GAME OF THRONES: AEGON THE AVENGER

Only a few days had passed since Stannis's defeat and death, yet the entirety of Blackwater Bay had completely changed its colors.

From the Velaryons of Driftmark and the Celtigars of Claw Isle to the minor lords of Crackclaw Point and the few remaining petty vassals on Dragonstone itself, messengers and letters of surrender flew toward the Stone Drum Tower like a flock of startled autumn crows, one after another.

With Dragonstone as their hub, Aegon's army was efficiently taking over these islands and coastal outposts, hoisting the three-headed red dragon banner on a black field.

The campaign in the Stormlands was even more of a rout.

Jon Clinton led the main force of the Golden Company, riding the momentum of capturing Storms End as they swept north along the coast and main roads of the Stormlands.

Rain House, Griffins Roost, and even some smaller castles further north surrendered almost as soon as they saw the army approaching.

Occasionally, a few fortresses loyal to Baratheon attempted to resist, but they quickly succumbed to the Golden Company's seasoned siege tactics and overwhelming numbers, resulting in fluttering surrender flags and wide-open gates.

One by one, the black banners with the three-headed red dragon were raised along the winding coastline, rolling hills, river mouths, and Ports, spreading out in an unbroken line.

From Dragonstone to Storms End, it was as if a long-dormant fire dragon was awakening on the southeastern coast, stretching its pitch-black body and crimson scales, casting a scorching shadow over the entire Stormlands.

The sea breeze was mighty, whipping past the newly planted flagpoles as thousands of banners made the same monotonous yet grand snapping sound, drowning out all other noise.

Melisandre walked through the sprawling military camps near the Dragonstone Port.

Her deep red robes were as striking among the uniform black armor, black robes, and dark red cloaks as a drop of blood in ink, or like unextinguished embers amidst the ashes.

The sea breeze tugged at the corners of her robes and the red hair beneath her hood, but she seemed not to feel it. Her steps were slow and heavy, nearly silent on the packed earth.

She watched the dragon banners surging like a tide before her and listened to the clamor and bustle of the victors surrounding her.

The clanking of Soldiers polishing armor, the short commands of officers, and most frequently, the excited discussions about their Highness, the true dragon, that devastating naval battle, and even older legends reached her ears.

For days, she had wandered through the camps, docks, and the base of the walls of Dragonstone like a fading ghost.

She was no longer that confident and arrogant Red Priestess whose every word carried the weight of prophecy.

Stannis had met his end on the beaches of Dragonstone, and with him, the rock-solid world of faith she had built over a decade was shattered.

She had once firmly believed that every flicker of the sacred flames was a revelation, and that Stannis was the prince chosen by the lord of light, the hero destined to wield Lightbringer against the long night.

To that end, she had offered shadows, committed murders, and woven a bloody path to the iron throne with prophecies.

But Stannis was dead.

He died so easily, so... utterly devoid of any divine miracle.

The sporadic fires she had summoned were brushed aside like a child's sparks before that golden thunder that pierced the heavens and earth.

The ruby at her throat was cold and dim.

The prophecy was broken; the direction guided by the flames ended in nothingness and mockery.

She had fallen into the deepest darkness and self-doubt, until she began to hear the Soldiers talking.

At first, it was just snippets—about how His Highness commanded that terrifying three-headed golden dragon, and about the world-shaking scene of the naval battle.

Gradually, older and more mysterious rumors began to circulate in the relaxed atmosphere of victory.

She heard a veteran Bloodsworn officer boasting to a group of recruits by a campfire:

"...Valyria? That hellhole is no place for humans! When we followed His Highness in, there were over a hundred ships and thousands of men. They said we were looking for treasure, but it turns out we were tricked into being sacrifices. It was basically a death sentence!"

"The very stones there are cursed, and a single breath of the air takes years off your life! But then... we actually found a dragon graveyard, but the place collapsed! We all thought His Highness was definitely buried inside, dead for sure!"

A tremor of memory flickered in the officer's eyes.

"The sacrifices were made, and that dragon that had been dead for who knows how many centuries, soaking in the Blood Lake, was actually awakened! Just when we were all about to despair, guess what happened...!"

"His Highness... he walked out from the ruins of that collapsed dragon tomb, out from the still-burning flames! Truly, he just walked out! There wasn't even a speck of dust on him, and his silver hair wasn't even mussed!"

He lowered his voice, conveying a sense of mystery mixed with fear and boundless worship:

"He was holding a sword... glowing red all over, as if it had just been pulled from a forge, with golden flames flowing along the blade! He just held the sword up toward that Dead Dragon... right then, there was a star in the sky, trailing a red tail as it streaked past, looking like it was bleeding..."

