a man like a mountain of flesh stood beside a gurgling fountain.
Illyrio Mopatis.
The Governor of Pentos.
A man who had amassed endless wealth through spices, gems, slaves, and even war.
He wore a purple silk robe so voluminous it could have made two tents.
Strings of jewels hung around his fat neck.
His stubby fingers were covered with sparkling rings.
He was laboriously wiping the beads of sweat constantly oozing from his forehead and chin with a silk handkerchief.
Yet, the small eyes hidden behind layers of fat gleamed with a shrewdness and sharpness that belied his corpulent physique.
"Distinguished guest from afar, welcome to Pentos."
Illyrio's voice was smooth and unctuous, and his face broke into a merchant's characteristic and perfectly pitched warm smile.
He had clearly received the news long ago.
He might even have witnessed the astonishing sight of the giant dragon landing on the beach outside the city.
But he didn't expose it, merely sizing up the young man who had come alone with a scrutinizing gaze, betraying no emotion.
Lynn's luxurious silk attire from the East, along with his black hair and black eyes, made him feel a hint of inscrutability.
Such strange hair and skin color, like someone from Essos.
"Governor."
Lynn nodded slightly and walked in with a composed demeanor.
He walked in as if returning to his own home, ignoring the opulent and exotic furnishings around him, and went straight to Illyrio.
"I presume you know why I have come."
Illyrio's smile froze for a moment.
He didn't like this feeling.
The feeling of being seen through by the other party, of having the initiative completely in his hands.
"Please be seated, my friend."
He quickly regained his composure, waving his fat arm, motioning for Lynn to sit on a velvet-cushioned chaise lounge.
Slave girls streamed in, serving chilled mead and silver platters laden with exotic fruits from the Summer Sea.
"The Dragon Rider from Westeros."
Illyrio sat opposite Lynn, his body sinking into the soft cushions with a groan of protest.
"Your image has probably spread throughout the entire Free Cities by now."
"I am but an insignificant merchant, what can I do for you?"
"I want your connections, your fleet, and…"
Lynn's gaze shifted to a detached tower deep within the courtyard.
"The two true dragons you keep in your home."
Illyrio's heart gave a sudden lurch, and the fat on his face trembled.
He knew that the real negotiation was just beginning.
"I think… you need to see them first?"
Illyrio pondered for a moment, then clapped his hands.
A servant went off to do his bidding.
Soon, a faint sound of footsteps came from the depths of the corridor.
Viserys Targaryen walked in.
He was wearing a well-tailored black velvet surcoat, with the three-headed dragon sigil of House Targaryen embroidered in silver thread on the collar and cuffs.
His long, flowing silver hair was meticulously styled.
On his still handsome face was a noble smile, tinged with the aloofness unique to royalty.
Since the failed deal with Khal Drogo, he seemed to have reined himself in considerably, under Magister Illyrio's "advice."
He understood that the roar of a sleeping dragon's wrath alone would not bring him an army or the Iron Throne.
He needed allies, and he needed more valuable leverage.
"Governor."
Viserys first bowed to Illyrio, then turned his gaze to Lynn.
"Presumably, this is the esteemed guest from Westeros?"
He scrutinized Lynn with an appraising look.
Deep within his pale violet eyes, there was a hint 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 identity in a calm tone.
Lynn smiled.
Just one more thing, the owner of the golden crown.
Lynn did not rise, but remained seated on the chaise lounge, picking up his wine glass and gently swirling the amber liquid inside.
This silent arrogance made the smile on Viserys's face stiffen slightly.
Just then, another figure quietly appeared at the entrance to the corridor.
The entire opulent and bustling hall seemed to lose all its color the moment she appeared.
Daenerys Targaryen.
She wore a pale purple gown, its hem flowing like moonlight, silently gliding across the smooth marble floor.
Her silver-gold hair was braided into several delicate plaits, loosely draped behind her head, with a few unruly strands brushing her smooth forehead.
Her beauty was not of this world.
It was a delicate beauty.
Her skin was so fair it seemed translucent.
Her world-renowned violet eyes were like two amethysts washed by morning dew.
Clear, pure, yet with a hint of melancholy and resilience that belied her age.
She was no longer the timid girl who was at everyone's beck and call.
The memory "altered" by Lynn, the prophecy like a divine oracle, had long planted a seed of hope in her heart.
She stood there quietly, like a winter rose blooming silently in the wind and snow.
Fragile, yet with an inviolable sanctity.
Her gaze swept past everyone and landed directly on Lynn.
Their eyes met.
Daenerys's heart stopped for a moment.
It's him!
She didn't recognize the face, but she recognized those eyes!
It was the gaze that had appeared over and over again in her countless midnight dreams!
