Chapter 19: The Red God's Blessing

Moonlight, soft as silver gauze, gently bathed the Dragonpit platform halfway up the cliff.

There stood a beast in the shape of a man, sharp horns jutting from its head, its face covered in a layer of black, hardened keratin—like the crusted scab of an old wound.

It was Gaemon. But now, he seemed wholly consumed by madness and chaos, his mind lost.

As he let out a wild howl, a voice drifted in—distant, ethereal, as if carried on a breeze from the depths of some ancient abyss.

"Child... my child, do you hear my call?"

The voice echoed ghostlike within Gaemon's heart, while an unseen force coiled around his soul like invisible threads.

His body jolted as if struck by a strange surge of electricity. Under the whisper of that voice, the frenzy in his eyes slowly faded. A flicker of clarity surfaced.

He stood dazed for a moment, then slowly raised his hands and opened them, staring down at his beast-like claws—razor-sharp, foreign.

The eerie, lilting voice still hovered in his ears, a haunting blend of tender summons and cold temptation.

Gaemon turned, glancing back over his shoulder.

Above the fire, embers danced and swirled, slowly gathering into the outline of a human figure. It hovered faint and blurred, as if draped in a veil of red silk—its features too indistinct to see.

The red figure leaned in, and where its lips might have been, it gently pressed against Gaemon's forehead. There was no physical sensation, but an uncanny power surged from that contact, flooding into his body.

"My flesh and blood... offer yourself... offer me the flame... the king... the king's blood…"

The voice came again, broken and flickering, like a candle sputtering in the wind.

But before it could finish, the ember-formed figure trembled violently—then exploded in a sudden burst, scattering like fireworks before Gaemon's eyes.

"Was it you who turned me into this... monster? R'hllor!"

Gaemon's voice was hoarse, cracked and dry. As someone educated in the religious traditions of House Targaryen, he was well-versed in the gods of the world. And the only one known to manifest through flame... was the Red God.

But the fire gave no answer.

"Still... thank you. At least I can live a while longer—to help House Targaryen through this crisis. But as for the sacrifice... I'm afraid that's beyond me."

He flexed his skeletal, withered claws, testing the strange new bones and power flowing through them.

"Hm? These are... my weapons."

Gaemon crouched down and reached into the dying fire, pulling out two Valyrian steel swords now glowing red-hot from the heat.

So my sister and Aegon left behind their weapons to be buried with me.

He gently brushed the soot from the blades, murmuring, "Sister... wait for me. I'll protect you always."

Gripping the steel hilts, there came a muffled boom—twice—and both blades burst into flames, roaring with fierce heat.

Not bad at all... but first, I need to eat.

Without hesitation, he strode to the cliff's edge and leapt off.

Like a swift, wild beast, Gaemon bounded and clambered down the steep cliff face, his movements as nimble as a monkey's. In just a few agile jumps, he reached the bottom.

There, looming before him, was the dragon that had caused his death. Gaemon's pupils narrowed into slits, glowing with primal fury. He let out a deafening roar, half-dragon, half-wolf, and hurled himself toward the beast like a fired arrow.

Skarak, too wounded to move freely, could only swing its massive tail in a desperate arc.

Gaemon dodged effortlessly, springing aside with a graceful leap.

He drove one of his flaming swords deep into the dragon's flesh, using the momentum to scale the creature's massive body. After slipping past several frenzied strikes from its tail, he finally reached the dragon's chest.

Under Skarak's wide, terrified eyes, Gaemon raised his sword high and drove it down, ripping open the dragon's chest cavity.

He bared his fangs, mouth stretching into a wicked grin, and sank his teeth into the dragon's massive heart.

"ROAR!" Skarak let out a final, panicked scream, thrashing with what little strength remained. But after an entire day of struggling at the cliff's base, it had no energy left.

Soon, its movements ceased.

Gaemon, soaked in blood, crawled out from the dragon's chest.

He spared no further glance at the fallen beast. Turning away, he began climbing the cliff once more, sprinting up along the familiar path toward Daenys' Dragonpit.

I hope I can still catch up to them...

...

...

The small shelter, early the next morning...

Daenys slowly opened her eyes. As her senses returned, she realized she was tightly entwined with Aegon, their bodies pressed closely together. The unexpected intimacy sent a flush rushing to her cheeks, quickly spreading down her neck.

The cramped shelter was thick with a strange, lingering smell.

She recalled the surreal dream from the night before—marrying her own brother—and a chill ran through her. It could only mean one thing: her dream-walking ability had gone out of control.

