Lys, Governors Mansion.
The main building, where the final resistance was taking place.
The walls were covered in sword hacks, axe gashes, and scorch marks; the bodies of Soldiers from both sides lay strewn across the floor.
The scent of blood was so thick it was stifling.
Karl leaned against a broken stone pillar, gasping for air, every breath bringing a burning pain to his lungs along with the smell of blood.
His left arm hung limp, clearly broken, while his remaining right hand tightly gripped a notched, broken sword.
Henry knelt beside him, a horrific wound across his abdomen; the cloth used for a simple bandage was soaked through with blood. He leaned against the wall, his face ashen, but his eyes remained fierce as he stared fixedly at the only staircase, gripping his great hammer.
Luke was covered in blood—some his own, more of it his enemies'. He held his shield and sword, guarding the top of the stairs, a pile of enemy corpses at his feet. But he too was swaying, his shield shattered and his blade chipped.
Luciana stood behind them, her elegant dress long since stained with mud and blood, torn in several places.
She held a rapier in her hand, its tip stained with blood. Her beautiful face was smudged with soot and blood spots. Her purple eyes lacked their usual charm or shrewdness, leaving only a desperate resolve to perish together with the enemy.
Beside her, fewer than two hundred scarred warriors from the Bloodsworn and Skull Squad remained. Every man was wounded, their eyes filled with exhaustion and despair, yet they still gripped their weapons tightly.
From below the stairs, the roars of Tyrosh Soldiers and the sound of them battering against the barricades echoed continuously, wood splinters flying.
This final barrier wouldn't hold much longer.
"It looks like... this is it."
Karl spoke hoarsely, trying to smile, but it only tugged at the wounds on his face, turning into an ugly twitch.
"It was worth it."
Luke didn't speak; he just shifted his shattered shield slightly forward, his fingers turning white from the force of his grip on his sword.
Luciana took a deep breath, slightly raising the tip of her sword and aiming it at her own heart.
She would rather take her own life than suffer humiliation.
At that very moment.
The sounds of battering and shouting from below the stairs suddenly stopped.
Then came the sound of chaotic footsteps, startled cries, and then... the sound of people running away quickly?
Dead silence.
Only their heavy breathing and heartbeats remained.
"What's happening?" Henry struggled to poke his head out to look, but it aggravated his wound, causing him to groan.
"They're retreating?" Luke couldn't believe it.
Karl managed to crawl to a broken window and looked outside.
He saw that in the Governors Mansion courtyard and surrounding streets, which had been packed tight, the Tyrosh Soldiers were retreating like an ebbing tide. They dropped their armor and weapons, their faces filled with an inexplicable terror, as if demons were chasing them.
Only a few seemed not to have received the order, standing blankly in place before being swept away by the fleeing troops.
"They really... retreated?"
Luciana also leaned toward the window, her purple eyes full of confusion, but a faint spark of hope—one she hardly dared believe in—quietly ignited.
Almost at the same time their doubts were mounting.
"ROAR————!!!!"
An indescribable, soul-shaking dragon roar that seemed to come from the primordial past rolled in from outside the city, from the direction of the Port!
Even from this distance, the supreme majesty and power in that sound made the crumbling main building tremble, dust fluttering down.
Then, the sky suddenly darkened! Dark clouds gathered, and an unspeakable, heart-palpitating pressure shrouded heaven and earth.
A gale whipped up without warning, making the broken windows clatter, and faint flashes of lightning flickered through the clouds.
"It's... it's..."
Karl's eyes widened suddenly, his whole body trembling with excitement and disbelief.
"His Highness!!!" Henry screamed out, his eyes instantly bursting with the ecstatic light of a narrow escape!
"His Highness is back! It's the dragon! It's His Highness's dragon!" Luke threw aside his shattered shield and shouted excitedly.
"Quick! Move it! Move the things away from the door!"
Luciana was the first to react, her voice carrying a sob and unprecedented excitement.
She threw down her rapier and, disregarding her appearance, worked alongside the Soldiers to pull away the heavy furniture and corpses blocking the stairs.
Hope gave them one last burst of strength.
The obstacles were quickly cleared.
Just as they rushed out of the main building and reached the front courtyard of the Governors Mansion, which was filled with bodies and ruins.
The ground suddenly shuddered!
It wasn't an earthquake, but the impact of some colossal creature landing nearby.
They looked up toward the direction where the pressure and dragon roar had come from.
Then, they saw a sight they would never forget:
At the edge of the Governors Mansion's front courtyard, a pale golden, mountain-like dragon body stood quietly, its shadow covering most of the ruins.