A gaze carrying the chill winds of the North, looking down on all beings like a god!
"The prince is in the West."
That prophecy, etched deep in her soul, exploded at this moment!
Daenerys's body began to tremble uncontrollably.
Her breathing quickened, and an unnatural flush rose to her cheeks.
"Daenerys?"
Viserys noticed his sister's unusual behavior and frowned in displeasure.
He didn't like Daenerys looking at other men with such eyes.
It made him feel as if his precious goods were being coveted by others.
Daenerys ignored him.
She slowly, step by step, walked towards Lynn.
Everyone present was stunned.
Viserys's face was filled with bewilderment, while Illyrio's small eyes gleamed with intense interest.
Daenerys walked up to Lynn and stopped.
She didn't speak, but simply gazed at him unblinkingly with her tear-filled purple eyes.
In her eyes, there was shock, confusion, anticipation, and countless days and nights of waiting and torment.
"Lord Lynn."
Viserys finally couldn't help but speak, a hint of displeasure in his tone.
"My sister… she is being somewhat impolite."
"It's fine."
Lynn put down his wine glass and stood up.
He was a head taller than Daenerys, his tall figure completely enveloping her in shadow.
He could feel the stirrings deep within her soul.
It was an incredibly pure emotional fluctuation, a mixture of faith and adoration.
It seemed the seed he had planted back then had taken root and sprouted, even blossoming into an unexpected flower.
"The Targaryen bloodline is indeed unique."
Lynn reached out and gently picked up a strand of Daenerys's silver hair with his fingertips.
The touch was cool and smooth.
Daenerys's body trembled violently, yet she did not flinch away.
"King Viserys."
Lynn's gaze turned to the "Beggar King," whose face had already turned somewhat unpleasant.
"You want to reclaim the Iron Throne, don't you?"
"That is rightfully mine," Viserys asserted, lifting his chin.
"Very well." Lynn withdrew his hand.
"I can give you an army, countless gold dragons, and let you cross the Narrow Sea in glory to reclaim everything you desire."
Viserys's breathing instantly quickened.
Even Illyrio, who was beside him, instinctively sat up straight.
"But, why should I believe you?"
Viserys suppressed the ecstasy in his heart and asked in as calm a tone as possible.
"Because of this."
Lynn turned and walked onto the courtyard terrace.
He looked up at the azure 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 exchanged glances, both seeing confusion in each other's eyes.
However, the next second.
A roar, as if from ancient primordial times, came from the distant sky!
The sound was filled with supreme majesty, as if even the sky trembled at its presence!
In the city of Pentos, countless people bustling in the streets suddenly looked up.
They saw it.
A colossal black shadow was rapidly approaching from the direction of the sea, at an incredible speed!
The shadow grew closer and larger… When it flew over Pentos, everyone clearly saw its form!
Wings that blotted out the sky, a back covered in grotesque bone spurs, and… three massive heads!
It was a dragon!
A three-headed dragon not found in any ancient legend!
Its scales were not the black or red of legend, but a translucent blue, like ice crystals.
With every breath, it exhaled visible streams of air from its nostrils, seemingly congealing the surrounding atmosphere!
"Roar—!"
The dragon circled over Pentos, letting out a roar announcing its arrival!
The entire city instantly fell into a deathly silence.
Then, a clamor of screams and panic erupted like a mountain collapse and a tsunami!
Countless people dropped their goods, scurried away, clutching their heads, trying to find any place to hide!
On the terrace of Magister Illyrio's mansion.
The wine glass in Illyrio's hand clattered to the ground.
His fat body shook violently like waves, and he slumped onto the chaise lounge, his face drained of color.
Viserys's nobility and composure had long vanished.
He gripped the terrace railing tightly, his knuckles white from the excessive force.
He stood with his mouth agape, staring blankly at the mythical beast in the sky, no sound escaping his throat.
His handsome face was a mix of extreme terror and a near-frenzied ecstasy!
Dragons!
They were their Targaryen dragons!
The glory of their House had returned!
However, there was only one person present who neither screamed nor was ecstatic.
Daenerys.
She had, at some point, walked to the very edge of the terrace, letting the airflow stirred by the dragon's wings billow her pale purple gown and silver-gold hair.
She looked up, gazing raptly at the three-headed ice dragon in the sky.
Tears, long beyond her control, streamed from her beautiful violet eyes, tracing paths down her pale yet flushed cheeks.
"But the true king from the Land of Always Winter, who rides three ice dragons."
Three-headed dragon.
The oracle… it was true!
Everything was true!
She slowly turned her head.
Her tear-soaked, frighteningly bright eyes turned to the figure who stood amidst the chaos, yet remained as calm as a mountain.
Her Prince.
Her King.
He had come.
He had truly come for her.
Today is last day
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