On the deep blue sea, a massive Fleet was slowly sailing westward.
The red banners of Volantis fluttered atop the masts.
In the center of the banner, a majestic tiger and a steady war elephant were entwined, symbolizing the internal struggles of this city that had never ceased for centuries since the fall of Valyria.
The Fleet commander, a captain from the Tiger Party, stood on the high platform at the bow, his hands gripping the cold bronze railing. His brow was furrowed as he gazed toward the end of the eastern horizon.
According to the original plan, his Fleet should have arrived at the walls of the City of Lys two days ago. Taking advantage of the internal strife in that "Pearl of Trade," they intended to seize control of the Port and grab the maximum profit under the guise of mediating disputes or restoring order.
As the eldest daughter of Valyria and the most legitimate successor to the great Freehold, how could Volantis let such a golden opportunity slip away and allow hegemony at the western end of the Narrow Sea to fall into other hands?
However, the long voyage, plagued first by a lack of wind and then by headwinds, had delayed their progress.
And when they finally reached the outskirts of this intended hunting ground, the scent of the prey had become utterly foreign, even... terrifying.
The first scout ship sent to investigate brought back confusing news: Rhis was smoking, but the banners flying over the city... did not seem to be those of Lys, nor were they the heraldry of Tyrosh.
That banner... a black field with a red, three-headed beast?
The Tiger Party commander snorted in disdain, thinking the scout's eyes had played tricks on him in the blazing sun or that he had been misled by the lingering smoke.
He ordered another ship to close in for observation.
The second ship brought back clearer and more unsettling news: the Port was indeed being repaired, but it was orderly, not at all like a place that had just undergone internal strife.
The style of the armor worn by the Soldiers guarding the Port... was very similar to that of the Golden Company, but the details were different.
Among the busy craftsmen on the city walls, there seemed to be many tyroshi faces?
The Tiger Party commander's brow knitted into a knot.
It wasn't surprising that the Golden Company had broken their contract to join a new master; after all, they were a bunch of mercenaries, and their "word as good as gold" was something one could just listen to and ignore.
tyroshi appearing on the walls of Lys?
Had that old fox Grover moved so quickly that he had already taken Lys and was even helping to repair the city?
This wasn't his style.
Soon after, from a panicked merchant ship trying to bypass them and flee to further waters, they obtained the first fragments of what could only be described as absurd intelligence:
"A dragon! There's really a dragon! A golden dragon with three heads!"
The merchant captain's face was deathly pale as he spoke incoherently: "It burned the Tyrosh Fleet! Lys... Lys is now ruled by that Dragon King! The Golden Company has sworn fealty to him! Tyrosh... Tyrosh is finished too!"
Dragon King? A three-headed dragon? The Tyrosh Fleet burned? Tyrosh finished?
In the flagship's council chamber, the officers looked at each other, then erupted into a burst of laughter mixed with skepticism and ridicule.
Descendants of the legendary Dragon Kings? Dragons that had long been extinct?
This must be a clumsy lie fabricated by the lysene or tyroshi to cover up some shameful defeat!
The Archon of Tyrosh might have used some new, terrifying weapon, like a large amount of wildfire, which was mistaken for dragonflame.
Although the Tiger Party commander didn't believe it either, his years of caution made him suppress his doubts. He sent out a third group of scouts, the most elite, in a swift boat under the cover of night to get as close to Rhis as possible, even attempting to land and capture a prisoner for interrogation.
Now, the scouts were back.
The face of the captain leading the team was even worse than that of the merchant captain from before; his lips were even trembling uncontrollably.
He hadn't brought back a prisoner, but rather a few reports that required all his strength to keep coherent, along with an eyewitness description that all the scouts swore upon in unison:
"Commander... Lys has indeed changed hands."
"The Port and the walls are filled with unfamiliar banners and armor."
"Golden Company Soldiers are on patrol, but they take orders from a young man with silver hair and purple eyes. They all call him Your Highness..."
"The Tyrosh Fleet... most of it is in the Port, but they've lowered their own flags and raised that three-headed dragon banner."
"We... we didn't dare get too close, but... just before dawn..."
The scout captain's voice dropped, filled with unspeakable fear:
"We saw... that thing."
"It rose from the direction of the mountains behind the city of Lys... huge... unbelievably huge, pale gold, and in the morning light... it had three heads."
