1 year later
The sun dipped low over the red hills of Essos, casting long shadows on the scorched earth. Kael walked beside Daenerys, his cloak billowing in the warm wind, eyes scanning the horizon. The caravan of Unsullied moved steadily ahead, armored and silent, their discipline undiminished even in the oppressive heat. Behind them followed their advisers, Dothraki scouts, and freedmen loyal to the Dragon Queen.
Meereen loomed in the distance—its great pyramid jutting into the sky like a monolith of conquest. But even from miles away, something about the city felt…wrong.
Kael narrowed his eyes.
He had always seen more than most. Even in this restrained form—mortal flesh veiling divinity—his senses brushed beyond the surface of the world. The whispers of the flame licked at the edge of his mind, murmuring danger. Unease clawed at his chest.
Beside him, Daenerys rode atop a white mare, her silver-blonde hair braided back in war-kissed loops. Her violet eyes stared at the city with a mix of longing and dread. Meereen had been the seat of her first claim to rule. And now, she returned to it not in triumph, but in the shadow of revolt.
"They've sealed the gates," Grey Worm reported as he rode up. "Smoke rises from the harbor district. The Sons of the Harpy have returned."
Dany's fingers tightened around the reins. "How many loyalists remain?"
"Hard to say," Grey Worm said. "A few of the old freedmen commanders remain hidden. But the former masters… they fund this resistance. We'll be met with blades, not banners."
Kael could already hear it—the faint screech of chaos within the city walls. His power stirred, hungry to be unleashed, but he pushed it down. He'd made a promise to himself: to walk beside Daenerys not as a god, not as a savior, but as a man. He would not rob her of the fire she needed to forge her empire.
Daenerys exhaled sharply. "We march by dawn."
"No," Kael said softly, catching her gaze. "We enter now. Every second we wait, they fortify."
She looked at him, questioning. "You sense something?"
He didn't answer directly. "I feel… rot. Beneath the stones. If we wait, it spreads."
Her jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Prepare the breach teams. I'll speak to Drogon."
Kael watched her go, the sway of her figure, the iron in her spine. Her beauty had first drawn him, but it was her will—unyielding in the face of a cruel world—that kept him bound to her, heart and soul.
The night came fast.
The breach was silent until it wasn't.
Drogon descended in a sweep of fire and ash, roaring into the night sky. His flame carved a path through the southern wall as Unsullied surged in, shields locked, spears raised. Screams filled the streets. Chaos reigned as the Sons of the Harpy emerged from alleys and rooftops, gold masks glinting beneath the moonlight.
Kael moved like a shadow through the fray. His blade—a simple steel sword by design, enchanted only subtly—sliced through rebels as he carved a path toward the pyramid. He could feel Daenerys fighting atop Drogon, her fury filling the sky.
But something dark festered within the city's heart. He felt it pulling him—an instinct deeper than thought.
The Great Pyramid had been defiled.
The throne room, once draped in Targaryen banners, was splattered in blood. A pile of freedmen corpses was stacked at the base of the dais. Gold masks were scattered on the floor like broken promises.
Kael stepped over the bodies and stood before the throne.
It was there that he heard the scream.
Not Daenerys.
Missandei.
He turned and ran.
He found them in the lower chambers—three Sons of the Harpy standing over Missandei, blades drawn. Her robes were torn, face bruised but defiant.
Kael didn't hesitate.
He moved faster than any man should.
In the span of a breath, two fell—his sword burying in one, the hilt cracking the skull of another.
The third raised a knife to Missandei's throat.
"Drop it," Kael said coldly.
The man laughed. "You think I fear death?"
"No," Kael whispered, stepping forward. "But you should fear what comes after."
His eyes burned—not literally, but something flickered behind them. Ancient. Limitless.
The Harpy hesitated, then lunged.
Kael's hand caught the blade bare-handed. Metal screamed against his palm, but he didn't bleed.
With a flick, he snapped the dagger in half and slammed his fist into the man's chest. Ribs cracked like dry wood. The body crumpled.
Missandei stared up at him, wide-eyed.
"Are you…" she began.
Kael looked away. "You're safe now."
Dawn broke over Meereen with smoke on the wind.
Dany stood on the steps of the Great Pyramid, blood spattered across her armor. The plaza below was filled with the people—former slaves, loyalists, and the fearful remnants of the old elite. Behind her, Drogon loomed, wings folded, smoke drifting from his nostrils.
She looked down at them all and raised her voice.
"This is not a city of masters. It is a city of the free."
Cheers rose—but so did murmurs. There was no peace here, not yet.
Kael stood behind her, silent. Watching. Waiting.
That night, the city burned.
Purges. Trials. Justice delivered by Unsullied blades.
Kael found Daenerys in her chambers, staring out at the fires, a cup of wine in her hand.
"Too much blood," she whispered.
"Not enough," he said gently, stepping beside her. "If they'd taken control… they'd have flayed you in the square."
She turned to him. "And what would you have done then, Kael?"
His jaw clenched. "Burnt the world."
She searched his face. "Sometimes, I think you would."
He stepped closer, their bodies almost touching. "And sometimes, I think you want me to."
She didn't pull away.
Her fingers traced his hand. Slowly, reverently.
"You didn't fight like a man," she said. "Missandei told me."
"I'm not a man," Kael replied.
She tilted her head. "Then what are you?"
His lips brushed her forehead. "Yours."
Their kiss wasn't frantic—it was slow, aching. A connection rekindled after months of war and doubt. She pulled him inside with her, the chamber falling into quiet shadow.
Their bodies entwined on silken sheets, tension melting into heat, into release, into something deeper than flesh. Kael held her like a man starved, and Daenerys clung to him like a woman reclaiming her destiny.
When they slept, they slept entwined—no crown, no empire, only flame and flesh and the breath of something ancient, awakening.
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