The heavy chest sat on the table where Illyrio's servants had left it, smelling of cedar and brass. I stared at it, my heart beating with that unnervingly slow, steady rhythm that was becoming my new normal. My newfound strength had made the bronze goblet shriek, but this... this was different. This was magic.
I flipped the latch. Inside lay the three stones. Emerald green, cream and gold, and the black of midnight. Dragon eggs.
My hand moved of its own accord, drawn to the black one. The moment my fingertips brushed the scaled surface, a static charge snapped up my arm, making the hairs prickle. It wasn't cold, inert stone. It was warm. It vibrated with a low, resonant hum that I felt in my teeth, a frequency beyond hearing, pulsing through the very bones of my hand.
Alive, my mind whispered, a thought not my own, but the echo of Viserys's primal connection. They are waiting. For you.
I pulled my hand back, the warmth lingering. I couldn't get lost in the wonder now. My life, and Dany's, depended on me.
I looked at the door. Illyrio had capitulated too easily. My Higher IQ, fueled by Perfect Memory of his history, began to dissect the Magister's sudden compliance.
Illyrio Mopatis is a broker of power, not a philanthropist. He sells kings.He has invested years, and thousands of gold dragons, into maintaining the Targaryen 'asset' as a political pawn for Varys.
I had just humiliated him, threatened his partnership with the Master of Whispers, and strong-armed him into liquidating assets he'd prefer to keep.
Why would such a shrewd, ruthless man simply concede? Why give up the dragon eggs—objects of immense value, if only symbolic—and agree to provision ships without further struggle?
The answer, cold and certain, clicked into place like a tumular lock. Because I was never meant to reach those ships. Or if I did, the ships themselves were a trap. A captain loyal to Illyrio, a crew instructed to slit my throat the moment Pentos disappeared from the horizon, to sail Daenerys to the highest bidder in Lys or the pleasure houses of Volantis. Illyrio hadn't surrendered; he'd merely changed the terms of my execution. He preferred a silent, distant death to a public confrontation.
I looked at the window, seeing the moon, fat and silver, hanging high above the tiled roofs. The manse was quiet, most of the household long since retired.
If we stayed until morning, we were dead. The thought wasn't a panicked scream; it was a cold, hard certainty. This was Game of Thrones, and the rules of engagement were brutal.
"Get up, Viserys," I whispered to the empty room, the name still feeling alien on my tongue. The dagger I'd pocketed earlier, a flimsy thing meant for peeling pears, not skinning men, felt inadequate. But it was all I had. I tucked it deeper into my belt, feeling the strange, almost eager hum of my Peak Human Attributes under my skin.
I moved to the door. I didn't open it. I listened.
The silence was a lie. I could hear the subtle shift of the draft moving through the hallway, the creak of settling wood. And, twenty feet down the corridor, beyond where a guard typically stood, I could hear the rhythmic, wet snoring of a man who shouldn't be there. Illyrio had doubled the watch. We were prisoners.
I turned back to the chest. I could lift it with ease, but its bulk was a liability. I grabbed a velvet tapestry from the wall—three hundred dragons worth of fabric, my memory supplied—and wrapped the eggs into a tight bundle. I slung it over my shoulder. It was lighter than it should have been.
I had to get to Dany. And then, we had to bleed our way out.
The night air outside her room was thick with the scent of oleander. I moved like a ghost, my new senses a terrifying radar. I heard the scuttling of a rat, the whisper of wind through a loose shutter, the slow, steady breathing of a sleeping guard further down the hall. Every sound was amplified, distinct. My Peak Human Attributes weren't just strength; they were heightened senses, perfect balance, and silent movement.
I slid the latch on Dany's door. It was unlocked. A detail. Why? Was Illyrio so confident I wouldn't leave, or was he playing a deeper game? The paranoia clawed at me.
Her room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the moon filtering through the window. She lay curled on her side, a silver tangle of hair on the pillow. She looked impossibly young, small, and fragile. A child.
I moved to her bedside. The original Viserys would have simply grabbed her, shaken her awake. But I couldn't. The phantom echoes of her fear gnawed at me.
"Dany," I whispered, my voice low and soft.
