Through the Haunted Forest, the Shivering Sea finally appeared before Dany and Jasmine. Along the horizon, a streak of crimson rose like dragonfire. The early morning rays were pale, dampened by the gloom of the North. In the distance, Hardhome peeked out from behind the snowy mountain ridges.

  “There is Hardhome,” Jasmine said joyfully, pointing ahead.

  Dany had spotted the watchtowers of Hardhome moments ago. She nodded in agreement and stretched her limbs slightly to ease her aching joints. It had been a long, grueling journey; they hadn't even dared to stop for rest.

  By reflex, Jasmine glanced back at the path they had just traversed—a winding trail that vanished into the dense thickets of the Haunted Forest. She wanted to be certain no one was pursuing them, even though the two steeds they rode were no ordinary horses.

  In Asshai, the Red Priests choose the finest, strongest newborns, bathe them in the waters of the Ash River, and dry them with the flames of the Lord of Light.

  “There isn't a single ship!” Dany said, searching the coast of the Shivering Sea. Before her eyes was only a vast expanse of water, with small ripples gently lapping against the shore, nudging tiny fishing boats back and forth.

  Jasmine showed no concern; she knew what awaited at Hardhome. Nudging her horse, she followed the main road toward the town at a leisurely pace. Dany shrugged and maneuvered her own horse to follow. Ever since her resurrection, everything had been in chaos, and Dany found herself simply following the lead of Jasmine or Lyana. Thinking of this, Dany suddenly remembered Lyana and Drogon. Her heart hammered against her ribs; she wondered if anything had happened to her dragon. She prayed to the gods to protect Drogon—he was her only kin left in this world.

  “I hope Drogon will be alright,” Dany murmured.

  Ahead, Jasmine overheard Dany's words. She merely sighed, her hands tightening around the reins.

  The two rode straight into Hardhome, passing through the rickety wooden gates at the edge of town. Three hundred years after the Night King's attack, Hardhome had become bustling and crowded. It was a town of outlaws, fishermen, and wildlings—a place existing outside the laws of Westeros.

  Dany and Jasmine’s arrival immediately drew attention. Filthy, foul-smelling men watched them with lecherous eyes. They pulled their hoods low, concealing their faces to avoid the predatory stares.

  Suddenly, three men dressed like wildlings blocked their path, clutching heavy double-bladed axes. The blades were so pathetically rusted that anyone unlucky enough to be struck would likely die of tetanus or infection if they didn't bleed out first.

  “Where are you two beauties headed? Hardhome is no place for the likes of you,” the man in the middle slurred. His teeth were blackened and several were missing. His companions nodded in agreement.

  “Please, move aside,” Jasmine requested calmly.

  The three men looked at each other and burst into raucous laughter.

  “Turns out she’s a foreigner. No wonder the clothes and the look don’t belong to any woman in Westeros,” said the one on the right. His hair was a matted, tangled mess, and his face was grimy, with sunken eyes that looked heavy with sleep.

  “Have you walked the whole of Westeros to be talking like you know everything?” the leader snapped, elbowing his companion hard.

  “Just a guess,” the other grumbled, scratching his head so vigorously that flakes of dry skin fell like snow.

  “Please, sirs, let us pass. We are on urgent business,” Jasmine offered gently.

  “You’re going nowhere. Today, you two are coming with us,” the leader lunged forward, grabbing the reins of Dany’s horse.

  As if sensing the threat, the horse let out a piercing whinny and reared up, slamming both front hooves into the man’s head. A sickening crunch of bone followed. He let out a horrific scream before collapsing; his skull was shattered, and brains scattered across the filthy ground. Seeing this, the other two raised their axes in a rage, prepared to charge.

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  “Piss off!” A voice cut through the air, startling them both. Their weapons fell to the ground with a metallic clang. Long gashes appeared on their hands, dripping blood. They both shrieked and looked to the side. A knight dressed in black with a brown cloak stood there, holding a razor-sharp sword. On his boiled leather armor was the sigil of House Wull—three wooden buckets.

  Terrified, the two wildlings clutched their wounded hands and vanished into a nearby alley.

  “Thank you, Ser,” Jasmine said with a smile.

  The knight turned toward Dany and Jasmine, smiling back. “It was nothing, ladies.”

  The smile on Dany’s face vanished. She stammered, “V… V… Viserys!?”

  The tall knight had platinum hair, pale violet eyes, and a face like an angel. He shrugged and replied with a smile, “You have me mistaken for someone else, My Lady. I am Evryn Wull.”

