Valdesh was significantly larger than Nohoros .
Three hundred people lived there, organized around a central temple that dominated the village. The temple was an impressive white stone structure with carved columns and a copper roof that gleamed in the sun.
"This is... more elaborate than I expected," Marcos commented as the caravan approached.
"The entire town is built around the temple," Garrett observed. "That explains why the religious leader has so much power."
"Great. Organized religion. My favorite topic." Marcos sighed. "Because there are never any complications with that."
Daenerys looked at him curiously.
—Aren't you religious ?
"Let's just say I have a complicated relationship with organized faith." Marcos shrugged. "I respect personal beliefs. But when religion mixes with political power... things tend to go wrong."
—You speak from experience.
—From my world, yes. Here, I'm still learning.
The caravan arrived at the main square. Unlike in Nohoros , where everyone came out chaotically , here the people were organized in orderly lines, waiting silently.
And at the front, standing on the temple steps, was a man.
He was old but not frail. Tall, thin, with a white beard that reached his chest. He wore white robes with gold embroidery. His eyes were an intense, almost unnatural blue.
And she was smiling as if she had been waiting for this moment her whole life.
"Marcos Vidal," he said in a resonant voice. "The Man from Another World. The Builder of the Impossible. The One Who Fought with the Khal and Lived." He paused dramatically. "You have come, just as it was prophesied."
Marcos slowly got out of the carriage.
—And you are ...?
"I am Prophet Eamon . Servant of the Eternal Light. Interpreter of Visions. And, apparently, your host." Eamon descended the stairs gracefully. "Welcome to Valdesh . Your arrival has been anticipated."
" Okay , before this gets any weirder," Marcos said, raising his hands. "I need to clarify something: I'm not a divine messenger. I'm not chosen by the gods. I'm just a guy with weird powers trying to build something good."
"Of course." Eamon smiled. "The truly chosen ones never see themselves as such. It's part of their humility."
—No, seriously. I'm not...
"And your mate." Eamon turned to Daenerys . "Blood of the Dragon. She Who Chose Her Own Path. You too were seen in visions."
Daenerys blinked.
- I?
—Two flames. One silver, one gold. Dancing together. Separated yet connected. Burning the old world to build the new. — Eamon spoke as if reciting poetry. —Yes, both were prophesied.
Marcos looked at Garrett.
—Is this uncomfortable only for me or...?
—Definitely uncomfortable for everyone, boss.
Eamon laughed. It was a genuine, warm laugh.
"Forgive my dramatics. It comes with the title." He gestured toward the temple. "Come. We need to talk. There are things you need to understand about Valdesh and why we accepted you so readily."
Interior of the Temple:
The interior was even more impressive than the exterior. Marble columns supported a high ceiling. Murals covered the walls, depicting scenes of... well, Marcos wasn't sure exactly what they depicted. Glowing figures doing epic things.
Eamon led them to a private room with a long table and comfortable chairs.
—Please sit down. —He waited until everyone was seated—. Now, without prophetic drama: let me explain the real situation in Valdesh .
—Please. I would greatly appreciate an explanation without mysticism. —Marcos lay back.
" Valdesh was founded a hundred years ago by refugees from Valyria . Yes, the same Valyria that was destroyed." Eamon poured wine into goblets. "Our ancestors fled before the Doom, guided by... well, visions. Prophecies. Call it what you will."
—And did the prophecies save them?
"They did. That's why we take visions seriously." Eamon took a drink. "I have… a gift myself. I see things. Fragments of possible futures. They're not perfect. They're not absolute. But they're consistent enough to trust."
—And what did you see about me?
"I saw a man building walls out of nothing. I saw armies falling without him lifting a sword. I saw a city growing in an empty valley." Eamon looked directly at him. "And I saw that if we allied ourselves with you, we would have a future. If we rejected you, we would eventually be conquered by others less benevolent."
"That's... pragmatic," Marcos had to admit. "I didn't expect such a practical prophet."
"Prophecy is useless if it isn't interpreted with common sense." Eamon smiled. "Visions showed me possibilities. I chose the best one for my people."
—And what about all that "divinely chosen" stuff?
"Ah, that." Eamon made a dismissive gesture. "Theater for the masses. People need simple narratives. 'Powerful man builds empire' is boring. 'Divinely chosen one fulfills prophecy' is inspiring. Do you see the difference?"
Marcos laughed.
— You're too cynical to be a prophet.
"I'm a realist. But effective." Eamon leaned forward. "Mark, I understand you're wary of organized religion. Your world has clearly had problems with it. But here in Valdesh , religion is a social tool. It maintains order. It gives hope. It provides structure."
