71: Chapter 69 Conversation in the Stars

Midnight. Nightfire Altar.

The Nightfire was still burning. Daenerys had returned to her chambers.

Stannis Baratheon's army was making its final preparations in the castle courtyard—he was retreating to The Stormlands overnight, not wanting to stay an extra day. Most people in the castle were asleep.

Only Melisandre stood alone before the Nightfire. She reached her hands into the flames. Blue-green tongues of fire licked her fingers, leaving fleeting trails of light on her palms. The fire was cold.

But her hands were hot. Dragon blood pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips. Her lips moved silently—she was praying. Not to the Lord of Light, but to the True Dragon.

A blurry image emerged in the flames.

It was not a future seen in the flames. It was something someone else had inserted into them.

The image was not generated from within the fire; it was projected from outside—like a hand reaching into a pool, disturbing the reflection on the surface. A gate made of starlight was slowly opening.

The gate's axis consisted of two neutron stars rotating around each other. The door leaves were a grid woven from countless ultra-fine threads of starlight. Behind the gate, five colossal dragon shadows looked down upon Westeros from the void. Their figures were too massive.

A star next to their wingtips was merely a tiny speck of light, knocked off its orbit by a gentle brush of a wingtip.

One of the dragon shadows spoke. The voice traversed the flames and time, landing in Melisandre's ears. She did not hear it with her ears. It was through dragon blood—the 0.3% of dragon blood in her body was receiving the signal. It used the Old Valyria language—she could understand it. Because her ancestors had prayed to the Lord of Light in the flames using this language for four hundred years.

"Designation DK-0001. Bloodline 1600. Recognized by the remains of Orys. Evolution progress exceeds expectations. Previous assessment: Class C variable, observable. New assessment: Class A variable, requires control. Enforcement Squad arrival time—advanced to six weeks. If the target cooperates, it will be classified into the observation sequence. If it does not cooperate—purification."

Melisandre's fingers trembled in the flames. The tongues of fire swirled between her fingers. But she did not pull them back. She had stayed in the fire for too long to know what burning felt like.

"He absorbed the dragon bones of Orys. He gained the recognition of the ancestors. Yet you say—if he does not cooperate, purify him. Orys knew he was coming before the Doom. He left the dragon bones for him. He waited for four hundred years. Who are you? By what right do you judge the True Dragon? You haven't even seen what he looks like—yet you labeled him a 'variable' before he was even born. Who gave you the authority?"

The voice in the flames did not answer her question. The five dragon shadows slowly dissipated, like smoke blown away by the wind.

It was not a retreat. It was a disconnection. The starlight gate closed, the two neutron stars orbited each other one last time, then returned to their respective positions. Only one last sentence remained. It was not aimed at her. It was aimed at him. But it was transmitted into her flames.

"His Evolution—in the eyes of the Ancestral Land, is a variable. A variable has only two outcomes: integration into the Order, or erasure by the Order. Priestess, you chose to follow him—then you shall be judged together."

Melisandre slowly retracted her hands. The lingering warmth of the flames remained on her fingertips. It was not hot. It was cold. The blue-green tongues of fire were cold, but this sentence was colder.

She looked down at her fingers. The skin on her fingertips was slightly flushed—not from burns. It was the reaction left in her blood vessels by the impact of that sentence. The blood vessels were constricting. The dragon blood was retreating within her veins.

"Judged together. Very well. I waited decades in the flames for the True Dragon—if you want to judge him, judge me first."

She stood up and pulled up her hood. Her red robes fluttered in the night wind. She walked toward the depths of the castle. She had to report this new prophecy to Daenerys. In the absence of Drogon.

Because this intelligence, according to the contract, belonged to the Mother of Dragons. This was her promise to the Mother of Dragons. It was also her first tribute to this new dragon nest—not a dragon glass pendant. But intelligence.

Dawn. Dragonstone castle. The dragon-shaped tower at the highest point.

Day was just breaking. The morning glow dyed the sea a golden red. The stag banner of the iron throne was being lowered. The flag ropes flapped against the flagpole in the wind. An Unsullied untied the rope, folded the stag banner, and placed it on the stone platform. The movements were slow, and it was folded very neatly.

Another Unsullied raised the new flag. The three-headed dragon banner—Daenerys Targaryen's banner—unfurled in the morning breeze. The black flag. The red three-headed dragon.

The sea breeze made the flag flutter, and the three-headed dragon seemed to be truly flying in the morning glow. The corners of the flag whipped in the wind, each sound like wings beating the air.

Daenerys stood at the top of the tower. Behind her were Jorah, Barristan, and Grey Worm—Grey Worm was staying at Dragonstone temporarily to assist with the handover, returning to Meereen in three days.

Her silver-gold hair flew back in the wind. The emerald necklace sparkled at her neckline. The black silk scarf on her wrist whipped against her wrist in the wind.