  “Evryn Wull?” Dany whispered, her eyes still locked on him. Her intense gaze caused the knight’s pale face to flush with embarrassment.

  “You don’t know Evryn Wull? You must be from far away,” five or six burly, bearded men approached from behind, their voices booming with Northern grit. They all wore the Wull sigil on their chests.

  “Enough!” Evryn barked at his men, who only laughed in response. Neither Jasmine nor Dany understood why. “Forgive us, Ser, we must go. Perhaps we will meet again,” Jasmine said with a shrug and a smile.

  Evryn nodded, stealing a quick glance at Dany. He, too, felt a strange sense of familiarity.

  The men stepped aside to let them pass. A guard leaning toward Evryn whispered, “That girl looks just like you.” Evryn nodded in silent agreement.

  Though he belonged to House Wull, Evryn’s branch of the family possessed an appearance and temperament entirely different from the rest of the clan. While the main line had black hair, brown eyes, and bodies like bears, Evryn’s kin were slender, with silver-gold hair and violet eyes. Evryn had once read about House Targaryen in books and felt he shared more with them than with the Wulls.

  “That girl is certainly a Targaryen,” Evryn muttered to himself, his violet eyes following Dany as she rode toward the end of the road.

  Jasmine and Dany reached the docks. At the end of the pier, they dismounted and led their horses across the creaky wooden planks. Below, the water lapped against the pilings, and a light sea breeze made Dany feel refreshed, yet she couldn't shake the image of the knight. He truly looked like her brother, Viserys Targaryen. Dany rubbed her temples, wincing as she tried to dismiss the difficult questions flooding her mind.

  Jasmine stood silently facing the sea, eyes closed, whispering as if in conversation with someone unseen. Dany held the reins of both horses, watching Jasmine from behind.

  From the distant horizon, a ship slowly glided toward them. Dany strained her eyes. She was utterly shocked to see that the ship was not sailing on the water, but gliding through the air. The ship was flying.

  As it neared them, the vessel gently descended and touched the water’s surface like a normal boat. It docked at the pier. It was so massive that everyone on the shore stopped to gape.

  “Where did such a ship come from?” Evryn’s guard pointed, and even Evryn turned to marvel at the sight.

  Dany looked closely. Atop the ship was a giant balloon stretching from bow to stern, moored to the hull by ropes as thick as a man's wrist. It was this massive balloon that allowed it to fly. Dany guessed as much, though she didn't know what substance filled the sphere. Her natural curiosity flared.

  Several sailors dressed in neat, vibrant red clothes—just like Jasmine’s—stepped off the ship. They were all servants of the Lord of Light.

  “Let’s go,” Jasmine urged.

  Dany didn't hesitate. She stepped onto the gangplank and set foot on the ship. A strange sensation flooded her senses, making her feel as though she might collapse. Before her eyes, visions of flickering flames danced. Above the fire, she saw the faint silhouette of a person standing atop a dragon’s head, holding a flaming sword. The dragon beat its wings and flew straight into an endless night.

  “Are you alright?” Jasmine caught Dany as she stumbled.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Dany said, rubbing her forehead. Reality quickly snapped back into place.

  The sailors led the horses aboard and pulled up the gangplank. The ship slowly turned eastward, gliding over the white-capped waves. Dany stood at the stern, looking back at Hardhome. Once again, she was leaving her homeland of Westeros.

  The ship slowly lifted itself out of the water. The balloon above swelled as if someone were breathing a strange magic into it. A sailor carrying Tormund’s bag over his shoulder headed inside.

  “That bag is mine!” Dany called out. The sailor stopped, bowed slightly, and handed it to her.

  Dany set the bag on the deck and reached inside to open it. Only now did she have the time to examine what Tormund had given her. She pulled out a few mundane items first, then reached deeper. Her face suddenly paled. Jasmine, standing nearby, watched intently.

  Dany’s hands began to shake, and her whole body trembled. She felt as though she might burst into tears. Using both hands, she lifted the objects out of the bag. One, then two... She lined them up neatly on the deck, tears streaming down her face.

  Jasmine stared in shock, and the entire crew turned to look at Dany and the objects she had placed on the floor.

  There they were: two large eggs, hard as stone and covered in scales. They were as black as the night, with occasional flickers of deep red. Dany looked westward, toward White Harbor, and whispered a broken word:

  “Drogon!”