It trailed a massive wake that spanned the entire sky. The light was so blinding, it seemed poised to set half the heavens ablaze. Even in broad daylight, its radiance was enough to make the sun itself fade, casting Conquest Keep and the entire coastline, as far as the eye could see, in a flickering blood-red glow.
"The Red Comet..."
Janice stared blankly at the scene outside the cave, her violet eyes reflecting the crimson light as she murmured.
A storm of thoughts churned within Lo Quen. The Black Stone had been unsealed, the Red Comet had descended, magic had returned. Could this be a coincidence? No!
A bold hypothesis suddenly took root in his mind. Could the arrival of the Red Comet in the original story have been caused by the unsealing of a Black Stone lost elsewhere in the world? If this theory was true, who had unsealed the Black Stone in Aegon's 299?
And what about the enormous rust-red celestial body within the Black Stone? The crimson eyeball? The cosmic voice?
Countless questions surged through Lo Quen's mind.
...
At the same time the Red Comet appeared, at the far end of the cavern, in the subterranean chamber where dragon eggs were kept. This heavily guarded space, behind a thick obsidian door, was Lo Quen's sanctum for storing the dragon eggs.
In the center of the stone chamber, a specially crafted massive stone platform was covered in scorching hot sand, upon which seven dragon eggs rested. Two of them were identical—fossilized dragon eggs with black-and-red scaly patterns, quietly buried within, absorbing the geothermal heat.
One was the black-and-red dragon egg Lo Quen had brought from Valyria, the other was the one held by Illyrio.
Crack!
A faint cracking sound echoed through the dead silence of the stone chamber. The Dragon Soul Guards on watch suddenly gripped their longswords tightly, their eyes darting toward the stone platform.
On the smooth, hard surface of one of the black-and-red dragon eggs, a tiny crack appeared without warning. Immediately, the crack spread rapidly like a spiderweb. A series of fine crackling sounds filled the air.
Inside the shell, something seemed to be struggling violently, slamming against the surface. Fragments of the shell began to fall.
Pop!
"Roar—!"
A sharp, infantile snarl erupted from the broken shell. A small head, covered in wet, dark red scales, violently pierced through the shell and forced its way out.
At the same time, the identical dragon egg beside it lost its faint, shimmering glow, as if all life had been drained from it in an instant. Cracks quickly multiplied and deepened across its surface, followed by a shattering sound.
Moments later, it fell completely still. The egg shattered and collapsed, disintegrating into a pile of grayish-black fragments scattered across the scorching black sand.
The newly hatched dragon struggled fiercely against the shell, its wet little head finally breaking free. Its neck, covered in dark red scales, arched proudly as it let out another roar, this time directed at the vaulted ceiling above the stone chamber.
...
Summerhall Ruins.
The afternoon of the second day after Stannis burned Viserys.
As the sun once again sank low in the west, casting the sky in a dusky yellow, the flames of the pyre began to weaken. The intense heat had reduced the woodpile to a towering mound of silver-black ash, billowing thick, rolling smoke into the air.
Stannis waved his hand. Several soldiers, armed with long-handled iron rakes and shovels, cautiously began to dig. Everyone held their breath, their eyes fixed on the heart of the ash. Layer by layer, the ash was scraped away.
At last, deep in the ashes, the silver-gray dragon egg fossil lay quietly. But it was no longer the same as it had been before being cast into the flames the night before. The once smooth, cold stone shell was now covered in a spiderweb of fine cracks.
Crack... A faint, almost imperceptible sound of shattering echoed through the still air. Then—
"Hiss... Roar—!"
A young, piercing hiss erupted from within the cracked shell. Every heart pounded wildly. A flash of light ignited in Stannis's eyes. He instinctively stepped forward, his hand reaching out toward the miracle about to emerge.
At that very moment!
"Look! The sky!"
