Chapter 28

The lanterns were dim now. The wine was gone.

Kartiga stood at the tall window, staring out across the rooftops of Braavos. Mist drifted through the canals. The city breathed slow under moonlight.

Behind him, the door opened.

The Shinobi returned. Silent. Quick-footed. Their black cloths fluttered faintly, but their hands were empty.

They had come back with nothing.

Kartiga didn't turn. He kept looking at the city, holding the goblet in one hand.

"So," he said softly, "the elite Jonin… couldn't keep pace with the world's weirdness."

No anger. Just a tone of mild disappointment, like a man who expected rain on a sunny day.

"I'm not surprised."

He sipped the wine. Still didn't turn.

Then, after a pause:

"Kai… do you know why I've taken a new name?"

Kai stepped forward. "No, my lord."

Kartiga finally turned to face him, face unreadable.

"There are a hundred ways to kill a man," he said. "Knives, poison, blades… arrows in the dark."

He raised the goblet slightly.

"But in this world? There are far more."

He walked slowly toward the center of the room, his voice steady.

"As long as they know your name… your true name… they can find you. Pull your past from it. Shape a weapon from it."

He stopped. Looked into the wine.

"That's how strange this world is, Kai. That's how dangerous."

He looked up now, gaze sharper.

"That's why I change. Today I'm Caesar. Tomorrow I'll be someone else."

He smiled faintly.

"I mean to stay alive. Not just for power. But for time. For freedom. And for her."

He finished the wine and placed the goblet on the table.

"Bring me a white mask," he said. "Plain. With a red dragon mark across it. Just one."

Kai bowed slightly. "Yes, my lord."

Kartiga turned back toward the window. The mist had thickened over the harbor.

Then, as if struck by thought, he added:

"Tomorrow… let her walk the market."

Kai looked up.

"She's not a prisoner," Kartiga said. "Let her have a day. Time to breathe. To be someone."

He glanced back again.

"Just keep her safe. Quiet eyes. No stares. And the ones around her—tell them to smile. Laugh. Act like they belong."

He walked toward the chair in the corner. Sat down slowly.

Then leaned his head back.

The fire crackled softly nearby.

No more words were spoken.

Only silence, and a name that no longer belonged to a man—but to a shadow trying to outlive fate.

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GUEST PALACE – DAENERYS'S CHAMBER – MORNING

The soft light of morning crept through the high windows, cutting gentle gold across the white silk sheets.

Daenerys stirred.

She lay in a bed too fine for comfort, her silver hair splayed across the pillow. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming.

Then—

Voices. Light footsteps. A low laugh.

Her eyes blinked open.

Two women stood at the far side of the room, dressed in soft linen robes—simple, clean, ordinary. They smiled as they moved about, folding cloth, setting out fresh water in a basin.

Daenerys sat up slowly.

Her voice was uncertain. "You…"

The women turned to her with warm smiles.

"Good morning, my lady," one of them said kindly.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes, still waking. These were the same women—the ones who stood like statues, cold and armed, watching her every step.

Now they smiled?

They had never smiled before.

She slipped out of bed carefully, wrapping a sheet around her.

"You're… the same ones from before," she said quietly.

They shared a glance. One of them nodded.

"Yes, my lady," she said. "But today is different."

Daenerys stepped forward. Still cautious.

One of them held out a gown—a long white dress, flowing, embroidered with silver leaves and pale stitching that shimmered in the light.

It looked like it belonged to a queen.

"For you," the woman said. "The city is calm. You may walk, if you wish. Like any other."

Daenerys took the dress gently. Her fingers traced the fabric.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

She turned the gown in her hands, admiring it. Then paused.

"You speak differently now," she said.

The woman tilted her head, smile still soft.

"And yesterday?" Daenerys asked. "You didn't even look at me."

"We follow instruction," the other replied. "We become what we must."

Daenerys stepped behind the folding screen to change. The women came to help—soft hands, skilled, moving with ease. One held her hair up while the other washed her back with a warm cloth.

She flinched slightly at first—then relaxed.

"You were trained to kill," Daenerys said. "Not to serve."

The woman gently rinsed her shoulder. "Both are true."

Daenerys glanced back. "You answer me now. Yesterday, you ignored everything I asked."

"We were guards, then," one of them said. "Today, we are companions."

Daenerys turned around, curious.

"You fight like men," she said. "You walk with blades. And yet…"

She looked at them—bare, unarmed, gentle. But it didn't fool her.

"You're not like other women," she said softly.

The first Shinobi nodded. "We are not women, not truly. Not in the way your world sees it. We are Shinobi. We are taught to serve. To strike. To disappear. And to become what the day demands."

Daenerys stepped into the gown as they helped her fasten it at the back.

She hesitated before asking the next question.

"So… Kartiga is your Lord?"

There was a pause.

One of them shook her head. "No."

Daenerys looked at her, surprised. "Then who is?"

"Our Lord has never told us his name."

Daenerys blinked. "But you follow Kartiga."

"Yes," the woman said. "He is our lord."

She met Daenerys's gaze. Calm. Steady.

"But our lord… has no name."

Daenerys stood still.

The silk of her gown whispered in the quiet. The room was warm with light, but her thoughts were cold and clouded.

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