"Khaleesi, there's a Fire Mage up ahead performing in the street. He's surrounded by a dense crowd of milkmen, completely blocking the road!" Aggo leaned down, pressed his face against the window of the oxcart, and shouted.
He had no choice but to shout. The street was as chaotic as boiling porridge, teeming with people and noise, even more so than a modern train station during the Spring Festival travel rush.
"Just a Fire Mage," Xaro said dismissively, his face showing no interest. "You see those guys everywhere—in back alleys, taverns, and docks. Nothing special."
Accustomed to the traffic jams in Qarth, Xaro remained unfazed. He pulled a bottle of red wine from a small compartment beneath his chair, swirled it, and offered it to Daenerys. "You miss your homeland, don't you? This is premium golden wine from Arbor. Shall we have another glass?"
"No, thank you. Fire Mages aren't that common on the Western Continent. I want to take a look," Daenerys said, shaking her head.
In truth, Fire Mages were frequently encountered in the streets of Braavos and Pentos, and even in King's Landing, under the Seven Gods, there was a Guild of Pyromancers.
The Fire Mage Daenerys had encountered earlier was less a mage and more of an acrobat or illusionist.
But Daenerys didn't want to waste any more time arguing with Xaro; she was tired.
"Find me a horse," she said, leaning out of the curtain to address the Bloodriders.
"Khaleesi, your qipao is not suitable for riding," Jorah said, stepping forward.
Three Bloodriders were positioned around the ox cart—one on each side and one leading the way. Ser Jorah stood guard behind, alongside Quaithe, watching over the dragon cage in the second cart.
"Ugh, this is so annoying," Daenerys muttered, looking around. She realized she was too short to see over the dense crowd.
Suddenly, an idea struck her, and she smiled. "I'll stand on the ox's back. Aggo, you can steady me."
The ox cart was one of Xaro's gifts to Daenerys. Its body was crafted from ebony and gold, and the oxen pulling it were rare, exceptional beasts—one as white as ivory, the other as black as jade, both magnificent and remarkably docile. Their horns were inlaid with jewels.
Without waiting for Aggo's help, Daenerys leaped down from the cart, squeezed past the White Bull, and landed lightly on its broad back like an agile monkey.
It was one thing to not look, but just a glance sent Daenerys into a state of shock. The Fire Mage was a short man, clad in a tight red robe, with a gaunt, dark face and a wiry, monkey-like physique. Now, like the most miraculous of magical apes, he waved his hand and summoned a blazing staircase of fire that hovered two meters above the ground.
He leaped onto the swaying, flickering red steps and didn't fall. Daenerys saw no hidden supports.
This was just the beginning. Standing on the ethereal flame staircase, he waved his hands repeatedly, and one by one, orange-red steps spiraled into existence, extending upward toward the grid-like ceiling. Then, like a nimble ape, he climbed the fiery steps, each step vanishing behind him as he passed, leaving only a wisp of silver smoke.
He climbed higher and higher, four stories high. At the top, he waved to the roaring crowd below, then suddenly leaned backward. The last step of the fire staircase vanished along with him, leaving him completely gone without a trace.
Daenerys's eyes widened as she stared at the empty, ochre sky, her mind screaming, *This is impossible.*
*If street performers can do this, how am I supposed to make a living?*
"Aggo, Ser Jorah, what do you think?" she couldn't help but ask the two men guarding the White Bull.
Riding tall horses, they witnessed the earlier miracle alongside Daenerys.
"A rather impressive trick," Jorah boomed. "Many court magicians couldn't pull this off."
"Did you understand it? Where did the person go? How could they stand in the flames out of thin air? Could it really be magic?" Daenerys asked in a rush.
"Hahaha, Your Highness, you're overthinking it. It's just a street performer's trick. That's how they make their living. If they can't fool us, they're not doing their job properly," Jorah laughed heartily.
"This wasn't a trick," a woman said in Common.
Hearing the voice, Daenerys finally noticed Quaithe standing beside the White Bull, still dressed in her gray linen wizard's robe and red lacquered wooden mask.
She had no idea how long Quaithe had been there; the others had completely overlooked her.
*A wizard who's maxed out her stealth skills,* Daenerys thought, *how is that even possible?*
While silently grumbling to herself, Daenerys shifted to a side-saddle on the White Bull and greeted her with a smile. "Greetings, Master Wizard. It's been too long. How have you been?"
After the pleasantries, she eagerly pressed her questions. "Do you know the trick behind that magic? Or was it real magic? But how could that be?"
"Six months ago, I would have agreed with you without seeing it myself," Quaithe said, her eyes glistening behind the mask. "But things have changed. Daenerys, you've brought the power of magic back to this world."
Daenerys blinked hard, but the color of her eyes remained hidden.
"That's a bit of an exaggeration, isn't it? If I had such power, I wouldn't be so clueless about magic myself," she laughed.
