7: Chapter 7: Three Days of Underground Chase

The adult sandworm had been chasing them for three days. It wasn't a chase. It was herding. Just like shepherding sheep. Every time Drogon rose into the air to scout, that thing would roll over ten kilometers away. A moving hill would rise beneath the sand, and the ground would collapse wherever it passed.

It didn't attack. It just followed.

"It is waiting for us to die," Jorah said. He was already on his third horse. The first two had been worked to death.

Daenerys Targaryen didn't speak. Her lips were cracked, and her silver hair was matted gray with dust. She held Drogon in her arms, and Rhaegal and Viserion hung from the saddle—the two dragonets were so dehydrated that their scales were peeling.

Drogon lay on Daenerys Targaryen's shoulder, staring at the moving sand dune behind them.

Waiting for us to die? No. Animals don't hunt like that. Chasing for three days without eating isn't because it's not hungry. It's because it thinks we aren't thin enough yet. Or—it's afraid of us.

"System, pull up data on the adult sandworm."

"Red Sandworm (Adult). Length: 82 meters. Threat Level: Catastrophe. Weakness: Soft tissue inside the mouthparts. Note: Fears fire."

Drogon narrowed his eyes. It feared fire. But the dragonets' Dragon Breath couldn't kill it. It knew that, too. So it waited. It waited for them to die of thirst. It waited for the dragons to be unable to breathe fire anymore.

Damn. This worm has become sentient.

The fifth day. Someone died. Not killed by the sandworm. Died of thirst.

An old Bloodrider. A former subordinate of Khal Drogo, he had followed Daenerys Targaryen for fifty days, from the Dothraki Sea to the Red Waste.

He was still riding his horse in the morning. He fell off at noon. By evening, he was half-buried in the sand, still gripping his arakh.

No one cried. No one stopped.

When Daenerys Targaryen walked past his corpse, the arakh was stuck in the sand. She pulled it out and tucked it into her waist.

Araddo rode over. He didn't look at the corpse. He looked at the blade at Daenerys Targaryen's waist.

"That is Kelaka's blade. You cannot wield it."

Daenerys Targaryen ignored him. Araddo reached out.

Jorah drew his sword. But faster than the sword was a ball of fire.

Drogon stood up from Daenerys Targaryen's shoulder, holding half a breath of Dragon Breath in his mouth. He didn't breathe it out. He just held it. The firelight leaked from between his teeth, casting flickering light on Araddo's face.

"You dare to touch her hand?" Drogon's voice was very soft. But Araddo's hand retracted.

It wasn't because he feared Drogon. It was because he feared the look in Daenerys Targaryen's eyes. That look wasn't anger. It was something colder than anger.

A woman dying of thirst, clutching a dead man's blade. If you dare to touch her, she will dare to stab you.

Araddo retreated. "Mad," he said. "All mad."

Drogon swallowed the Dragon Breath back. His throat burned with pain. But it was worth it.

The seventh day. The sandworm stopped. Drogon was dozing when he felt it. Daenerys Targaryen's fingers suddenly tightened, pinching his scales until it hurt.

"Drogon. Over there." She pointed due east.

It wasn't the sandworm. It was a mountain. There shouldn't be a mountain in the Red Waste. But that mountain range was right there. Black. Like charred bones, stabbing into the horizon one by one.

Drogon's pupils constricted violently. It wasn't a black mountain. It was dragonglass. The entire mountain range was dragonglass.

The system panel exploded: "High-purity dragonglass vein detected! Area: 17 square kilometers! Purity: S-rank! Host is advised to absorb immediately!"

Then, from deep within the dragonglass mountain range, came a roar. It wasn't the sandworm. It was a dragon.

Every scale on Drogon's body stood on end.

"Ding! Ancient dragon remains detected! Coordinates locked! Bloodline resonance triggered!"

Daenerys Targaryen felt it. She looked down at him. "Drogon? What's wrong?"

Drogon spread his wings. His claw pointed at the mountain range. "Over there. There is a dragon."

"Alive?" "...It has died. But it is still there."

Daenerys Targaryen was silent for two seconds. Then she reined in her horse. Turned. And shouted to the Khalasar: "Change course. Go over there."

The foot of the mountain was full of bones. Not human bones. Dragon bones.

Dozens of them. Large. Very large. The smallest skull could fit Drogon's entire body with room to spare. Ribs stuck into the dragonglass, black stone growing out from between the bones, as if—it was impossible to tell whether the dragon or the crystal came first.

"This is not a vein," Drogon said, stepping on a piece of dragonglass, his claw pressing down, the stone burning hot. "This is a graveyard."

"Whose grave?" "Ours."

System notifications came one after another: "Absorbing trace amounts of dragonglass energy... Bloodline +1... Bloodline +1... Bloodline +1..."

Drogon lay on a protruding piece of dragonglass, his body unable to move on its own. Not that he didn't want to move. He couldn't. The energy of the dragonglass poured in like water, and it felt like countless little snakes were crawling under his scales.

It felt good. But also terrifying. Because the rate of absorption was too fast. He couldn't control it.

"Bloodline +50... Bloodline +50... Bloodline +100..."

"Warning: Bloodline concentration has exceeded the critical threshold! Genetic awakening program forced to trigger! The host will enter a metamorphosis state in 60 seconds!"

Drogon turned his head to look at Daenerys Targaryen. She was standing in front of a dragon skeleton, her hand pressed against the dragonglass, her face covered in sweat. Not from the heat. From pain. She was a Targaryen. The dragonglass also reacted to her bloodline, but she was human—human bloodlines could not withstand this concentration.

"Mother," Drogon called to her, "Step back!"

Daenerys Targaryen didn't hear him. Her eyes had turned purple-gold. Her lips were moving. Muttering something. Not Dothraki. Not Common. It was Valyrian. The ancient kind. Older than dragons.

Then the ground cracked open.