As one of the most gifted among the Dragon Dreamers, she could manipulate dreams through physical contact or spiritual conduits. But last night, overwhelmed by sorrow, she'd lost control—and unknowingly dragged Aegon into her dreamscape.

Feeling the sticky heat clinging to her skin, Daenys checked her body and glanced at the scattered clothes on the ground.

'Thank the gods, there's no blood. Aegon and I are still pure. We only shared skin-to-skin contact... nothing more.'

She patted her chest and let out a long breath, silently relieved.

'Good, he's still asleep. There's still time to get things under control. Hopefully, he won't misunderstand what happened.'

Daenys bit her lip, moving gently so as not to wake him. She carefully lifted her thigh from his waist and got to her feet.

She searched the shelter and found torn strips of cloth from their shredded clothes, meticulously wiping the traces and fluids from her body.

Aegon cracked open his left eye, just enough to sneak a glance at the naked Daenys moving around the shelter. Then, quickly, he shut it again, pretending to sleep.

The awkwardness of the situation made Aegon feel completely out of his depth. He had no idea how to face Daenys if he were to "wake up" now.

Outside, the sky still lingered in a dim pre-dawn haze.

Daenys dampened the cloth strips with what little water remained in the kettle and continued cleaning herself. Once done, she noticed Aegon's body was also marked and stained.

Her eyes turned to him—and noticed the faint movement beneath his eyelids.

'So he's been awake this whole time... sigh.' She exhaled silently.

Frozen for a moment, she hesitated. Then, slowly, she bent down and started cleaning Aegon's body as well. As she did, she prayed in silence, 'Please, just keep pretending to be asleep. Don't open your eyes. I won't be able to face you if you do.'

Aegon gritted his teeth inwardly, muttering to himself, "Daenys, what are you doing..."

At that moment, the touch of Daenys' palm triggered an update to her stat panel in Aegon's mind.

[Daenys Targaryen:

Attributes: …

Talents:

[C-Rank - Dragon Dreams: May experience precognitive dreams related to herself, …]

[D-Rank - Dreamwalker: Can jump into dreams via spiritual mediums …]

[D-Rank - Apostle of Lust: Physiological needs +100%. Your physical desires may spiral out of control at irregular intervals. During these episodes, mental strength increases by 15 points. Upon fully restraining physical desires, gain the reverse talent – Septon of Restrain II.]

[True Dragonblood - Dragonseed: …]

Skills: …]

Her talents had changed—from the D-Rank "Septon of Restrain" to "Apostle of Lust." Remembering her uncontrollable behavior in the dream last night, which had lasted until dawn, the cause was obvious.

In the game Destined Godblood, talents weren't fixed. They could alter one's physical traits. For example, Gaemon's "Strong Arms" gave him noticeably thicker wrists and forearms.

Likewise, a character's choices could reshape their talents. If a regular person gouged out an eye, they would inevitably acquire the "One-Eyed" talent.

Thinking of this, Aegon began to worry about Daenys' next steps.

If she continued acting under the influence of "Apostle of Lust," and he remained at her side, things could spiral out of control fast.

Inside the shelter...

When Daenys reached Aegon's lower body, her hand paused mid-air. Her face was burning, but she gritted her teeth and finished wiping him down.

With everything cleaned, she hurried outside and burned the stained cloth strips with a torch.

As she watched the soiled rags and their shameful contents burn to ash, a new problem struck her: without those makeshift undergarments, what would they wear underneath on their journey? That would leave them completely bare beneath their cloaks.

As she stood frozen in embarrassment, Aegon stepped out of the shelter.

He handed her his leather armor and coat with attached gear.

"Put these on for now."

He turned his head away, avoiding the sight of her bare skin.

"Mm," Daenys murmured softly, taking the belt with its pouch and sword sheath. "Last night… it was my dream ability going haywire. I'm really sorry..."

"I don't remember any of it. You forget dreams after you wake up, right?" Aegon said, his back still to her.

Daenys sighed and forced a lighter tone. "Okay, I'm dressed."

She looked up—only to see Aegon giving her a weary, slightly pained look.

Their wild tussle the night before had reduced their underwear to rags, and now Daenys had incinerated those as well. She was left with only the leather gear and a coat to cover herself.

Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her chest, blushing deeply as she lowered her gaze.

"...Let's go," Aegon said, trying to sound composed, as if nothing had happened. He turned and started walking.

Daenys took a deep breath, mentally steadying herself. She straightened her posture and followed after him.