The caravan had been trudging along the edge of the wasteland for days. Slowly, the dry plains gave way to scattered grasslands, and trees began to dot the horizon.
Lynn's body had recovered remarkably fast. The wounds that once covered him had completely vanished — something that astonished Daenerys. Just days ago, he had looked like he was inches from death. Now, apart from a lingering silence about him, he seemed perfectly fine.
Most of the time, Lynn simply walked beside her, listening quietly, piecing together what was happening in this strange world. His calm presence, however, only deepened Viserys's growing irritation. Every smile Daenerys shared with this mysterious outsider stoked the man's jealousy and fury.
"Look at him, Dany," Viserys sneered one evening. "He's like a dumb beast of burden — eating our food and doing nothing. The way he looks at you… like a stallion in heat! Keep watch, or he might decide to put that thing in your mouth while you sleep."
Humiliating others had become the only thing that eased Viserys Targaryen's bruised ego.
More than once, he hissed, "When we get to Pentos, I'll sell him. Maybe fetch a few silver coins for the trouble."
Daenerys never argued. She endured his rants in silence, her small shoulders trembling but unbroken. Among everyone in the caravan, only Lynn ever truly listened when she spoke — about her home, the storm that took Dragonstone, the lost glory of her house, and the legends of dragons. Those stories were all she had left.
Lynn always listened patiently, smiling faintly at her gentleness. In turn, he told her stories of his own homeland — myths from a faraway eastern empire. She marveled at the tale of Mulan, who went to war in her father's place, and admired the loyalty of the sage named Zhuge Liang.
The silver-haired girl found herself wondering about this quiet stranger from a distant world. His features were softer than the rough, angular men around her, his voice calm and low. There was something both foreign and reassuring about him.
Days later, the group reached a field of weathered stone pillars. Viserys decided to camp there for the night, grumbling the entire way.
"Damn this sand! The proud blood of House Targaryen shouldn't sleep among rocks, eating stale bread like beggars!"
His complaints cut through the dry wind—until a horse on the flank suddenly neighed and reared up. A blur of gray shot out from between the stones. A full-grown lynx — massive, nearly the size of a colt — launched itself into the open.
Its amber eyes glowed with pure predatory focus. Then chaos erupted. The horses panicked, goods went flying, and the air filled with shouts and dust.
The big cat went straight for a packhorse, dragging it down and sinking its teeth into the poor animal's throat before it could even scream.
"Protect me! I am the true dragon!" Viserys shrieked, stumbling behind the others, shaking like a leaf.
A few guards drew their curved blades and advanced cautiously, but the beast was quick — unnaturally quick. It dodged one swing, spun, and slashed across a guard's face, leaving a ribbon of blood and torn hair. Before the man could react, its jaws closed around his neck, tearing flesh and muscle in a wet crack.
The sight froze everyone, including Daenerys. For a second, she stood there, petrified — and in that moment, the lynx saw its next prey.
Lynn and Daenerys were separated from the rest of the group. Alone. Exposed.
The predator crouched low, muscles coiling.
One heartbeat. Two.
Then it pounced — straight at Daenerys.
Before he could even think, Lynn moved.
It wasn't courage. It wasn't reason.
It was instinct — something primal, burning in his blood.
He crossed the distance in a blur, the power inside him bursting awake. His vision tinged red, his limbs thrummed with strength.
The lynx twisted midair, sensing danger, and turned its snarl on him. Its eyes locked with his.
This skinny human dared challenge it?
The beast aborted its initial strike and lunged at Lynn instead.
Time seemed to slow. He saw every drop of saliva glinting from its open jaws.
Then—
"ROOAAAR!"
It wasn't a human sound that came from him, but something raw, draconic.
Lynn didn't dodge. He stepped into the charge.
At the last instant, he ducked under its leap and clamped both arms around its throat. The lynx thrashed violently, claws raking. He released his hold to dodge — but too late.
"Rip—!"
Claws slashed deep into his arm and shoulder, tearing through flesh down to bone. Blood splattered, but instead of gushing, the wounds hissed — small tongues of black flame danced at the edges, sealing the cuts before they could bleed out.
With his golden eyes now glowing like molten metal, Lynn surged forward again. He rammed the beast in the chest, slammed a knee into its belly, and locked his hands once more around its throat.
They rolled in the dirt — a brutal blur of flesh and fury. Every movement left new wounds on him, yet his strength only grew wilder, his attacks more feral.
Pain and instinct awakened something deep within — the sleeping dragon's blood roaring to life.
At last, Lynn sank his teeth into the lynx's neck and bit down hard. Hot blood filled his mouth. The creature gave a strangled whimper, claws scraping weakly at the air. Then its eyes dimmed.
Silence fell.
Only the sound of wind and heavy breathing remained.
Lynn staggered upright, blood plastering his torn shirt. The wound on his arm still glowed faintly, but the bleeding had mostly stopped. His eyes slowly shifted back from gold to brown, though a strange coldness lingered within them.
The others stared — stunned, terrified, in awe. Even the guards lowered their blades, now looking at him not as a foreign beggar, but as a warrior.
Viserys finally crept out from his hiding place, eyes flickering with a strange mixture of greed and calculation.
Daenerys watched Lynn, trembling. Her violet eyes shimmered — with fear, relief, and something warmer.
It was the first time anyone had ever risked their life for her.
Lynn met her gaze briefly, exhausted. The surge of strength was gone, replaced by an aching weakness.
Then his eyes flicked toward Viserys — that scheming look said it all.
Great, he thought bitterly. I can already tell that bastard's planning something.