Chapter 16: The Whisper Beneath the Flame

The morning broke quietly.

A thick veil of mist rolled over the hills, creeping down into the low paths between the crags. The fortress stood silent in the dawn, its stones slick with dew, the air heavy with silence.

Daenerys stirred before I did. When I woke, she was already seated on the edge of the furs, brushing her fingers through her loose silver hair, gazing out toward the window and the gray sky beyond. The hearth crackled softly behind her.

I sat up. "You slept?"

"Enough," she murmured. "Not well."

I rose and joined her. We didn't speak further. The silence between us was natural now — not uncomfortable, just shared.

Rhazal woke with the wind.

By midday, he was racing through the clouds again — sharp and wild, his green-bronze scales streaking across the horizon. Below, the Dothraki steered clear of the courtyard. Rhazal's landings were never graceful.

Drakaina remained near the high wall, sunning herself like royalty, still and proud. Her red-black scales shimmered in the late morning light. She watched everything — but moved only when it suited her.

Vaedron had not shifted from the tallest spire in two days. He perched like a statue, eyes fixed northward, wings furled. Always silent. Always watching.

No one questioned their presence anymore. The fortress had adjusted. The guards spoke quieter. The servants moved with a nervous sort of reverence. People stepped aside without being told.

The age of dragons had begun — even if no one said it aloud.

In the afternoon, I made my way to the hidden chamber.

I stepped alone, with no torch and no sound. Down beneath the kitchens, past the sealed corridor, behind the obsidian door only I and Melyria knew how to open.

The heat greeted me like breath.

Inside, the three eggs lay still.

One deep red.

One silver-violet.

One orange bright as flame.

They hadn't stirred. Not even once. But they were not dormant.

I could feel it — something slow and steady. A tension building.

I knelt before them and said nothing.

There were no words left to offer. No coaxing. They would hatch when they were ready. That was enough.

I emerged just before sunset, the skies painted gold and copper.

Melyria found me near the upper stairs, her arms folded, expression calm but tight.

"You've been watching the dragons again," she said.

"I always do."

"There's movement beyond the hills," she told me. "Small. Scouts, maybe. Nothing confirmed."

I nodded. "It starts soon."

"You'll need a plan."

"I already have one."

She arched a brow. "And Daenerys?"

"She doesn't need to know everything. Not yet."

"She trusts you more than she admits."

"I know."

That evening, Daenerys and I sat together on the west-facing balcony.

We watched Rhazal dive toward the sea and pull up in a burst of wind. Drakaina rested with her head turned toward the horizon. Vaedron remained unseen — but not unfelt.

"I think I understand now," Daenerys said, not looking at me.

"Understand what?"

"What it means to be the mother of dragons. It's not just blood. It's not just fire. It's…" She paused. "It's responsibility. Command. Trust."

"You've felt it growing."

"Yes," she said. "And it scares me."

"Good. It should."

She turned to me. "You're not afraid?"

I met her eyes. "I'm careful."

A breeze picked up, carrying the scent of salt and smoke. Far below, the Dothraki lit campfires. Their laughter and shouting echoed faintly — but none dared approach our tower now.

The dragons had claimed this place. So had we.

That was enough for tonight.

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