The iron gate of the drainage channel burst open with a Half-man wide gap amidst the roar of explosives, as rust and debris flew.
Illyrio grabbed a cowering slave craftsman by the collar: "Where is the secret passage to the main city wall?"
The old craftsman's emaciated finger pointed to a hidden door on the west side, and a broken common tongue squeezed from his throat: "That is... the Great Masters' escape route, guarded by Sons of the Harpy."
The Blood Riders were prying open the iron lock of the hidden door with their scimitars when the dragonglass dagger Daenerys had gifted suddenly grew hot at Illyrio's waist—a token given by a Night's Watch deserter when he crossed the Red Waste.
The stone houses of the slave camp were brightly lit by torches, and over three hundred slaves wept softly around the tattered cloth in Illyrio's hand.
It was a letter found in the craftsman's interlayer, its edges charred by fire, with only the Direwolf sigil in the upper left corner still faintly discernible, and the ink-stained words intermittent: "...Red Wedding...Robb and Catelyn...the North to Bolton...Sansa in King's Landing..."
"House Stark."
Illyrio's fingertips traced the wolf sigil, and the bloody memories of the original story exploded in his mind.
He turned to the only young man in the crowd wearing a Westeros coarse linen shirt, "Are you from the North?"
The young man pulled up his sleeve, revealing a brand on his forearm: "I was a stable boy in Winterfell, sold to Slaver's Bay by House Bolton.
On the day of the Red Wedding, I personally saw House Frey's men cut down King Robb's Direwolf."
His voice trembled, "I heard there's also a bastard at the Wall, named Jon Snow."
The sound of the iron lock turning suddenly pierced the silence.
Daario's low shout came from outside the hidden door, followed by the crisp clang of weapons colliding.
Illyrio grabbed the secret passage map handed to him by the craftsman, and the dragonglass dagger glowed faintly in his palm: "Take twenty slaves who can use hammers with me, the others guard here—when dragonflame illuminates the night sky, smash open all the shackles."
The stone steps at the end of the secret passage led directly to the armory below the horse-faced platform.
As soon as he pushed open the ventilation grate, he smelled a strong scent of blood: three Sons of the Harpy lay in pools of blood, Daario was using a blood-stained long axe to cleave open the armory door, and Second Sons soldiers were moving barrels of wildfire to the corner.
"Your explosives are more effective than dragonflame," Daario threw over a roll of parchment, "This was taken from the dead, it has a Lannister seal on it."
The handwriting on the parchment was scrawled but glaring: "Bolton has control of the North, Cersei has promised spices from Slaver's Bay to cover the Golden Company's expenses—you must prevent Targaryen from colluding with the remaining Starks."
Illyrio clenched the paper tightly, the temperature of the dragonglass dagger suddenly rising, as if echoing the Direwolf thousands of miles away.
A dragon's roar suddenly came from outside the city.
Drogon's shadow swept across the night sky, and dragonflame melted the iron gate of the west city gate into dark red molten iron.
A thunderous cheer erupted from the direction of the slave camp, mixed with the crisp sound of shackles breaking.
Daario had already blown the horn of attack, and the red banner of the Second Sons was slowly rising on the horse-faced platform.
Illyrio climbed up to the armory's lookout hole and saw Daenerys riding on Drogon's back soaring over the city walls, while Viserys was burning the Harpy banners on the city wall with dragonflame.
He tucked the tattered Stark letter into his Huai, drew his dragonglass dagger, and pointed it at the main castle: "Go get the Great Masters' gold and silver—once Meereen is taken, we will send people to the Wall."
Amidst the cheers of the Blood Riders, Illyrio remembered the stable boy's words.
Jon Snow at the Wall, Sansa in King's Landing, Arya on the run—those wolf bloodlines that survived the Lannister's butcher's knife might just be the strength Targaryen needs most to return to Westeros.
And at this moment, Meereen's blood was soaking the ground beneath their feet, laying the first cornerstone for this alliance across the Narrow Sea.