"It was circling... above the city and the Port."
"We hid in the crevices of the reefs beneath the sea cliffs, not daring to even breathe."
"It flew slowly, but that... feeling, it was as if the entire sky was pressing down."
"The oldest sailor among us, who once saw a sea monster at the edge of the Smoke Sea, said... it was ten thousand times more terrifying than the most fearsome sea monster."
There was a deathly silence in the council chamber.
There was no more laughter.
Every officer, including the most radical of the Tiger Party, turned pale.
They could question words and mock rumors, but when their most elite and reliable scouts described such a specific and consistent scene of horror in a tone bordering on collapse, the foundation of their doubt was shaken.
The Tiger Party commander felt his throat go dry.
He waved for the nearly exhausted scout captain to go and rest, his gaze slowly scanning everyone in the room.
On the faces that had originally been eager to add military honors to their names using the wealth and Ports of Lys, there was now only shock, uncertainty, and even... fear.
He thought of the records in ancient scrolls and family oral histories.
Three hundred years ago, that Dragon King who came from the west riding a black dragon... Balerion the Black Dread?
Or was it something else? His memory was a bit fuzzy, but the core of the story was crystal clear.
How the Volantis Fleet, which attempted to challenge the authority of the dragons, was turned to ash under dragonflame; how the arrogance of the legitimate heirs of Valyria was burned away before a true creation of Valyria.
"The eldest daughter of Valyria..." the Tiger Party commander whispered to himself, a hint of bitterness in his voice that even he hadn't noticed.
"We know all too well the weight a dragon carries."
"Commander," a steady voice spoke up.
It was the vice-commander, a representative from the Elephant Party.
He usually handled Fleet supplies and dealt with merchants, rarely speaking up in military meetings, but at this moment, his voice became the clearest in the council chamber.
"The scouts saw it with their own eyes; I fear... the rumors are not false. If that Dragon King truly has a dragon's aid and has already swiftly integrated the forces of Lys and Tyrosh..."
He paused, looking at the Tiger Party commander and the other officers. "Our Fleet might be enough to suppress any of the Free Cities, but before a dragon... it is nothing more than a floating woodpile."
The words were harsh, but no one refuted them.
The facts were right before them. The Tyrosh Fleet was not much weaker than theirs, yet it was reportedly finished.
The defenses of Lys were strong and the Golden Company was skilled in battle, yet they too had a new master.
If all of this was because of that dragon... "We cannot take the risk," the Elephant Party vice-commander continued, his tone calm but brook no argument.
"Our mission is to observe the situation and act when the opportunity arises, not to fight a battle to the death against an unknown dragon and its army."
"I suggest the Fleet anchor here and cease further movement."
"Immediately dispatch the fastest ship back to Volantis to report everything that has happened here in detail to the Triarchs: the change of hands in Lys, the Golden Company's involvement, the fall of Tyrosh, and... the reappearance of a dragon."
"Let them decide our next course of action."
The lips of the young pro-war officers moved as if they wanted to argue, but when their eyes met the pale faces of their colleagues and they thought of the scouts' descriptions, they ultimately said nothing.
Before a real, living dragon, all courage and ambition seemed to pale into insignificance.
The Tiger Party commander remained silent for a long time.
The sea breeze blew in through the porthole, carrying the scent of salt and a hint of chill.
He finally nodded slowly, as if this action had exhausted all his vigor as a radical of the Tiger Party.
"Pass the order," his voice was somewhat hoarse.
"The Fleet is to maintain its current formation and anchor here on alert. Send a swift ship back immediately to inform the Triarchs of everything here... exactly as it happened."
"We... will wait for orders."
He walked to the window and looked toward the end of the coastline once more.
It was no longer the plump prey he had imagined he could easily seize, but a whirlpool rising with mists of the unknown and terror.
Dragon King... Lys... Dragon... these three words echoed repeatedly in his mind.
Volantis, the self-proclaimed eldest daughter of Valyria, felt for the first time a chill that reached the marrow of its bones and... hesitation in the face of a true legacy.
Meanwhile, further to the east, inside the city of Myr, it was a different scene entirely.
"Quiet! Everyone be quiet!"