The veteran's voice grew even lower, becoming almost a whisper:

"Then... then it felt like we all dazed out for a second, like we had a collective dream. In the dream... the sky seemed to go dark, and a shadow larger than a mountain, with three heads and eyes like suns... just hung in the sky, looking at us, looking at His Highness... When we came to, the burning sword in His Highness's hand was gone, and there was no bleeding star in the sky."

"That Dead Dragon was gone too, just like a dream!"

"But we all remember... later, His Highness's dragon came—pale gold, with three heads... exactly like the shadow in the dream."

The surrounding recruits listened, dumbfounded, with some instinctively looking up at the sky.

Melisandre stood in the shadows nearby, her body stiff. Every word was like a red-hot nail being driven into her chaotic mind.

The Valyrian Ruins.

A land of smoke and salt.

Reborn from destruction.

Wielding a burning sword.

Stars weeping blood.

The phantom of a three-headed demon dragon...

These fragmented words, images, and rumors collided and swirled in her dark, chaotic thoughts. Then, like a bolt of lightning that had gathered for too long and finally tore through the thick dark clouds...

"Boom!"

She felt her heart struck heavily by invisible flames, nearly stopping its beat.

She had once thought the land of smoke and salt was Dragonstone, this rocky, seaside island with a volcano.

So she had applied the prophecy to Stannis, believing in it without doubt.

But what if... what if the true land of smoke and salt was Valyria? That cursed land completely covered by volcanic ash, thick smoke, scorching lava, and the Smoke Sea?

That ruin which symbolized the glory of an ancient civilization and its ultimate destruction?

And Aegon Targaryen was the one who walked out of it.

Returning from the absolute extreme of smoke and salt.

An ancient proverb she had recited day and night, engraved in the depths of her soul, rang out like a giant bell in her collapsed yet desperate-to-be-rebuilt spiritual world:

"The long night approaches, the stars weep blood, and a cold chill envelops the earth... Azor Ahai shall be reborn amidst smoke and salt, wielding a burning sword to wake dragons from stone and bring dawn to the world..."

She began to tremble violently, not from the cold sea breeze, but from a near-fearful epiphany and a surging, new 'certainty' that threatened to overwhelm her.

She was wrong.

Utterly wrong.

The sacred flames had not deceived her; she had simply misread the location and the person.

Stannis was merely a dusty stone on the path of destiny, while the true 'Prince,' the reborn hero, was Aegon.

The true dragon returned from the Doom of Valyria.

The dragon rider who manifested miracles on the night the stars wept blood.

The Targaryen who could wake demon dragons from stone.

Every fragmented clue was now linked by this new, terrifying 'truth,' shining with a blinding and complete brilliance.

Aegon was no mortal.

He was the reincarnation of Azor Ahai.

The true 'the dawns son' sent to the mortal world by the lord of light to face the impending long night!

This realization instantly flooded her with feverish hope, but it was immediately followed by a deeper, ice-water-like fear.

She had just suffered the total destruction of her faith because she had misidentified someone, witnessing the absurd end of the 'Chosen One' with her own eyes.

She was afraid.

She didn't dare to pour out her fanaticism unreservedly or proclaim oracles without doubt as she had before.

She needed to confirm.

She needed to observe more closely.

She needed to... atone, and regain the qualification to serve the true 'Prince.'

So, she remained silent and restrained, suppressing the surging waves beneath her blood-red robes.

She carefully approached the gates of the Stone Drum Tower and requested an audience with Aegon from the guards.

The guards scrutinized her for a long time, but eventually, perhaps having received some prior approval, they stepped aside to let her pass.

Melisandre lowered her head, her deep red hood concealing her incredibly complex expression.

She slowly ascended the spiraling stone steps, her footsteps echoing faintly in the empty tower like her still-apprehensive heartbeat.

At the Sea-viewing Platform at the very top of the Stone Drum Tower, the sea breeze roared without obstruction.

Aegon stood there with his back to the entrance, looking down at the harbor, the coast, and the sea beyond as far as the eye could see, where the black banners with red dragons stretched out, snapping vigorously in the wind.

His long silver hair was swept back by the strong sea breeze, brushing against the cold edges of his black armor.

He simply stood there silently, not turning around, yet he spoke calmly just as Melisandre stepped onto the platform, before she could even open her mouth.

His voice was clear and indifferent, devoid of emotion:

"You have visited many places in the military camps these past few days."

"Have the stories of the Soldiers brought you some understanding?"

Melisandre's body jolted, as if her last shred of disguise had been easily seen through.

Without hesitation, she moved forward and knelt deeply, her vibrant red robes spreading across the cold, rough black stone floor like a sudden splash of devout blood.

Her forehead touched the ground, and her voice rose from the stone, carrying an uncontrollable tremor yet exceptionally clear due to a certain ultimate conviction:

"Yes... Your Highness."

