Viserys circled the sky on Sunfyre, but the beating of the Undying One's bruised heart dragged him into an illusion.
The second Undying watched the trembling heart of the great warlock with discomfort.
Their illusions worked best in the Palace of Dust in Qarth, the City of Cities. That was why the warlocks clung to their stronghold.
Forcing the heart to work in the ruins of blood and fire had nearly exhausted its magic.
But if they could control Viserys and the dragon, the risk was worth it.
The Undying were all on the brink of death, half-dead and decaying.
Hiding in the sunless Palace of Dust, relying on the ancient heart, they craved the life and magic of blood and fire.
Without this desperation, the two Undying would never have taken such a risk.
They saw the True Dragon and the Dragon King—true life, which they coveted endlessly.
Viserys found himself standing in a room with four doors. The scene shifted.
His mind was ensnared by sorcery. The walls were stone, dark as smoke.
The dragon's roar echoed in his ears, a mental anchor.
Images flowed rapidly, but the burning pain on his finger and arm reminded Viserys to wake up, to embrace the real world, not the illusion.
The first door opened. The Red Keep, built of pale red stone. His childhood home.
It smelled of summer, grass, flowers, and fire.
In the courtyard, King Aerys screamed in rage. The scene filled Viserys with terror.
Aerys ordered the execution of servants and cooks who had cared for Viserys, claiming they were negligent.
Green wildfire burned the servants. The air filled with the stench of charred flesh and shrill screams.
Gifts from lords were burned to ash, the Mad King fearing poison.
Then Queen Rhaella appeared, with her silver hair, violet eyes, fine clothes, and crown.
Her hands were gentle, her beautiful face sad. "Come," she said. "Come to me, my son. A true dragon does not fear fire; a true dragon is brave. Come behind me, you are safe."
She was dead. Viserys backed away.
His kind mother had died long ago. He retreated.
Daenerys had never known her parents; she longed for Ser Willem Darry and the house with the red door.
But Viserys remembered the Red Keep and his mother.
He had little feeling for Aerys or Rhaegar; only his mother had protected his childhood.
Viserys heard the dragon roar. His ring burned, his bracelet trembled.
The second door opened. The skulls of dead dragons stared at him from high stone walls. The Throne Room.
Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes. The pride of the ancient Dragonlords.
Aerys, in fine robes but with dull eyes and silver-grey hair, sat on the towering, jagged Iron Throne.
"Let me be king over charred bones and cooked meat," he said to a man below. "Let me be the King of Ashes."
Viserys couldn't see the man's face; it was shrouded in mist. Jamie Lannister the Kingslayer? Or a pyromancer?
This was the plot to burn King's Landing with wildfire.
Viserys entered the third room.
He saw a man, silver-haired, taller and stronger than Viserys was now.
His eyes were indigo, not violet.
Rhaegar Targaryen. Viserys recognized his brother.
"Aegon," Rhaegar said to a woman nursing a newborn in a great wooden bed. His voice was iron. "What better name for a king?"
"Will you make a song for him?" the woman asked.
"He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." As he spoke, he looked up, his eyes meeting Viserys's, as if seeing him through the door.
Rhaegar spoke to the sickly woman again. "The dragon has three heads." He walked to the window seat, picked up a harp, and plucked the silver strings.
A sweet, melancholic melody filled the room. Rhaegar, his wife, and the babe faded like morning mist. The music lingered, urging Viserys to leave.
But Viserys knew it wasn't real. The illusion could not be recreated; the past would not return.
The fourth room collapsed rapidly. Viserys saw everything turn to void and terror.
Indigo shadows shifted faster and faster, collapsing one after another.
Shadows danced in the palace, erratic and terrifying.
A blue winter rose withered in a girl's hand, stained with blood.
"Daenerys!" Viserys saw himself screaming in agony, molten gold pouring down his face, filling his mouth.
But that face tore apart. Rubies of blood sprayed from dying Rhaegar's chest as he knelt in the water, whispering a woman's name with his last breath: "Lyanna..."
A silver-haired boy walked toward a ship facing a storm, heading for a dark island. Viserys.
A black-haired girl led a silver-haired girl barefoot toward a house with a red door. Rhaenys and Daenerys.
"I don't want the void! I want the present!" Viserys shouted.