Ghidorah slightly lowered its three heads, which were covered in hideous bone armor. Six molten-gold vertical pupils, like burning suns, coldly swept over the Tyrosh Soldiers in the courtyard who hadn't had time to escape... who were now completely crushed by the supreme dragon's might, slumped on the ground, shivering, or even incontinent.
Under the dragon's might, they had lost even the strength to flee, leaving only the most primitive fear and submission in the face of a supreme being.
And from the side of the dragon's neck, a figure leaped down lightly.
Black robes, silver hair, fluttering slightly in the wind whipped up by the dragon's presence.
Aegon Targaryen.
He stepped across the ruins with a steady pace, walking toward the group of his last followers standing dazed on the spot.
Karl, Henry, Luke, Luciana, and the hundred or so scarred Soldiers behind them who still kept their backs straight, all stared fixedly at the approaching figure.
Ecstasy, excitement, grievance, lingering fear, the daze of surviving a disaster... all sorts of emotions crashed within their chests, making their bodies tremble and their eyes burn.
Luciana was the first who couldn't hold back; crystal tears welled up and rolled down her soot-stained cheeks.
She didn't want to cry, especially in front of him, but her tears wouldn't listen.
Aegon walked up to them and stopped.
His gaze slowly swept over Karl's broken arm, Henry's severe abdominal wound, Luke's blood-stained body, the fatigue and scars on every Soldier's face, and finally, rested on Luciana's weeping purple eyes.
At that moment, the usual coldness and deep-pool-like calm in his eyes seemed to thaw slightly.
It was an extremely subtle ripple, yet it truly existed.
He saw loyalty, he saw perseverance, he saw the fire that had not been extinguished even in a desperate situation.
He was no longer that destitute prince struggling on both sides of the Narrow Sea, constantly worried about his identity being exposed, facing the whole world alone.
He had a dragon.
He had a city—no, two, and perhaps soon more.
He had a group of followers willing to fight for him until the last moment, to shed their last drop of blood.
The ice that had long occupied his heart, named loneliness and alienation, seemed at this moment to have a crack quietly smashed open by something warm and solid.
He raised his hand, his movement natural and gentle, and used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tear falling from the corner of Luciana's eye.
The touch was warm, carrying the tremors of a survivor.
Then, he turned to Luke, Karl, and Henry, patting each of them firmly on their uninjured shoulders.
Each pat was steady and powerful, conveying silent affirmation and comfort.
His gaze swept over every scarred but still standing Soldier behind them, and he nodded slightly.
Finally, the corner of his mouth curled up almost imperceptibly into an extremely faint but very real arc.
It wasn't the arrogant smile of a conqueror, nor was it his usual cold mockery.
It was a kind of softness that mixed relief, recognition, and a hint of... perhaps even he hadn't clearly realized it yet... "belonging."
He looked at them, at these people who had guarded the last inch of land for him in despair and burned their last drop of passion.
He clearly spoke a few words; his voice wasn't loud, but every word fell clearly into everyone's ears, striking their hearts:
"You have not disappointed me."
A short sentence.
No grand praise, no empty promises.
Yet it made Karl grit his teeth suddenly to prevent himself from sobbing disgracefully.
It made Henry ignore the sharp pain in his abdomen and straighten his back straighter than a javelin.
It made Luke and all the Soldiers instinctively puff out their chests, their exhaustion replaced by intense pride and excitement.
And it made the tears Luciana had just stopped flow out once more, but this time, they were tears of joy and release.
It was worth it.
All the perseverance, all the scars, all the near-death despair—it was all worth it for this one sentence.
Aegon's gaze went past them, toward the courtyard and the city further away.
The smoke had not yet dissipated, but the enemy's clamor had completely subsided, replaced by a strange silence that blanketed the city, and... the faint sound of the victors' horns and the rhythmic footsteps of the Golden Company.
His Fleet, his Soldiers, were taking over this scarred city that had finally returned to his hands.
"Clear the battlefield, treat the wounded."
Aegon withdrew his gaze and ordered, his tone returning to its usual calm.
"Karl, Henry, go to the healers immediately. Luke, take men to maintain order in the Governors Mansion and gather our people."
"Luciana..."
He looked at her and paused for a moment: "Appease the citizens in the city and tally the losses."
"Tell everyone the war is over. Lys... is safe."
Aegon looked up again at the quietly guarding pale golden giant shadow.
Ghidorah's six dragon eyes were also looking down at him, its throat emitting a low, thunderous purr, as if asking a question or simply confirming his state.
"Go now."
Aegon said one last time to his loyal subordinates, then turned and walked toward his mountain-like companion.
He needed to go to the Port to completely end the remnants of the battle at sea, to accept those heads forced to bow, and to establish a brand new order that belonged only to the Targaryens.