Reignition of The Dragon

The sea wind carried the scent of salt and war as Daenerys Targaryen stood at the prow of her flagship, her silver hair whipping around her face like a banner of conquest. The fleet stretched across the horizon, a vast armada of dozens of ships—war galleys, troop carriers, and the grand vessels of the Targaryen host.

The black and red sigil of House Targaryen billowed high above the masts, its three-headed dragon a promise and a warning to all who still dared to oppose her. Beneath her flag, men and women from across Essos had gathered—Unsullied, battle-hardened Dothraki, and thousands of freed slaves, all united under one purpose: vengeance upon Yunkai.

The city loomed ahead, its golden walls gleaming beneath the morning sun.

Yunkai had once knelt before her, its Wise Masters swearing peace, but the moment she had turned her back, they had betrayed her.

They had funded the Sons of the Harpy. They had orchestrated assassinations, rebellions, and bloodshed. They had plotted to destroy her rule, hoping to chain their people once more.

Now, she had come to remind them why dragons ruled.

Jorah Mormont stepped beside her, his presence solid and steady. "Khaleesi, we are almost within range," he rumbled. "The slavers have closed their gates and fortified their defenses."

She had expected nothing less.

Grey Worm approached next, his dark eyes scanning the city. "Their walls are strong, but their courage is weak. They will hide behind them like cowards."

Daenerys nodded, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her dragonbone-hilted dagger. "They believe walls will keep them safe. They have forgotten that walls burn."

Behind her, the wings of dragons stirred the air.

Drogon, black and red, the size of a small warship, perched upon a rocky outcrop. His golden eyes watched the city, his nostrils flaring as if he could already smell the blood and fire to come. Rhaegal and Viserion circled above, their scales glinting like molten gold and frozen emerald in the morning light.

Daenerys turned to Tyrion Lannister, who leaned against the railing with a goblet of wine, his sharp eyes measuring the city's defenses.

"So," he mused, "do we parley with these slaver lords, or do we reduce them to ash?"

She let the silence stretch, feeling the weight of her decision before answering.

"Both."

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The Last Offer

Under the shadow of Yunkai's walls, Daenerys rode forward with her entourage—Jorah, Grey Worm, Tyrion, and Missandei at her side. The Dothraki flanked them, their braided hair adorned with silver rings of victory, their arakhs gleaming in the sun.

The Yunkish envoys stood before the sealed city gates, draped in opulent silks despite the fear behind their gilded masks. Their arrogance remained, but their hands trembled.

Daenerys did not dismount.

She sat atop her silver mare, back straight, her crimson and black cloak billowing behind her like the wings of a dragon. She wanted them to look up at her—to see her as the queen they had tried to defy.

"You have defied me," she said, her voice carrying across the plains. "You betrayed your own people. You shackled them in chains and sent masked cowards to kill in the dark."

The eldest of the slavers, a man named Mazdhan zo Loraq, stepped forward, his hands raised in mock peace. "Great Queen, we are but humble merchants. We did what was necessary to maintain order."

Tyrion scoffed. "Yes, order—by funding assassins and enslaving innocents."

Mazdhan bowed his head. "You are powerful, Your Grace, but war will cost you. Yunkai is rich, its walls strong. We can offer gold, ships—"

Daenerys raised her hand, and he fell silent.

"There is only one thing I will accept from you," she said, her eyes like frozen fire. "Your surrender."

The slavers exchanged nervous glances. One of them, a younger man with a beard, sneered. "And if we refuse?"

Daenerys smiled, slow and deliberate. "Then Yunkai will cease to exist."

She turned her gaze skyward. A shadow passed over the sun.

Drogon, the Great Black, swooped low over the battlefield, his wings unfurling like the sails of a warship. His roar shattered the air, sending the Yunkish envoys stumbling backward.

The younger slaver fell to his knees, shaking.

Mazdhan swallowed hard, but his pride clung to him like a dying ember. "We will never kneel."

Daenerys sighed. "Then you will burn."

She turned her horse, her braid whipping behind her like a lash. "Kill them."

Grey Worm nodded once. The Unsullied raised their spears. The Dothraki surged forward, their war cries splitting the heavens.

The slavers died screaming.

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Fire and Chains

That night, Yunkai burned.

The Unsullied breached the city gates, cutting through the mercenaries hired to defend them. The Dothraki swept through the streets, their arakhs flashing silver as they cut down slavers who tried to run.

Daenerys rode through the city, her banner raised high, watching the chains of the enslaved shatter.

The Wise Masters who refused to surrender were dragged into the city square, their wealth stripped, their luxurious robes torn away until they stood barefoot before the people they had oppressed.

Daenerys dismounted. She walked among the freed slaves, her gaze fierce, her presence a force of nature.

A woman—thin, scarred, her wrists still raw from iron manacles—fell to her knees before Daenerys, her voice trembling. "My Queen."

Daenerys met her eyes. "You do not need to kneel before me."

The woman wept, pressing her forehead to the earth. "You have freed us."

Behind her, the other freed slaves followed suit, their voices rising in a chant that echoed through the burning city.

"Mhysa! Mhysa!"

Mother.

Daenerys closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the sound wash over her.

Then, she turned to Grey Worm. "Find the children of the Wise Masters."

Grey Worm hesitated only a moment. "Khaleesi?"

She met his gaze, her voice steel. "They will not grow up to wear chains. Raise them as our own."

Grey Worm bowed. "It will be done."

The city roared around her—flames consuming the banners of the Wise Masters, their power broken forever.

Daenerys turned to the tallest structure in Yunkai—the palace of the slavers.

She raised a hand. Drogon's wings unfurled.

The dragon opened his jaws.

And fire consumed the last remnants of Yunkai's old masters.

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End of Chapter 29