A noble pointed frantically toward the western heavens, his voice filled with panic. Instinctively, everyone looked up in unison. Where the setting sun had once hung, the sky was now completely bathed in an endless, blood-red hue. At the edge of the crimson sky, a colossal scarlet comet, trailing a massive tail that spanned the heavens, roared toward the entire continent of Westeros.
…
Stormlands, the coast.
Countless transport ships filled the nearshore waters, clustered tightly like a swarm.
Young Aegon stood on a slightly elevated sand dune. Clad in gleaming armor, his silver-gold hair, tousled by the sea breeze, revealed his forehead. His deep blue eyes burned with intensity as he gazed at the blood-red sky that stretched across the heavens and the terrifying comet tearing through it. Not a trace of fear touched his youthful face. Instead, his chest swelled with excitement, his breathing deep and steady.
Beside him stood two senior advisers. Ser Jon Connington, now Aegon's Hand of the King. He too looked at the comet, but his eyes were filled with unease. Was this crimson comet a sign of fortune, or an omen of doom? He instinctively tightened his grip on the sword hilt at his waist.
On the other side, the newly appointed commander of the Golden Company, "Homeless" Harry Strickland, seemed far more pragmatic. He hailed from the Strickland family, exiled to the eastern continent after the defeat in the Blackfyre Rebellion. Now, with his arms crossed, Captain Harry scowled at the chaotic scene of landing troops on the beach and bellowed,
"Seven hells! Getting these wild grassland horses to line up is harder than threading a needle through a sow's ear! This damn red sky's throwing everything into disarray! And to make it worse, two of our supply ships have been smashed by the waves! Damn weather!"
Young Aegon appeared oblivious to their complaints and worries. He suddenly spread his arms wide, as if to embrace the entire blood-red sky and the burning comet within his grasp. His laughter rang clear and confident:
"No, Captain Harry, this is no bad weather! This is the beacon the gods have lit for me, the crimson crown the heavens offer me for my coronation!"
He turned sharply, drawing the long sword at his waist, its tip pointing directly at the scarlet comet streaking across the sky.
"This marks the beginning of my path to conquest! It signifies that I will cleanse this land—defiled by usurpers, traitors, and false kings—with fire and blood! All who stand in my way to reclaim the Iron Throne will be turned to ash under the wrath of the true dragon!"
His words instantly ignited the fervor of his personal guard and the soldiers of the Golden Company. A frenzied chant began to rise, swelling into a roaring wave:
"True Dragon! Aegon! True Dragon! Aegon!"
Even some Dothraki were caught up in the sudden fervor, though confused, they swung their scimitars and let out savage howls.
…
Far to the east, in the Mountains of the Morn. Deep within the Hidden Sea near Carcosa, a massive underwater palace lay submerged.
At its heart was a vast, spherical chamber. In the center of the chamber, icy currents flowed gently. A massive black stone hung motionless in the sea, at the heart of the chamber. Its shape was almost identical to the black stone that Lo Quen had encountered in the caves beneath Conquest Keep.
In the absolute darkness and freezing cold of the deep sea, beneath the floating black stone, a figure hung motionless. Clad in a wide yellow robe, the figure's elongated body was twisted into an unnerving, unnatural posture. It seemed to have merged with the darkness itself, having existed there for countless millennia.
Suddenly, the stone that had been suspended in silence for so long trembled ever so slightly. The unmoving figure in yellow stirred sharply. The shadow beneath the wide robe shifted slowly.
The figure's body twisted in an extraordinarily bizarre way, like a giant, deep-sea-adapted creature. Swiftly, it ascended through a massive hole in the palace and swam toward the dim surface of the sea. It did not travel far before lifting its head again, staring at the waters above, now stained crimson by the blood-red comet.
After a moment, it emitted an eerie, unsettling laugh. Then, it suddenly reversed direction, swimming back into the vast palace buried deep in the darkest depths of the Hidden Sea. All returned to a deathly stillness. As if nothing had ever happened.