The First Magistrate of Myr tried to suppress the clamor that nearly blew the roof off, but his voice was drowned out by the massive wave of sound.
"The Golden Company has betrayed us! They took our gold dragons, took our supplies, and then turned coat at the critical moment! This is an insult to all mercenaries! A trampling of Myr's dignity!"
A white-haired Councilor slammed the table and roared, his spit nearly flying into the face of the Treasurer opposite him.
"Now is not the time to go after the Golden Company, Councilor Viserys!" the Treasurer, a lean middle-aged man, retorted while wiping his face, his voice shrill.
"Tyrosh! Tyrosh has fallen! Grover is dead! His Fleet has surrendered! What does this mean? It means that Targaryen already controls the two most important city-states at the western end of the Narrow Sea!"
"Who is his next target? Think with that brain of yours that's stuffed with seaweed!"
The news of Tyrosh's fall caused the Council of Myr to explode.
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"
One Councilor screamed in disbelief, calling it a rumor spread by the enemy.
Someone slammed a blood-stained urgent report onto the table and said in a sinister voice: "Three different channels, urgent reports sent almost simultaneously! We have informants planted in Lys, and there are merchant ship owners who fled from Tyrosh."
"There are even... the scouts we sent who were lucky enough to escape back."
"They all described the same thing: a huge, pale gold, three-headed monster!"
"It burns warships, it destroys city walls!"
The sinister man looked around and said word for word, "That is no rumor. It is the truth."
"The dragons have returned. They have returned with the fires of vengeance and conquest."
Panic, like the coldest seawater, instantly submerged everyone.
"We also sent ships to participate in the siege of Lys..." someone said with a trembling voice.
"Our people... even hunted down the envoy sent by that Targaryen..." another person's face turned ashen.
"We must prepare for war immediately!" The Councilor who had previously blamed the Golden Company stood up abruptly, trying to rally morale.
"Mobilize all the militia, reinforce the city defenses, recall all ships abroad! Myr is not Tyrosh; we have better siege engines, we have—"
"Have what? More scorpions to provoke that dragon?" the Treasurer interrupted sharply.
"Look at what happened to Tyrosh! City walls? Before dragonflame, they are nothing but butter!"
"Then what do you suggest? Surrender? Crawl out like a dog, kiss that bastard's boots, and beg him to forgive our past disrespect?"
"Perhaps... we could negotiate?" a weak voice suggested.
"We could express... our apologies? Compensate for the losses? Acknowledge his status?"
"Compensate? Hand over the wealth we've accumulated for centuries, our unparalleled craftsmanship, our city?"
The Magistrate of Myr finally found a chance to interject, his voice bitter: "Even if we were willing, would that Dragon King believe our apologies?"
"Don't forget, we are allies with Tyrosh. We sent troops together to besiege his Lys and hunted his envoy! In his eyes, there is no difference between us and Tyrosh!"
The argument broke out again, more intense and desperate than before.
The pro-war faction clamored for an alliance with Volantis, or even going as far as Pentos to seek aid, resisting at any cost.
The pro-peace faction argued over the terms and bottom lines of surrender, hoping to preserve the city and some degree of autonomy.
Even more people fell into a numb panic, thinking only of how to move their families and property away.
While the Council of Myr was embroiled in arguments and the Volantis Fleet was forced to anchor.
The object of their fear, suspicion, and endless debate—that silver-haired Dragon King—was not enjoying leisure after his conquest as they imagined, nor was he busy digesting the spoils of the two cities.
Rhis.
The morning light pierced through the sea mist, illuminating the dense forest of masts in the Port.
Over two hundred warships of various sizes had completed their final resupply and boarding of personnel.
The surrendered Tyrosh navy, three thousand Golden Company Soldiers drawn out, and newly recruited lysene troops acting as logistics—totaling more than twenty-six thousand men—were ready to depart.
The bustle of repairs from yesterday was gone from the docks, replaced by a low rumble of iron and wood, the creaking of tightening ropes, the short commands of officers, and the heavy footsteps of running Soldiers.
A massive, pale gold dragon shadow sat quietly on the headland outside the Port, its three heads lowered as if still in a light slumber.
Aegon stood beside Ghidorah, his black robe fluttering in the sea breeze, his silver hair nearly dazzling in the morning light.
The blade of judgment had quietly been unsheathed.
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