Drogon was perched in his dragon form on the obsidian platform next to the tower. That was the roost built for dragons by the people of Old Valyria. It remained as sturdy as ever after centuries of wind and frost.

The edge of the platform was covered in dragon claw marks—left by the dragon of Orys Targaryen. Four hundred years had passed, and the edges of the marks had been smoothed by the sea breeze, but the direction of the claw tips was still clear.

His massive dragon head turned toward Daenerys, her figure, edged with gold by the morning glow, reflected in his dark golden vertical pupils. His dragon tail hung over the edge of the platform, the tip swaying gently in the morning breeze. The ice spikes at the tip of the tail shimmered with a ghostly blue light in the sunlight.

"Dragonstone has been taken. Next stop—King's Landing. But before that, we need to get a few maps."

Daenerys turned to look at him. The sea breeze blew strands of her silver hair across her face. "What maps?"

"After I absorbed the dragon glass core of Orys in the mine, I unlocked a new perception—I can detect the location of all Old Valyria dragon relics within Westeros. Two of them are in King's Landing. One is at Casterly Rock. And there is one more—at Storms End. Stannis is about to retreat to Storms End. Perhaps before we go to war, we should first use the pretext of 'recovering relics' to test the attitude of the various forces in Westeros toward us. Whoever is willing to hand over the relics is a potential ally. Whoever refuses—we will know who to attack first."

Daenerys pondered for a moment. She tapped her fingers lightly on the stone railing of the tower twice. She nodded.

"Good. Send ravens to the North first—we are not here to burn them. Then send people deep into the continent under the pretext of searching for relics to establish an intelligence network. Before that—"

She turned around. She looked down at the castle below. White Mane was feeding hay to the warhorses. Her silver-white braids rose in the morning breeze. Her horse lowered its head and snatched a mouthful of hay from her hand. Melisandre stood by the Nightfire Altar, gazing at the newly raised dragon banner. Her red robes were filled with the sea breeze, fluttering behind her. She had just come up from the altar, and her lips were still moving—translating the dialogue from the starry sky into human language.

"—Talk to my new advisor about that intelligence from the starry sky first."

Drogon was perched on the dragon roost. His dragon head rested on his front claws. His vertical pupils were half-open and half-closed. The morning light cast a dark golden luster on his scales. The ice-blue patterns on the edges of his scales were clearer in the morning light than yesterday—not brighter, but wider.

Orys's core had also given his Ice Element a push during last night's inheritance.

Six weeks. That was what Melisandre said was six weeks. The system had previously predicted eight weeks. Orys Targaryen had divined his existence four hundred years ago. The Senate had known what would happen four hundred years ago. Now his bloodline had jumped to 1600. The Senate had advanced the schedule by two weeks.

Next, there were the two relics in King's Landing. One in Casterly Rock. One in Storms End. One in Oldtown. One in the outer seas. Every time one was recovered, the bloodline might jump.

Every time it jumped, the schedule might be pushed forward a bit more. It wasn't waiting for judgment. It was racing against judgment. It wasn't waiting for it to come, but becoming stronger before it arrived.

"Within six weeks. Ice Element advanced breakthrough five hundred points. Bloodline raised to two thousand points. At least one of these two things must be completed. Otherwise, I won't even be able to beat the captain of the Enforcement Squad. Negotiations without a trump card. And she is the core spouse. She will also sit at the negotiating table. I have knelt once. I will not let her stand alone in front of me again."

System pop-up.

"The host's current combat power has an approximately 55% probability of being able to confront the captain of the Enforcement Squad head-on. It is recommended to complete the Ice Element advanced breakthrough or raise the bloodline to 2000 points within six weeks. Both goals can be achieved with the existing resources on Dragonstone: the mine can provide bloodline improvement, the Night King's original ice crystals have been consumed, but the extreme temperature environment deep in the volcanic crater can assist in the cultivation of the Ice Element. The geothermal ice crystal sedimentary layer discovered deep in the mine can provide an alternative energy source. Additionally—the latest intelligence brought back by Melisandre from the flames: the arrival time of the Enforcement Squad of The Senate is confirmed to be six weeks. Two weeks earlier than the eight weeks previously warned by the system. The reason is that after the host obtained the inheritance of Orys, the variable level jumped from Class C to Class A."

"Also—the intelligence Melisandre brought back from the flames, The Senate has labeled the host as a 'variable'. A variable has only two outcomes: integration into the Order, or erasure. The host is the third kind."

"What kind?"

"I am the variable that will turn around and judge them."

He closed his dragon eyes. His tail flicked slowly at the edge of the platform.

The ice spike at the tip of his tail scratched an ultra-fine ice mark on the stone.

The morning light stretched his shadow long, covering the entire black beach below the tower. Those dragon glass fragments that had been ground into fine powder sparkled in the morning light—not the sparkle of gold, but a colder, deeper, star-like sparkle. The whole island was glowing.