"I was once blinded by ignorance, guided by illusory flames toward the wrong reefs. As a result, I only sank deeper into the dark maze, nearly destroying myself and... almost defiling the true intent of the True God."

She looked up, her hood falling back to reveal a face as pale as snow and deep red eyes now burning with a new fire, as she gazed at Aegon's back:

"But now, I have finally cleared the mist and seen the true face."

"You are the ancient hero reborn from the destruction of smoke and salt, the core around which the threads of destiny are woven. You are the reincarnation of Azor Ahai, the the dawns son heralded by the stars weeping blood."

"The long night is coming, and shadows of cold and death are gathering in the north, stretching their tentacles toward the world."

"Please allow me to serve at your side. Let my remaining understanding of the sacred flames be my blade, and my meager knowledge of ancient magic be my guide, to clear the gloom from your path and welcome the destined dawn!"

Her confession was full of the excitement of finding a pillar once more and the fanaticism of self-sacrifice.

Aegon slowly turned around.

His purple eyes fell calmly upon her. In the depths of that gaze, there was no being moved by the title of 'Chosen One,' no acceptance of her feverish devotion, and not even much surprise.

There was only a bottomless, near-void calmness, as if he were watching a somewhat noisy play that had nothing to do with him.

Prophecies? Messengers? Azor Ahai? the dawns son?

These words, which could incite fanatical wars in the mortal world and make people willingly give their lives, were to him merely the mutterings and tools used by weak souls to comfort themselves, weave meaning, and even manipulate others when they were powerless to face the cruel world.

He had struggled out of the dead ruins of Valyria, crossed the Smoke Sea, conquered city-states, and crossed the Narrow Sea, not to play the role of some savior hero.

What he wanted was blood for blood, to take back everything that had been usurped, and to reshape the order of this world with fire and steel.

He had spared Melisandre's life, not letting her perish with Stannis's Fleet under the golden thunder, and on the day of Stannis's execution, he had not ordered the Soldiers to deal with her, not out of mercy or prophecy.

It was simply because she indeed possessed some unique and eerie expertise in magic, and he himself needed to conduct in-depth research into the blood magic knowledge he had acquired from Valyria.

Studying in isolation was inefficient. Having someone truly knowledgeable to discuss, deduce, and deliberate with would save him a lot of time and might bring unexpected inspiration.

He had no intention of puncturing her piety, her fanaticism, or her complete, self-rationalized theological explanation, nor did he care to correct them.

It was meaningless.

As long as she could provide value, she could imagine herself as whatever she wished.

Aegon's gaze swept over her eagerly upturned face as he spoke plainly, his tone calm and steady. He directly and bluntly skipped all topics regarding prophecies, faith, the lord of light, and saving the world, returning to the most pragmatic and core level:

"Rise."

He turned back toward the sea of snapping banners, his voice not loud, yet carrying an unquestionable will that even the sea breeze could not disperse:

"Since you are versed in fire and certain ancient magics, you shall remain at my side."

"I am currently studying certain blood magic tomes and knowledge obtained from the ruins of Valyria. I need someone who truly understands magic and is not afraid to delve into obscure and dangerous paths to discuss, deduce, and when necessary, conduct controlled experiments with me."

He paused, turning his head to glance at the red-robed woman still kneeling on the ground with the corner of his eye, setting clear boundaries and a role for her:

"From this day forward, you shall accompany me."

"Speak not of divine will, nor of prophecies."

"Study only blood and fire, magic and dragons."

Melisandre was stunned, remaining in her kneeling position, seemingly unable to fully comprehend for a moment, or perhaps not expecting the 'Chosen One's' response to be so... plain and pragmatic.

There was no praise for her realization, no resonance with her mission—only a cold and clear arrangement for her utility.

But in the next second, a deeper understanding flashed through her mind.

Of course. How could a true prophet, a reborn hero, indulge in the flattery of mortals and theological debates?

His gaze had already been cast upon a grander chessboard and more fundamental rules.

Blood and fire, magic and dragons—these were the true powers to combat the long night and reshape the world!

By having her study these, he was entrusting her with the most core weapons, incorporating her into the true great work of salvation!

This was more precious and weightier than any verbal acknowledgment!

The blankness in her eyes was quickly replaced by a more restrained and determined heat.

She bowed deeply, her forehead touching the cold ground once more. Her voice trembled slightly with excitement, yet was exceptionally clear and submissive:

"I obey Your Highness's command."

"May my knowledge and my life serve to help you pierce the mysteries of blood and fire, and master the power of magic, in whatever small way I can."

She stood up, still keeping her head lowered, and respectfully stepped to the side like a scholar or assistant truly waiting for her master's instructions.

Her red robes remained vibrant, but the previous ostentatious fanaticism that sought to enlighten others had quietly transformed into a focused, inward-burning flame.

Aegon no longer looked at her, his gaze once again fixed on the distance.

Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898