—And what happens when that tool is used to oppress?
"Then it stops being a tool and becomes a weapon." Eamon nodded. "That's why we need leaders who understand the difference. Like you."
Daenerys , who had been listening silently, spoke:
—What did you see about me in your visions?
Eamon studied it.
—I saw a silver dragon learning to fly. I saw fire that heals instead of destroying. I saw a queen who chooses her people over her crown. —She paused—. And I saw complicated but true love.
Daenerys blushed intensely.
Marcos coughed uncomfortably.
— Okay , enough personal prophecies. Let's talk about practical integration.
Eamon smiled as if he knew exactly what he had just caused.
—Of course. Valdesh has three hundred citizens. We are primarily an agricultural people. We grow wheat, vegetables, and have flocks of sheep. We also have artisans: carpenters, blacksmiths, and weavers.
— Current problems?
"Two main ones." Eamon held up two fingers. "First: trade. We're far from major routes. It's difficult to sell surplus. Second: security. Although we don't have bandits like Nohoros , there are occasional raids by smaller nomadic tribes. Nothing serious, but it's worrying."
"It's solvable," Marcos thought. "For trade: we can establish a route between Astoria, Valdesh, and Nohoros . Regular caravans. That creates an internal trade network. Eventually, we can expand to other villages."
—And security?
"The Second Sons. Thirty of them stay here. They train your people in basic defense. We build simple walls around key areas." Marcos paused. "And I can personally create a magical alarm system. If there's an attack, Astoria knows immediately."
"That's... more than I expected." Eamon seemed genuinely impressed. "What do you want in return?"
"Loyalty. Participation in imperial government. Representatives on the council when it's formalized." Marcos shrugged. "And mutual respect. I respect your religious practices, you respect my political authority. Separation of church and state, so to speak."
" Separation?" Eamon frowned. "That's... an unusual concept."
"But it's necessary." Marcos grew serious. "I'm not going to interfere with your temple, your ceremonies, your beliefs. But neither am I going to allow religion to dictate imperial laws. Law is law. For everyone. Without religious exceptions."
—What if my religion requires exceptions?
"Then we'll negotiate like rational adults until we find a compromise." Marcos looked directly at him. "But if you insist on religious supremacy over secular law, we have a fundamental problem."
There was a tense silence.
Then Eamon laughed.
" I like you, Marcos. You're honest. Direct. You don't try to manipulate me with pretty words." He extended his hand. "I accept your terms. Valdesh respects imperial authority. Religion remains separate from government."
Marcos shook his hand.
—Then officially welcome to the Empire of Astoria.
Later that day:
Marcos was overseeing the construction of basic walls around Valdesh (using Minecraft , because obviously) when Daenerys approached.
I talk to you?
"Always." Marcos stopped building. "What's wrong?"
" Eamon . His prophecies." Daenerys hesitated. " Do you think he really saw the future? Or is he just telling us what we want to hear?"
"Honestly, I don't know." Marcos sat down on a block of stone. "He could be genuine. He could be a very good charlatan. He could be something in between: someone with exceptional intuition who interprets things as divine visions."
—Does it matter which one it is?
"As long as he doesn't use his position to do harm, not really." Marcos shrugged. "If his 'prophecies' help his people make better decisions, then they're functionally useful. Absolute truth is less important than practical results."
"That's very... pragmatic." Daenerys sat down next to him. "You don't care whether there are gods or not?"
"Not much." Marcos looked up at the sky. "In my world, there were thousands of religions. They all claimed to have the absolute truth. They all contradicted each other. Eventually, you realize that metaphysical truth is impossible to prove, so you focus on what you can measure: Does religion make people better? More compassionate? More just? If so, then it's good. If it does the opposite, it's bad. Simple."
Daenerys processed that.
" Viserys always said that we Targaryens were superior because we had dragon blood. That it was divine will that we should rule." He paused. " Do you think he genuinely believed that?"
"Probably. People tend to believe things that justify what they want to do." Marcos looked at her. "But you're not ... " Viserys . You don't need divine justification to be valuable.
—So what good is my lineage then?
"Not at all. And for everything." Marcos smiled at her confusion. "Your last name is just a last name. It doesn't make you better or worse than anyone else. But what you do with that last name, the decisions you make , the person you choose to be... that's what matters."
—That's very different from how I was raised.
—Well, you were raised by a megalomaniacal abuser. That's not exactly a model of healthy philosophy.
Daenerys laughed. It was genuine laughter that made Marcos smile.
" Do you know what Eamon said about me?" Daenerys asked suddenly.