Quaithe pointed at a Fire Mage who had suddenly emerged from the crowd. "I know him. Six months ago, in this very spot, he couldn't even light a fire with a Dragon Crystal. He had to rely on gunpowder and wildfire to fool the ignorant fools."
"Daenerys, look closely at that fat Qarthian in the colorful robes. He's a priest of the Temple of Memory. And the girl behind him with the felt hat—pay attention to her."
Daenerys followed her gaze and focused on a girl about seven or eight meters away. Dressed as a lady from a wealthy family with a felt hat and a crimson skirt, she leaned casually against the priest's waist before casually squeezing past him in another direction.
"That girl's a pickpocket!" Aggo exclaimed. "I saw her use a blade to cut open the Milkman Priest's pouch!"
"Now you understand?" Quaithe turned to Daenerys and said calmly, "That Fire Mage uses magic to distract the audience while his trained pickpockets get to work."
"But what does that prove?" Daenerys murmured.
"He's not a true Fire Mage."
"You witnessed the flame staircase yourself. Six months ago, he could only perform tricks like walking barefoot on hot coals or making roses bloom in mid-air. You can figure out the trick yourself—compared to his current performance, it's like comparing mud to the clouds."
She sighed. "The reason is simple: the surge of magic is empowering him. Every mystic in this world is rapidly growing stronger."
"What's the point of telling me this when you refuse to teach me magic?" Daenerys replied indifferently.
Even though dragons had brought magic to this world, she couldn't cast a single basic spell. Quaithe's words today had extinguished any lingering hope of studying in Asshai.
If she were to go to the Wizards' City, would she be the one studying magic from the wizards, or would they be the ones researching magic from her?
"I must warn you, Daenerys Targaryen," Quaithe said, stepping forward and grasping Daenerys's right hand, which was resting on the bull's back. "You must leave this city immediately, or you'll never be able to."
"Children of the Shadow, do not touch the Mother of Dragons!" Jhogo's eyes narrowed as he swiftly tapped the whip handle against Quaithe's fingers. The woman flinched, her hand recoiling in pain.
Daenerys frowned and raised her right hand, examining it closely. Her skin was pale and soft, without a single red mark.
Could it have been an illusion?
The moment Quaithe touched her wrist, a sharp, stinging pain had shot through her.
It had come and gone so quickly, she wasn't sure if it had been real.
"What danger?" she asked.
Quaithe remained composed, unperturbed by Jhogo's intervention. "The royal families have seen your dragons. You've refused Xaro multiple times, and you'll continue to do so. The warlocks covet your dragons, as you well know. None of Qarth's major powers are your allies. Isn't that enough danger?"
Daenerys glanced subtly at the bullock cart behind her and replied noncommittally, "Where do you think I should go? Hmm, I won't go to Asshai."
Quaithe said calmly, "To go north, you must travel south. To reach the Western Marches, you must journey east. To advance, you must retreat. To find light, you must pass through shadow—this is your destiny."
"Ah, why must you send me to Asshai?" Daenerys sighed helplessly. "Even a clumsy witch-demon easily ruined my life, and there, countless wizards study the arcane arts."
"There lies the truth—the world's truth you must know," Quaithe replied.
Before Daenerys could ask another question, she bowed and vanished into the crowd.
Aggo watched Quaithe's retreating figure and snorted. "No sane person would believe the Children of the Shadow."
"Hahaha! Your barbarians possess a wisdom they don't even realize," Xaro called from within the carriage, having overheard their conversation. He pulled back the curtain and invited Daenerys to sit back in the chariot. "Even if you continue to refuse me, I will remain your most loyal friend and ardent suitor. You may consider my palace your own home, to reside there as long as you wish."
"Thank you, my most trusted friend, noble Xaro," Daenerys said with a smile.
*Thank you, my ass,* she thought. *It's time to leave.*
As the sun set, they returned to Xaro's mansion. After dealing with Xaro, Daenerys immediately summoned Jorah to her study to ask his opinion on Quaithe's words.
"Though I don't trust her, Quaithe is right about one thing: the longer we stay, the more dangerous it becomes. Even from the perspective of guest rights, a short visit makes us guests. If we linger too long, our stay becomes a residence, and we'll no longer be considered guests," Jorah said, recalling a tradition from the North.
"Where do you think we should go next?" she asked.
"Eastward. The Far East extends far beyond Asshai. The Jade Sea is home to numerous trading city-states," Jorah replied.
Daenerys said calmly, "Going east would almost mean abandoning any chance of returning to Westeros, and abandoning allies like Illyrio who support the Targaryen family."
"Illyrio is not to be trusted. His obesity suggests gluttony, and as the saying goes, 'The gluttonous are always greedy.' Moreover, he's a powerful, influential figure, and another saying holds, 'The powerful are always cunning.' How can you trust a man who is both greedy and cunning?" Jorah said gravely.
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