She stirred, a tiny whimper escaping her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, wide and violet in the gloom. Terror bloomed in them as she saw my silhouette.
"Brother?" she breathed, her voice a thread. "What... what is it?"
"We are leaving," I said, my voice firm but without the old Viserys's edge. "Now. Quickly. No questions, no cries. Just move."
Her small body tensed. "Leaving? Where? Is it... is it the Khal? Am I to be taken early?" The words came out in a rush, laced with desperate resignation.
The guilt hit me, a physical blow. She genuinely believed I would still sell her. That this was simply the next stage of her degradation.
"No," I said, my voice raw. "I am not selling you to a horse lord. I am not selling you to anyone. Illyrio has betrayed us. He meant for us to die."
She blinked, confusion warring with fear. "Betrayed us? But he promised..."
"He lies. Everyone lies," I whispered, the paranoia creeping into my tone. "Pack nothing. Only what you wear. We are fleeing. Our lives depend on silence."
She stared at me for a long moment, those deep violet eyes searching, assessing. I could see the struggle in her face. The brother she knew was a tyrant, but this new Viserys, this unpredictable, dangerous man, was also... protective? It was a frightening choice.
Finally, she nodded, a small, resolute movement. "Where are we going?"
"East," I said, turning to the window.
The window was our only exit. My Perfect Memory of the manse's blueprints showed a series of staggered balconies and service ledges that, with a bit of daring, could lead us to the lower gardens.
"Stay close," I instructed Dany, lowering her out the window first. My muscles, flowing with unnatural strength, held her weight easily. She was light as a feather. "Do exactly as I say. Do not make a sound."
We moved like shadows. My heightened senses were a constant torrent of information. I could feel the subtle vibrations of footsteps on the stone far below. I could smell the cook's stale breath from his sleeping quarters. Every rustle of leaves, every distant dog bark, became a potential threat.
We navigated the precarious ledges, my Peak Human Attributes making the impossible climb a graceful descent. Dany, despite her fear, followed my commands with surprising agility, her small hands gripping where I told her, her feet finding purchase in the dark. She was a quick learner, I noted, almost dispassionately. The dragon blood ran strong in her, even without the magic.
We reached the lowest wall, hidden by overgrown jasmine. I looked up. The lights of the manse were still dark, save for a single lamp in Illyrio's study. He was awake. He was waiting for my planned departure.I ran scenarios, He wouldn't expect me to flee before the ships,He would expect me to fall into his trap, perhaps as the sun rose. That was our window.
But as I began to climb the garden wall, helping Dany over first, a sound cut through the deceptive calm of the night. Not a snore. A boot scuff. Closer than I expected.
"Who goes there?" a gruff voice called out, barely thirty feet away.
Shit. He set an exterior guard.
My mind screamed fight or flight, but my body reacted before I chose. I pulled Dany down behind a thick oleander bush. The dragon eggs, still clutched in the tapestry, thumped softly against my back.
Two figures emerged from the shadows, heavily muscled sellswords in Illyrio's livery, carrying short swords. They moved with the lazy confidence of men on patrol, expecting to find nothing.
"Just a cat, no doubt," one grumbled.
"Or a serving girl creeping back to her bed," the other snickered.
My blood ran cold. They aren't just guards. They're here for us. Illyrio sent them to sweep the gardens after he thought we'd taken his poisoned ship.
I had seconds. No time to reason. No time for a plan.
I surged from behind the bush.
The first guard, startled, barely had time to turn. My new body moved with the speed of a striking viper. My right fist, imbued with unholy strength, connected with his jaw.
CRACK.
The sound was sickeningly loud, a wet, bone-shattering report that reverberated through my own skull. His head snapped back at an unnatural angle, and his body crumpled without a sound. He was dead before he hit the ground.
I froze, staring at him. My stomach lurched. I tasted bile. I killed him. A man. I, who had never thrown a punch in my life, had just extinguished a life with a single blow. The enormity of it threatened to overwhelm me. My mind, a modern mind, screamed in horror.
But my body... my body was already moving.
The second guard, momentarily stunned by his comrade's sudden collapse, was now turning, drawing his blade. I didn't hesitate. I lunged, a blur of motion. He barely managed to bring his sword up.