—The thing about the silver dragon and the healing fire?
—No. The other thing. — Daenerys looked at him. — "Complicated but true love."
Marcos' heart raced.
—Ah. That.
—What do you think he meant?
Marcos carefully considered his response. He could deflect with humor. He could change the subject. He could pretend he didn't understand.
But he had promised honesty.
"I think the old prophet has working eyes." Marcos maintained eye contact. "And I think he's pointing out the obvious thing we're avoiding talking about."
—And what is obvious?
"There's something between us," he said simply, directly. "Something that's growing. Something we both feel, but neither of us is ready to name yet."
Daenerys swallowed hard.
—Why aren't we ready?
"Because it's complicated. You 're thirteen. I'm twenty-eight. In my world, that age difference would be... problematic." Marcos rubbed his face. "Besides, we barely know each other. Weeks, not years. And you're in a vulnerable position: a refugee, dependent on my protection. Any romantic relationship now would have a terrible power imbalance."
"All the logical reasons." Daenerys nodded. "And the emotional reasons?"
"Emotionally... I care about you. A lot. More than I should after such a short time," Marcos admitted gently. "But that doesn't mean I should act on it. Not yet. Not like this."
—So what do we do?
"We'll wait. You're growing , physically and emotionally. I'm still building the empire. We're getting to know each other better. And if in a year, two years, three years, we still feel the same way... then we'll talk about it properly." Marcos smiled at her. "No pressure. No expectations. We'll just let things develop naturally."
Daenerys felt tears threatening to spill over.
-Thank you.
- Because?
"For not taking advantage. For waiting. For... for treating me like a person instead of a prize." Her voice cracked slightly. "No one ever did that before."
"Dany..." Marcos took her hand. " You deserve much more than basic human respect. And one day you'll fully understand that."
They sat there, hands intertwined, saying nothing more.
It wasn't a kiss. It wasn't a dramatic confession. It wasn't a promise of eternal love.
It was just two people recognizing something real between them, and choosing to make things right.
That night:
There was a celebration in Valdesh . Less formal than in Astoria, more ceremonial. Eamon led a welcoming ritual in the temple, with elaborate words about divine union and intertwined destinies.
Marcos endured the theater because the people seemed genuinely happy.
Afterwards there was food, wine, and music.
Garrett approached Marcos during a quiet moment.
—Chief, I overheard your conversation with the princess.
—Were you spying?
"I don't have to eavesdrop. Your emotional conversations tend to be audible." Garrett smiled. "But I mean, you did the right thing. Being patient. Not rushing things."
"Thank you. I think so." Marcos took a sip of wine. "Is it so obvious that I care?"
"Boss, it's obvious to everyone. You two look like... well, like people in love who won't admit they're in love." Garrett shrugged. "But the fact that you're waiting, respecting her age, her situation... that speaks well of your character."
—Or my cowardice.
"It's not cowardly to do things right." Garrett patted him on the shoulder. "Besides, she's not going anywhere. And neither are you. You have time."
Marcos nodded.
Garrett was right.
They had time.
And more importantly: they had solid foundations. Mutual respect. Genuine friendship. Trust.
Romance could wait.
The empire, however, could not.
Three days later, back in Astoria:
The integration of Nohoros and Valdesh was progressing well. The Second Sons reported peace in both villages. Trade caravans were beginning to establish themselves. The people were adapting.
And Astoria had grown even more. New refugees arrived every day. The population had surpassed one hundred and fifty.
Marcos was in a council meeting when an urgent message arrived.
Garrett burst in with parchment.
—Boss, we have a problem. A big one.
—What kind of problem?
—A Pentos -type problem . —Garrett unrolled the parchment.— Spies report that the Magistrates are forming an alliance. Not just Illyrio . All the Magistrates of Pentos .
— How many are there?
"Forty Magistrates rule Pentos . If each one contributes forces..." Garrett did some mental calculations. "We're talking potentially two thousand soldiers. Maybe more."
The silence in the room was absolute.
"Shit," Marcos said eloquently. " Okay . This is real war then."
"It seems so." Garrett looked at the map. "What do we do?"
Marcos studied the map for a long time.
Then he smiled.
It was a smile that made several people in the room nervous.
—We do what we do best. We build defenses that would make Roman engineers weep, we gather allies, and we show those fat Magistrates why messing with Astoria is the worst decision they'll ever make.
—Do we have enough time to prepare?
"We're going to have to find a way." Marcos looked at everyone. "Because this is going to define whether we're a real empire or just a group of refugees playing politics. And I didn't come all this way to lose."
[END OF CHAPTER 15]