Daenerys didn't immediately agree to Xaro's proposal to meet Euron. That evening, when she asked Jorah for advice, the knight urged her to avoid dealing with such mysterious individuals.
"Sir, this isn't Westeros, the magical desert of the Seven Gods. I'd gladly keep my distance from sorcerers, but you're out in the streets every day. Fire Mages, Warlocks, Priests—they're everywhere, in every alley. You can't avoid them." She sighed.
Even in Westeros, the westernmost land under the Seven Gods, the realm was being battered by waves of unprecedented magical events.
Lord Beric had been killed repeatedly, only to be resurrected each time. The Red Priestess was killing people from afar with Shadow Children. The leech curse. Catelyn, nearly drowned, had been revived.
And prophecies! The barrier to learning prophecy was terrifyingly low. It seemed every mage in this world could predict the future, and nearly every major future event had been successfully foretold.
In such a fantastical world, the notion of fearing spirits while trying to avoid them was futile. You simply couldn't!
So, Daenerys asked him directly: What was Euron's personality like? Could he be trusted?
"Xaro wasn't lying. Euron is more interested in enjoying a comfortable life than seeking the truth of the world. He's far less dangerous than Pyat. If he allows us to accompany you, it shouldn't be too risky."
"Of course, the best course of action is still not to go at all and to avoid any contact with warlocks. Without contact, without blood and hair, it's difficult for warlocks to harm others."
In the end, Ser Jorah tried to persuade her one last time.
Daenerys refused his advice, for a simple reason: she couldn't avoid it.
Did Renly actively seek out warlocks?
No, he had his throat slit by the Ghost Child.
Westeros desperately suppressed those with magical abilities. The Fire Mages and Red Priests, so common on the continent of Essos, were practically unknown in the Seven Kingdoms. Yet the White Walker crisis had erupted in the North.
Old Mormont led a group of Night's Watch members beyond the Wall to investigate the White Walkers' movements. Only Sam discovered that dragon glass could harm them.
Even Sam had only learned this by chance, hastily searching the Night's Watch library for information.
Though Daenerys, who possessed the ultimate weapon of a dragon, had no need to force herself to master magic and sorcery, she at least had a basic understanding of these mystical forces.
As agreed, around eight in the evening, Daenerys and Xaro boarded a oxcart, escorted by Jorah and his men. They traveled through four streets and two brightly lit night markets, arriving at the small merchants' district on the west side of the city.
"Euron is far more normal than most warlocks," Xaro said, his voice jovial, "but to us, he's still an odd fellow." He shifted his stout frame and stepped down from the cart using the footboard.
As he walked, he continued with a chuckle, "Almost no one sees him during the day. But after midnight, you often spot him in his gray warlock's robe on the streets, by the public fountains, or at the docks."
"That's why they call me the Nightwalker."
Daenerys rubbed her eyes. The massive, crimson-banded purplewood gate, which had been tightly shut moments before, now stood wide open. A middle-aged man with shoulder-length black hair stood at the entrance.
He had the typical pale, milk-white skin of a Qarth man, a long, horse-like face, and the blue lips characteristic of warlocks. A black pearl pierced the left side of his nose, standing out vividly against his ashen complexion.
"When did you get out?" Daenerys asked, her mouth agape, her heart pounding with shock.
She moved with practiced agility, leaping from the carriage first. Her eyes remained fixed on the gate a few steps away. One moment the wooden door stood tightly shut; the next, in the blink of an eye, the host had emerged to greet his guests.
"Hahaha, Mother of Dragons, you are the source of miracles. You shouldn't be surprised by such trivial tricks," Euron boomed with laughter.
"A wizard's little tricks are nothing to be concerned about," Xaro said, shaking his head with a nonchalant air. "Compared to Quaithe, that Shadowbinder, he doesn't even qualify as an apprentice."
The merchant spoke bluntly, but the Nightwalker showed no offense. "In all of Qarth, who can claim to be stronger than Quaithe, unless it be an immortal hidden within the Temple?"
"Welcome, Mother of Dragons. Your presence at my humble abode is the greatest honor of my life," Euron said, bowing gallantly. "To express my gratitude, I will dedicate tonight to showcasing the full power of magic for your enjoyment."
With three sharp claps, he beckoned with his right hand, leaving Daenerys and her companions bewildered. "Please follow me."
Hesitantly, Daenerys ascended the steps and crossed the threshold.
"Good heavens, how beautiful!" she exclaimed involuntarily.
Beyond the gate lay a path paved with red stone slabs, flanked by flowerbeds two meters wide. These beds were filled with plants resembling sorghum, tall and slender, reaching over two meters in height. Their stalks were like opaque white glass, topped with brown leaves that shimmered with a faint blue glow.
Walking through this magical landscape, Daenerys was utterly captivated by its otherworldly beauty, her steps involuntarily slowing.
"Ghost Grass?!" Ser Jorah's face paled as he cried out in alarm.
"Clang! Clang! Clang!" The Bloodriders, startled at first, immediately drew their curved swords and moved to surround Daenerys, shielding her with their bodies.
"Calm yourselves," the Nightwalker said with a faint smile. "This is the Warlock's estate. Ghost Grass is merely a decorative plant."
"Khaleesi, this is a cursed land! We must leave immediately!" Aggo shouted. "Only cursed souls make the Ghost Grass glow. Everyone knows that!"
"Everyone knows that," Rakharo echoed.
