Chapter 117: Hatchling Dragon
The gray, ruin-like structure was long and low, like a coiled serpent lying deep within the forest, surrounded by countless strange trees bearing blue leaves.
Beneath their feet stretched a narrow woodland path strewn with broken stones, winding through the forest until it reached the entrance of the ruined building.
Not far away, a group of oddly dressed figures were engaged in hushed discussion. Looking closer, the violet-eyed girl—clad in nomadic-style garments—was quietly speaking with them.
She too noticed Charles's arrival.
While listening to a frail, blue-lipped man beside her, she stole a glance toward the "god" who had emerged amid golden flames. Her lips moved soundlessly, as if apologizing to him.
"Your Grace, please do not forget Mirri Maz Duur."
The low, wary voice cut through the exchange, drawing Charles's gaze.
The speaker was a middle-aged man clad in Westerosi knightly armor—balding, thick-bearded, powerfully built. The surcoat over his armor bore an embroidered black bear standing upright, stirring a faint realization in Charles's mind.
The last exiled male of House Mormont?
Aside from the praying girl, no one else seemed to notice Charles's presence. The negotiations continued as before.
"I will not forget," Daenerys said through clenched teeth. "I remember—she had wisdom. She was merely a small witch."
The blue-lipped man chuckled softly. "This child speaks with the wisdom of a crone. Come—take my arm. Allow me to guide you."
"I am not a child," the girl retorted, though she did not refuse his offered arm. Together, they began walking toward the ruined structure.
Before stepping forward, Daenerys cast another furtive glance in Charles's direction.
Jorah Mormont noticed and frowned in confusion, looking where she did—only to find a patch of muddy ground covered in fallen blue leaves. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"Her Grace has been acting strangely of late…" he thought, but did not dwell on it. Instead, he watched helplessly as his queen was led by the strange warlock toward the dust-laden palace surrounded by the black forest.
At that moment, Daenerys's guards and knights halted where they stood. Her two dragons remained outside as well—only the largest hatchling clung stubbornly to her shoulder.
The warlocks permitted only Daenerys and her dragons to enter the House of the Undying. All others were barred.
…
The warlock beside her looked unsettling, yet Daenerys felt no fear—only courage.
Because a "god" was walking at her side.
A god no one else could see.
"The path before you allows entrance but no return," the warlock warned. "Listen carefully, Your Grace. The House of the Undying was not built for mortals. If you cherish your soul, obey my words and proceed with utmost caution."
"I will do as you say," Daenerys replied.
They walked and spoke as the dark trees with blue leaves slid past on either side, drawing ever closer to the gray edifice.
Charles watched quietly, finding the situation strange—but only briefly.
She was beginning to encounter other supernatural forces.
That was only natural.
A girl capable of drawing his attention was never destined for an ordinary path. Attracting the gaze of other supernatural powers and factions was inevitable.
What truly surprised him was the black hatchling on her shoulder.
At that moment, it tilted its head—its golden, serpent-like pupils fixed directly on Charles.
It can see me?
As he pondered what that might mean, Daenerys drank a cup of blue liquid and pushed open a bizarre wooden door shaped like a gaping mouth.
Charles quickly followed her inside.
Before them lay a stone chamber, entirely gray-white, unremarkable in appearance. Only at the far end of the room were three stone doors set into the wall.
After slowly scanning the surroundings, the girl finally turned to Charles. With a look of sincere remorse, she bowed respectfully.
"Please forgive me for the earlier rudeness, Your Grace of the Seven."
Charles shook his head slightly, offering no verbal reply. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on the small black creature perched on the girl's shoulder.
A dragon.
A hatchling dragon.
[Black Dragon — Drogon. He is in his juvenile stage, having been born less than a year ago.]
[He possesses a deep connection to this world.]
[He is wary of you, yet curious.]
Its body was sleek and streamlined, with a small belly and disproportionately large wings, head, and tail. Black scales shimmered faintly in the firelight. Sensing Charles's scrutiny, the hatchling stretched its neck and let out a sharp hiss.
To others, the sound was little more than an odd, faint cry.
