43: Chapter 43 The tail crawled in

One in the morning. The top floor of the Great Pyramid. Daenerys's bedchamber.

The bedchamber was infinitely larger than the captain's quarters on the ship.

The dome was high enough to fit half a small dragon. The Walls were hung with tapestries from the Ghiscari Empire, depicting scenes of ancient wars—dragons and men fighting side by side, with red and gold flames spewing from the dragons' mouths.

But Daenerys had only allowed them to bring in a normal-sized bed. It wasn't one of those large, gold-inlaid, jade-encrusted beds from the throne room. It was just a size suitable for a ship. It was made of wood, covered with white sheets. There were only two pillows. A thin quilt.

She lay in the center of the bed, covered by the thin quilt, eyes closed. She was not asleep.

A steady heartbeat came from her chest. His heartbeat. He was currently in the treasury below. She could perceive his general state through the heartbeat. Excitement—the heartbeat was fast, over 120 beats per minute. Satisfaction—the heartbeat was slowly slowing down.

There was also a hint of deeply hidden exhaustion—the interval between heartbeats would occasionally stretch, a compensatory rhythm after physical overexertion. The bloodline power consumed during the breakthrough just now hadn't fully recovered.

The heartbeat was moving this way. Very slowly. Getting closer and closer. He was climbing the stairs—the heartbeat began to accelerate, just like his reaction when she approached him.

He had walked past the long corridor—the heartbeat stabilized a bit, as he adjusted his breathing. He stopped at the door—the heartbeat suddenly sped up a beat. Then it slowed down again. He was hesitating. Just like last night at the cabin door.

The door was pushed open gently.

The sound of bare feet stepping on the stone floor. Very light. Then the friction sound of a tail dragging on the ground.

The door was closed gently. The footsteps walked to the bedside and stopped. A corner of the quilt was lifted. The foot of the bed sank slightly. It sank less than last night—he was controlling his weight.

She didn't open her eyes. Her voice was sleepy.

"Finished counting the treasury?"

"Hmm. Enough military funds for us to conquer all of Westeros. Plus my personal collection—never mind. I won't tell you how much. You'll just scold me for being greedy again."

His voice was very low. Afraid of waking her, even though he knew she wasn't asleep.

He could feel her heartbeat—the heartbeat when pretending to sleep was different from when truly asleep. When pretending to sleep, the heart rate fluctuations were denser, with a subtle acceleration every dozen beats or so.

She didn't answer. She felt his tail slip into the quilt. It wasn't a tentative approach. It was a direct slide in.

It skillfully wrapped around her ankle. The scales at the tip of the tail were cold. Just coming up from the underground secret chamber. Carrying the chill of the treasury. Her calf shivered slightly from the cold, and her toes curled. But she didn't pull her foot back.

"Drogon. A blood bond is a spousal contract. It doesn't mean you can come to my bed every night."

He closed his eyes. Hands behind his head. But his tail wrapped tighter. It moved half an inch up from her ankle. Pressing against her calf. The tip of the tail hooked along the curve of her inner calf.

"Since our heartbeats are shared, why should I sleep in the treasury? When I close my eyes, all I hear is your heartbeat. You sleep. I'll just stay at the foot of the bed. I'll leave once you're asleep."

"You said the same thing on the ship last time. The next morning, you drooled all over my bed."

"...That was an accident."

A tiny arc appeared at the corner of her mouth. She turned over, back to him.

But her ankle didn't break free from his tail's entanglement. Instead, her ankle leaned half an inch toward the tail. Unconsciously. Or perhaps intentionally. It was hard to tell.

"You must leave before dawn. Missandei comes to deliver breakfast at six every morning."

"Deal. The tail promises not to drool."

"...How can a tail drool."

"A metaphor. It's a metaphor."

She didn't speak again. Her breathing gradually steadied. Her heart rate changed from the fluctuations of feigned sleep to true stability—about sixty beats per minute. Slower than his. But very steady.

A moment later, only the almost synchronized heartbeats of the two remained in the bedchamber. His heartbeat and her heartbeat. Two sets of drums. The same song. Her breathing became gentle and even. She was asleep.

In his sleep, his tail took the liberty of wrapping around one more time. It reached her calf. The tip of the tail even rubbed against the inside of her knee in his sleep. She didn't wake up. Her body shrank into the quilt. Her ankle got closer to his tail. Close enough to feel the texture of the scales on the tail.

Outside the window, the embers of Meereen were still burning. A few thin strands of black smoke rose into the night sky. The fleet on the sea was brightly lit. In this bedchamber at the top of the Great Pyramid, two heartbeats intertwined. Like the most peaceful requiem after a war.

Beyond The Wall. The Land of Always Winter.

The blizzard had been blowing for eight thousand years. There was no living thing on the ice sheet.

Only wights. Dense masses of wights. Standing motionless in the wind and snow.

Ice-blue eyes glowed in the darkness. Tens of thousands of pairs. Hundreds of thousands of pairs. Covering the entire ice sheet. Like a patch of blue mold growing on the ground.

Behind the army of wights, a massive throne cast from eternal ice. The Night King sat upright.