"Ghost Grass is an ill omen! When it covers the world, all other life will perish! Everyone knows that!" Jhogo roared.
"Calm down," Daenerys said, pushing Aggo and Rakharo aside and striding forward. "If Ghost Grass were truly so dangerous, would the Qarth allow it to exist?"
"Mother of Dragons, your wisdom is beyond compare," Euron flattered her before explaining, "The reason Centaurs fear Ghost Grass is simply that the plant is extremely aggressive. Where it grows, no other plants can survive, and livestock cannot eat it."
"Heh, your barbarians call saltwater 'poison water.' To them, any water a horse cannot drink is poison, and any grass a horse cannot eat is cursed."
Though Euron's logic was sound, Daenerys disliked his condescending tone toward the Centaurs.
"If Ghost Grass is just an ordinary plant, why did the Great Warlock plant it in his own garden?"
"Hmm..." Euron gazed at her deeply before nodding. "You're right. Ghost Grass is far from ordinary. It's a natural 'water level gauge' for the Magic Tide.
When the Magic Tide surges, Ghost Grass grows. When the world's magical power recedes, the grass withers and cannot sprout again.
Its growth is determined by the world's magical level. The Centaurs' fear that it might cover the world is completely unfounded."
Daenerys touched the stem, as white and translucent as white jade, but felt nothing unusual.
"What were you doing clapping before you entered?" she asked.
"Infusing them with curse power," Euron replied with a peculiar smile. "The souls of the newly dead make them phosphoresce."
"Ugh..."
Euron wasted no time in leading Daenerys and her companions to his laboratory.
Jorah and the Centaur stared in awe at the array of bottles and jars, while Daenerys looked strangely, as if she'd stumbled into a chemistry lab.
Glass beakers, graduated cylinders, volumetric flasks, brown reagent bottles, an iron distillation apparatus, a peculiar heating lamp?
"What's this lamp?" she asked, pointing at a heating device resembling a miniature propane tank.
"Secondary Wildfire reagent."
"Wildfire?!" Jorah yelped, quickly pulling Daenerys back a few steps. "Seven hells, are you insane? Leaving Wildfire lying around on the table? With Qarth's sweltering heat—"
Euron cut him off. "With Qarth's sweltering heat, it should have exploded long ago. Yet, as you can see, my potion lab remains intact."
"Have you found a more stable Wildfire formula?" Jorah asked, his voice trembling.
*What exactly is Wildfire?*
Wildfire = a low-grade version of Amaterasu.
Aside from requiring oxygen, it possesses Amaterasu's ability to burn any object to ashes.
If it weren't so highly flammable and dangerously unstable in motion—prone to explosion—the Ice and Fire World's warfare would have long ago shifted into a "hot" weapons era.
If Euron could develop Wildfire that wouldn't explode even in the scorching summer heat, Qarth would become the world's dominant power.
"I've added ice to the jar," Daenerys said, touching the iron jar.
"Yes, each time you use it, take a portion and place it in the burning vessel," Euron said casually. He then pointed to the milky-white glass rod on the marble base, his eyes sparkling. "While the production of Wildfire is related to the Magic Tide, it's ultimately just a trick for street performers. The glass candle, however, is the true manifestation of a Fire Mage's extraordinary power."
"Glass candle?"
It was a twisted glass rod, over a meter long, milky-white and opaque, standing on a half-meter-high square stone pedestal. From the outside, it looked perfectly ordinary.
Daenerys asked in confusion, "What's it for?"
"Watch closely," Euron said, his expression solemn as he approached the glass rod. In a sharp, high-pitched voice, he chanted words in a language Daenerys didn't understand—the arcane tongue of warlocks.
"Wow!"
The dimly lit laboratory seemed to suddenly switch on a 200-watt light bulb. The glass candle recklessly showered the sky with light as bright as freshly fallen snow.
The light cascaded in strands, like willow catkins drifting in the breeze or goose-down feathers dancing in the midday sun. It was dreamlike and illusory, as if time and space had shifted, transporting them to a strange world of light.
"Try to enter the Void Meditation Realm," Euron's voice drifted through the air, ethereal and resonant.
Daenerys's dazed mind jolted awake at his words.
*If you hadn't said anything, I probably would have actually entered the Void Meditation Realm,* she thought bitterly.
Suddenly, Daenerys felt a surge of inspiration. Her soul, ignoring the distance of several streets, found the Black Dragon in the mansion.
*Whoosh!*
She entered Dragon Spirit Mode, the soul of the Black Dragon merging with hers.
But she once again turned her gaze to the dazzling glass candle. *Hum—*
Her mind jolted violently. The white light screen before her blurred momentarily before clearing, revealing a vivid image: a rapid descent from the boundless starry sky, abruptly halting ten meters above the ground. She found herself
Below lay a vast grassland, dotted with yurts like mushrooms after rain. Most campfires had faded to embers, with only a few glowing with orange light.
"Django, my precious son, you truly have an appetite."
The voice echoed in her ear, and the scene before her shifted instantly, transporting her to a spacious tent palace. The familiar palace, the familiar voice, the familiar silver-haired woman, the familiar chubby-white infant...
*Goo-goo!* The silver-haired male infant, still suckling, suddenly opened his eyes and met Daenerys's gaze.
"Oh!" A nudge on her shoulder startled Daenerys. She whirled around to find Jorah watching her with concern.
-----------------------
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