My left hand caught his wrist, clamping down with impossible force. He cried out, dropping the sword with a clatter as his bones ground together. Before he could scream again, my right hand, still stained with the phantom echo of blood, seized his head.
Twist.
SNAP.
It was a clean, brutal sound. The man went limp. I let him drop.
My hands were steady. My breathing was even. My body felt... exhilarated. Viserys's primal instincts, a latent predator, reveled in the swift, efficient kill. But my mind, the one that still remembered Netflix and ethical dilemmas, was reeling. I felt cold sweat trickle down my spine. My stomach roiled. I dry-heaved, nothing but bitter air escaping my throat.
I looked at Dany.
She was standing frozen behind the bush, her hands clapped over her mouth, her eyes wide, staring at the two crumpled forms. She had seen it all. The brutal, casual violence. Her brother, who had once been a cowering victim, had just transformed into a swift, silent killer.
Her expression was a terrifying mix of stark terror and something else—a flicker of awe, of wonder. The monster had protected her.
"Come," I rasped, my voice hoarse, the taste of bile still in my mouth. "The docks."
We reached the docks of Pentos with the first blush of false dawn painting the sky. The city was stirring, but the port was still mostly asleep, save for a few early risers and dockhands.
My Perfect Memory provided the layout of every ship in the harbor, their destinations, their crews, and their cargo manifests. Illyrio's ships, the ones meant to betray me, were gleaming in the pale light, heavily guarded.
I couldn't take them. Too many men. Too much risk.
My gaze scanned the other ships. A Lysene merchantman, The Scarlet Siren, loading spices. A Tyroshi cog, The Golden Gull, taking on textiles.
And then I saw it. A Pentoshi brigantine, The Sea Serpent, moored away from the main traffic, smaller, faster, and conspicuously understaffed. Its captain, a gruff, one-eyed man named Kaelen, was known for his love of drink and his disdain for authority. My memory provided his exact sleeping quarters on the ship.
"Wait here," I told Dany, pointing to a stack of crates hidden in a shadowed alleyway. "Do not move. Not for anything."
She simply nodded, her eyes still haunted, clutching the tapestry-wrapped eggs.
I moved onto the docks. The alarm in Illyrio's manse would be raised soon enough. I had minutes, perhaps.
I slipped aboard The Sea Serpent. My enhanced senses tracked every creak of the hull, every shift of the tide. I found Kaelen's cabin.
He was snoring, a half-empty wineskin in his hand.
I kicked the door open. Kaelen startled awake, his one eye blinking owlishly. He reached for a dagger under his pillow.
My hand was faster. I twisted it from his grasp, the flat of the blade snapping against his cheekbone with enough force to send his head rattling against the wall.
"Listen to me, Captain Kaelen," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "You will set sail immediately. East. For Qarth. If you refuse, I will break every bone in your body and throw you to the crabs."
I had no gold to bribe him, not after I'd left all of Viserys's hoarded coins in the floorboard, seeing them as tainted. But I had something better: terror. My physical presence, the chilling certainty in my violet eyes, the cold, bloodied steel of his own dagger held to his throat.
He looked at me, at the fury in my eyes, at the impossible strength I radiated. His eye widened.
"Yes, Your Grace," he stammered, his voice choked. "Anything you say."
I threw his dagger onto his bed. "Tell your crew. We sail now. And if I hear a single whisper of dissent, you will learn why they call us Dragons."
He scrambled out of the cabin, shouting orders. Soon, the rhythmic creak of the anchor being raised, the flapping of sails, filled the air.
I went back for Dany. She looked utterly lost, sitting amidst the crates, a tiny figure clutching the promise of dragons.
"We leave now," I said.
She followed me onto the deck, her eyes still on me, still trying to reconcile the monster with the protector. The ship pulled away from the docks, leaving the sleeping city behind. As the last lights of Pentos disappeared, I felt a chilling sense of accomplishment.
I had survived. I had saved her.
But the cost… the cost had just begun. The screams of the two dead guards echoed in my memory. The metallic tang of fresh blood still lingered on my senses. I had taken lives. And in this world, I knew, it was only the beginning.