The images vanished instantly.
"How is this possible? A man with no future..." The second Undying roared, watching Viserys regain clarity while the swollen heart trembled violently.
"Where is your prophecy? No one resists the allure of destiny. No, you are the Child of Prophecy, the Dragonlord. The dragon has three heads; you are the Son of Three."
The Unsullied stood silent. Everything they had seen here shattered their worldview.
Firewyrms, terrible plagues, and now a true dragon.
"I see three fires burning in you: the fire of blood, the fire of magic, the fire of water.
"I see you becoming the King of Three: Westeros, Andalos, the Rhoyne," the Undying stammered.
"I don't want the future. I want the present. I don't want a bullshit future built on lies," Viserys glared at the second Undying.
He wasn't Rhaegar. He was Viserys.
"I know you will succeed," the second Undying said quickly. "We knew a thousand years ago, waiting until now. The comet will be our guide."
The Undying wasn't speaking entirely nonsense. Magic had always existed, merely ebbing low.
Even in the waning of magic, prophets like Bloodraven and the Ghost of High Heart existed.
The Undying felt it—the rhythm of magic rising from its slumber.
The long summer was the herald of magic, so the desperate Undying took the risk.
"I will share knowledge with you," the second Undying continued. "Teach you to wield magic as a weapon.
"Come, come quickly. You have passed all tests. Just come to the Palace of Dust and feast with us. Countless questions will be answered."
"Liar!"
"Falsehood!"
"I am the reverser of fate! Only I am immortal! Only the True Dragon is immortal!" Viserys cursed, his voice like steel. "You are not worthy of being Undying."
"Dracarys!" The dragon roared in fury.
Sunfyre flapped his wings. Gold-red fire engulfed the beating black heart, turning it to nothingness.
"Unsullied! Protect me!" The second Undying screamed.
The Unsullied bravely threw their spears at the sky, but the dragon dodged them all.
The second blast of dragonfire arrived, consuming the second Undying.
He burned screaming. Some Unsullied tried to save him but were caught in the flames and died horribly.
It was said the true Undying were light as air, mere empty shells that crumbled at a touch.
These wandering Undying were more like rotting, senile old men.
Viserys saw the golden harpy whip, used to command the Unsullied, vanish into ash.
The dragon circled. Viserys looked at the twelve surviving Unsullied and said, "You are free."
With the whip burned, they were truly free.
"Free. We are willing to serve the True Dragon Monarch, the Great Dragonlord, until death." The Unsullied leader's confused eyes turned resolute. They offered the silver wine and the Undying's relics to Viserys.
"Drink that yourselves," Viserys said.
He sniffed the warlocks' barrier agent. It was inferior.
Made from the dead warlock's blood and various potions; the Unsullied had likely suffered casualties from it.
"We will remember your kindness," the Unsullied knelt together.
"Which merchant did you serve?" Viserys asked.
"We come from the Thirteen, the Ancient Guild of Spicers, and the Tourmaline Brotherhood. We were given to the Undying for this expedition," the leader replied.
Qarth had three merchant guilds: the Thirteen, the Spicers, and the Tourmaline Brotherhood. They fought and schemed against the Qartheen royals and each other.
Viserys knew these guilds commanded at least eight hundred to a thousand ships—immensely wealthy.
The warlocks still had pull, trading their dignity for aid. The merchants feared the warlocks' curses and craved wealth.
Viserys's actions meant offending the House of the Undying and the merchants of Qarth.
But it didn't matter. Qarth relied on the Dothraki ravaging the grasslands to control the trade routes.
To put it bluntly, Qarth and the Dothraki had aligned interests.
Such enemies were inevitable.
"We landed with eighty or ninety men. Now only these few remain. The silver wine cannot fully block the curse," the Unsullied said impassively.
Viserys examined the other items left by the Undying: an ancient map of Valyria, a nearly empty barrel of shade of the evening, and some supplies.
The Qartheen warlocks hadn't come up empty-handed either. They had found an ancient Valyrian steel morningstar named Blazing Star.
And a Valyrian steel shield shaped like a dragon head, adorned with ocean wave patterns, named Raging Tide.
Apart from these, the warlocks had found nothing.
Viserys packed up. It was time to leave and reunite with his own men.