The Stepstones, Tyrosh, Purple Palace
Within a sun-drenched bedroom of the Purple Palace, a woman lay in a deep, preternatural slumber. Her moon-silver hair spilled across the silk pillows like a frozen waterfall, shimmering with a cold radiance under the morning light. Even in sleep, her features—from the high, haughty bridge of her nose to the soft curve of her crescent-moon brows—exuded an aura of supreme nobility.
She was wrapped in a lavender duvet embroidered with the golden Dragonwolf sigil. The fine silk clung to a figure so flawlessly sculpted that Jon had found it impossible to remain in the room alone without feeling the heavy pull of her unnatural charisma.
The Intruders
Click...
The heavy doors creaked open as Sarene, dressed in gossamer Lysene silks, and Sarella Sand, in her rugged Dornish leathers, crept inside.
"Sarella, we shouldn't be here," Sarene whispered, her voice trembling. "If Aegon finds out..."
"Hush. This is the woman Salladhor brought back from the ruins," Sarella countered, her eyes gleaming with the curiosity of a Maester-in-training. "They say she's a beauty from the Age of Heroes. Aren't you worried she'll steal your Prince away?"
"Steal him? That's... that's none of my business!" Sarene squeaked, her face turning a vivid shade of scarlet.
Sarella chuckled, reaching out to tweak Sarene's cheek. "You're a terrible liar. But look at her—I've never seen skin like that. It's like Yi Ti porcelain." Sarella leaned closer, her voice dropping to a mischievous purr. "I wonder if she looks the same under those covers..."
The Dragon Awakes
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a cold, melodic voice rang out.
Before Sarella could react, a pale, jade-white hand blurred through the air. In a flurry of motion and muffled thuds, both Sarene and Sarella were snatched by their collars and tossed onto the bed as if they were nothing more than ragdolls. Sarella's head bounced off the mahogany headboard with a painful thwack.
"Who are you?" the woman demanded, standing tall and draped only in a thin silk chemise. She spoke in the high, melodic registers of Ancient High Valyrian.
Sarella groaned, rubbing her head. "My High Valyrian is a bit rusty... Sarene, you handle this!"
Sarene, struggling to catch her breath after being hoisted like a kitten, stammered out a reply: "I am Sarene of Lys! This is Sarella Sand of Dorne. We... we mean no harm, My Lady!"
"Lys? Dorne?" The woman's brow furrowed. "What year is it? How long has it been since the Blood Star Calendar began?"
"The Blood Star...? We use the Free Cities Era. It is the year 404," Sarene replied cautiously. "The Valyrian Freehold... it fell many centuries ago."
The Queen of High Sothos
"WHAT?!"
The woman's voice rose to a terrifying pitch. A sudden, crushing pressure flooded the room—a physical manifestation of her rage and bloodlust. Sarene felt as if her very soul were being weighed down by an invisible mountain. The air seemed to shimmer with a faint, crimson mist—the scent of ozone and ancient fire.
"The Fourteen Flames... the council... gone?" she whispered to herself, the pressure slowly subsiding as her shock turned to a cold, focused grief.
"I am Jynnaera Velarys," she declared, her voice regaining its imperial steel. "Member of the Freehold Council, Archon of the Dragonlords, Queen of High Sothos, Master of the Blood-Bind, and Pioneer of the Sothoryos Continent!"
She looked down at the two girls with the eyes of a predator. "I demand that you and your Rhoynar slave here become my vassals. I shall protect you and grant you limited freedoms, provided you help me reclaim this city. I will rebuild the Freehold... no, I shall build a new Empire under the name of House Belaerys!"
Sarene and Sarella could only gulp in unison. Sarella, well-versed in the hidden histories of the Citadel, recognized the name. Jynnaera Velarys was a legend—the "Exploration Queen" who had vanished into the Green Hell of Sothoryos while trying to build a bridgehead for the Freehold.
"Can a woman... truly be a Dragonlord?" Sarene asked, her mind struggling to process the ancient hierarchy.
Jynnaera looked at her with genuine confusion. "Is there no one left with the blood? Has the world forgotten the taste of fire?"
"The blood is thin," Sarene whispered. "There are only two true heirs left in the world."
"And who might you be?" A new voice, speaking in a gravelly, slightly accented High Valyrian, cut through the room as the door swung open. Jon stood in the threshold, his eyes meeting the violet gaze of the ancient queen.
The past and the present had finally collided.
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