But to Charles, it felt like a violent gale crashing against him—an invisible shockwave that rippled through the golden radiance enveloping his body, dimming it noticeably.
This time, however, Charles's mind remained steady. He was not driven back as before—but the encounter still sent a chill through him.
Despite its youth, the dragon's cry carried terrifying power. It was far beyond what any ordinary hatchling should possess.
Even if it has nothing to do with the world's deeper truths, Charles thought grimly, it definitely holds secrets.
He turned his gaze to the girl, who was cautiously observing him.
"Protect your dragon," he said calmly. "It will attract many eyes."
Daenerys nodded obediently.
Charles added silently,
Including mine.
With no one else around, Daenerys began explaining her situation to him.
Charles quickly grasped her current circumstances.
After receiving "guidance" previously, she and her followers had left the comfortable ruins within the Red Waste and journeyed instead to an unfamiliar city—Qarth.
Qarth was a city of immense trade and wealth, home to the world's richest merchant guilds and the greatest number of merchant ships. Naturally, it was also home to a group of strange and unsettling warlocks.
The warlocks had promised Daenerys wisdom and guidance—but she herself had little interest. With the Seven watching over her, she believed she needed no mortal counsel.
However, the warlocks wielded tremendous influence in Qarth. Gaining their recognition would greatly ease her efforts to gather wealth and recruit followers. In the end, she accepted their invitation.
Thus, she came here—bringing most of her people—seeking an audience with the warlocks' leaders: the Undying Ones.
At first, she had not taken the matter too seriously. Yet the eerie atmosphere unsettled her, and instinctively, she began to pray.
That was when Charles descended.
"Thank you for your protection over your follower," she said sincerely, deeply grateful for his immediate response.
Charles almost told her that her prayers were impossible to ignore—but what he said aloud was something else entirely:
"Because you bear a great responsibility."
The words, solemn and distant, flowed from the mouth of the seemingly young man. Faced with his unreal yet overwhelming presence, Daenerys felt both reverent and uneasy.
"Please guide me." she said softly.
"Westeros," the Charles replied. "You must set foot upon Westerosi soil as soon as possible."
"I—" The girl hesitated. This aligned with her own ambitions, yet surely a divine task was not merely a matter of worldly conquest.
She opened her mouth to ask more.
But the god merely shook his head, offering no further explanation.
Unease flickered through her heart—but recalling his favor and protection, her confidence surged anew.
With a god watching over me, she thought, I cannot fail.
Steeling herself, she turned toward the stone doors, drew a deep breath, and stepped forward under his silent gaze.
The first chamber was empty and bare—nothing worth noting.
She opened a stone door in the corner and entered another chamber, nearly identical.
Then a third. A fourth.
But when she pushed open the fifth door, the scene finally changed.
She saw furnishings from abandoned dwellings—broken décor, scattered remnants—and heard faint, fragmented noises coming from behind several wooden doors within the structure.
"What are those sounds?" she murmured, instinctively turning back—
Only to find that the "god" who had stood beside her was gone without a trace.
Her vision blurred.
She was still within a stone chamber, but it was now filled with a deep blue mist—unnatural, unreal, as if reality itself had been blurred and pixelated.
It felt like standing within a glass corridor, gazing out at the depths of the ocean.
A message from the Eye of Reality appeared:
[You are being enveloped by the Shade-of-the-Evening Mist. Your spirituality is being affected.]
Scenes flashed and vanished within the blue haze—travel, spellcasting, fleeting images tumbling past like a revolving lantern.
The mist seemed intent on dragging him deeper, swirling more violently around Charles.
Yet the golden radiance surrounding him kept it at bay; it could not draw near his body.
Daenerys, however, was another matter.
Submerged within the mist, she began acting strangely—pacing in place, scanning her surroundings in panic, gasping in surprise, murmuring to herself.
Even more surprising, her dragon mirrored her condition—shaking its head, hissing intermittently, as though it too had been pulled into an alien realm.
"Again…" Charles mused quietly.
"So powerful, yet so fragile at the same time."