He was not a man. He was a human transformed by the Others. It happened eight thousand years ago. His skin was ice-blue. Not the blue of frostbite. It was the color of ice. Translucent. One could see the texture of ice crystals beneath the skin, the texture like tree rings, circle after circle.

His eyes were also ice-blue. There was no temperature in his pupils. No emotion. Only one thing—waiting. He was waiting. Had been waiting for eight thousand years.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

The ice-blue pupils turned south. Through the blizzard. Through The Wall. Through the continent of Westeros. Through the Narrow Sea. Through Slavers Bay. Looking all the way toward Meereen.

His gaze had no physical form, but he perceived it. It was something older than vision—the Others' perception of dragon bloodlines.

All Others could perceive dragon blood. That was an instinct carved into their ice crystals when they were created. But this time it was different. It wasn't ordinary dragon blood. It was the blood of the Ancestor Dragon. It was the blood of the Ancestor of All Dragons. It was blood he hadn't seen in eight thousand years.

There was a heartbeat there. Not human. It was a dragon's. But it was unlike any dragon he had ever perceived.

It wasn't one of those domesticated mounts of the Targaryen. It was something older. More primitive. Closer to the flames at the beginning of the world. A dragon's heartbeat. Mixed with human blood.

The two bloods merged together. He heard the echo when the contract was formed—that soul resonance that only top predators could perceive.

Like two magnets colliding simultaneously. The shockwave spread out from Meereen, sweeping across the entire continent of Essos, sweeping across the Narrow Sea, sweeping across Westeros, all the way to the Land of Always Winter.

And the aura sent back by his vanguard—Ice Scum—just before he was torn apart.

There was a name in that aura. It wasn't written in words. It was branded into the aura by instinct. All Others could read it. Before dying, Ice Scum froze his memory into fragments and ejected them back to the Land of Always Winter. There were only four words in the memory fragments.

"Ancestor of All Dragons."

The Night King slowly stood up. The ice throne beneath him made a cracking sound. It wasn't from the weight. It was the overflow of the frost power within him.

A dozen cracks appeared on the surface of the ice throne, and eerie blue cold air emerged from the cracks. The cold air condensed into ice crystals in the air, and the ice crystals shattered into powder, falling at his feet.

The ice crystal longsword pointed south. The blade was engraved with runes of the Others. Each rune was glowing. In the direction the sword tip pointed, the blizzard cracked open a fissure. At the end of the fissure, the blurry outline of The Wall could be seen. The sword emitted a low hum. As if responding to that heartbeat in the south.

Behind him, twelve Other generals wearing ancient armor knelt on one knee in unison. Their armor was covered in frost. Their knees hit the ice surface, making a dull cracking sound. The ice surface was dented by twelve shallow pits from the knees.

The Night King spoke. His voice was like a collapsing glacier. It was not a language. It was the resonance produced by ice crystals vibrating in the air.

But all the Other generals understood. The sound traveled through the blizzard, every snowflake carrying his words.

"A dragon—one has died. Another has lived. It is not a Targaryen dragon. It is... something older."

He paused. His ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly. The sword tip drew an arc on the ground. The ice surface was sliced open, and eerie blue cold air emerged from the crack.

The cold air condensed into an ice mirror in the air. A blurry image was reflected on the mirror surface—golden light. A dragon shadow. And a woman with a golden dragon claw mark on her chest. The image lasted only a second. Then it shattered.

"Prepare a raven. Notify the Abyss—our vanguard has been killed."

An Other general looked up. There was a deep crack on his helmet. It was torn by a dragon claw during the ancient wars. The crack extended from the top of his head to his jaw. The face under the helmet was half a skull. The other half was covered by ice crystals. He spoke. His voice was hoarser than the Night King's. The vibration frequency of the ice crystals was lower.

"My Lord. Should we advance south early?"

"No."

The Night King raised his left hand. The wind and snow condensed in his palm. It transformed into an ice crystal raven. Two blue spots of light were embedded in the raven's eye sockets. They were not eyes. They were runic energy crystals for surveillance. It spread its wings in the Night King's hand, emitting a silent shriek. Every ice crystal feather on its wings was emitting an eerie blue fluorescent light.

"Wait. That thing has the scent of 'evolution'. It will come looking for us."

He released his hand. The raven soared into the sky. Tearing through the blizzard. Flying south. Faster than any living raven. Flying into the high sky, it turned into an eerie blue meteor. The meteor trailed a long tail of light in the blizzard.

The Night King turned his head. His ice-blue eyes turned to his side. There stood a massive, unfinished dragon-shaped ice sculpture.

The outline of the ice sculpture was already clearly visible—a crouching giant dragon. Wings folded. Neck curved. Dragon mouth slightly open. Carved from eternal mysterious ice. Every scale was detailed and nuanced. The dragon teeth were polished from ice crystals, with the tips flashing with cold light. Only one eye was empty. The other was already inlaid with an ice-blue runic energy crystal. It was emitting an eerie light. The light diffused outward from the center of the crystal, like the pupil of a living creature contracting.

"Before that—"

He reached out. Ice crystals grew from his palm. Slowly. Inch by inch. Began to fill the empty eye socket of the ice sculpture. The ice crystals condensed into another runic energy crystal in his palm. Eerie blue light began to flow inside the crystal.

"—We need sharper weapons."