I Became the Mother of Dragons

       Amidst the eerie stillness of the Dreki state, a disconcerting presence slithered its way into Dany's consciousness. Was it a creature of the earth, akin to a worm, or perhaps a leech? It sought to burrow into her very essence, and her instincts, as sharp as dragon's teeth, set her legs into frenzied motion, attempting to kick this invasive entity away.

Yet, like a hound that refuses to release its hold on a goddess's foot, the sinister interloper clung tenaciously. "Shua!" A flash of ebony radiance cut through the air, severing a fragment of her boot and the crimson "earthworm" within it. The once-persistent invader lay in two lifeless pieces on the ground, its threat extinguished.

It was Ser Barristan Selmy who had wielded the lethal blade. Having been pushed aside by Dany moments before, he seized the opportunity to shield himself beneath a cloak of shimmering golden silk, preserving his own well-being from the fiery embrace of the dragon's breath. As the Dragonflame ceased its wrathful dance, the veteran knight promptly rose to his feet. His antler-hilted blade, ornaments of valiant history, now adorned Dany's boots, replaced with new silver-white counterparts.

"It works!" declared the White Cloak with fervor, his voice ringing with excitement. He brandished the blade, its edge honed to a razor's precision. The vibrant, crimson "earthworm" sprawled upon the ground proved no match for the gleaming steel. It yielded without resistance and was cleaved into twin segments.

Amidst the charred remnants of the hall's floor, a once-burning figure struggled to rise, its malevolent gaze fixated on the valiant blade in Ser Barristan's grasp. In a voice that carried both fury and frustration, it muttered through chapped lips and clenched teeth, "Va-ly-ri-an-steel! Damn it!"

"Valyrian Steel Breaker!" Dany's astonishment gave way to irritation. Had they not insisted that the Dragon magic breaker was the ultimate protector against such foes?

"Do not approach!" Dany commanded, halting the advance of the White Cloak, his eager intent to sever "Jaen's" head in check. "Let us vacate this hall."

It wasn't a matter of cowardice on her part; after all, the adversary had endured a direct hit of Dragonflame without grievous harm—merely singed hair and clothes, with the skin left slightly charred. However, its visage now bore an unsettling resemblance to melted plastic, contorted by the heat.

The White Cloak, his fervor quelled, recognized the imprudence of his earlier impulse and quickly withdrew to Dany's side. Together, they made haste to exit the chamber.

Observing their retreat, "Jaen" trotted in their direction, its gait an unsettling stagger. "Come back, come back; this....this is your purpose! You cannot evade it! Be with me... and become eternal—!"

A resounding "bang!" marked their escape from the hall as Dragonflame vented its searing light and heat recklessly. "Jaen" liquefied and combusted in the crimson blaze, akin to a candle. But in an instant, an unseen force shaped the molten "plasticine" into the form of a woman once more.

The disfigured, deflated countenance regained its fullness. Then, the reconstituted humanoid transformed into a puddle of water once more.

This perplexing cycle repeated itself seven or eight times, each time, "Jaen's" recuperation hastening, as she found the energy to emit an eerie, mocking laughter. "This...alien Dragon may wound me, but I....I am Balerion, God of Dragon! Wait until I become accustomed to this new magical factor, your Dragon will cease to affect me."

Bloody hells, is this the Eight Trigrams Furnace refining Sun Wukong?

And an alien Dragon...

"What in the Seven Hells is this?" Ser Barristan exclaimed, horror etched upon his features.

"Your Majesty, what course of action shall we take?" He turned his gaze to Dany, her form blistered within Dragonflame's relentless embrace.

With a tone reminiscent of an experienced hand at the wheel, Dany responded, "I've seen this spectacle before."

Dany cast her gaze about, disoriented and desperate for a solution. Not far from her, Little White toyed with its existence, seemingly entranced by the unfolding turmoil. Dany, seizing an opportunity, cried out, "Big Black, stand back, Little White, unleash your fire!"

"Sizzle—bang!" Without delay, Little White dutifully lowered its head, becoming an element of fiery torment amidst the roasting of flesh.

Dany, her keen eyes detecting a shift, observed how Little White's Dragonflame disrupted the equilibrium of "Jaen's" relentless recovery. It struck her then, a revelation profound in its implications.

The dragon egg hailed from the enigmatic lands of Asshai, and her four Dragons were not the progeny of direct Valyrian Dragon lineage, but what did this revelation signify? Were Dragons not uniform creatures across the world?

It had become abundantly clear that "Jaen" had taken the opportunity to demonstrate the marked difference between Valyrian Dragons and their counterparts from distant realms—a variance rooted in a mystical essence of distinct nature.

But what was this mystical essence, this "magic factor"?

In the span of mere heartbeats, her thoughts crystallized, and with Little White joining the fray, Big Black exited the hall. Dany, in a desperate gambit, initiated the solitary spell she had mastered—Soul Strike.

In the Dreki state, the Dragon's essence melded with her own, coalescing into a shadowy arrow, one person and one Dragon bound by fate. Within Dany's sight, "Jaen" underwent a chilling metamorphosis. No longer human, the creature now embodied a form of inky mist, bearing the head of a man and the body of a Black Dragon.

The arrow's mark centered upon the beast's forehead, and as it struck, the grotesque fusion of man and Dragon emitted a voiceless lament. The entity recoiled, its form quivering and receding in a sprawling arc.

"Weng!" With the second Soul Strike, "Jaen" faltered, and Big Black writhed upon the ground, convulsing akin to a distressed goat. Dany's nostrils seeped crimson rivulets.

Balerion's imposing shadow diminished once more, and through the thinned shroud of obscurity, "Jaen's" true form began to emerge.

"Weng!" The third Soul Strike bore down, eliciting a crimson cascade from her seven orifices, while Big Black's Dragon eyes turned a ghostly white.

The phantasmal figure condensed into a diminutive sphere, and Jaen's true form stood exposed.

"No—" "Jaen" froze, issuing a deafening roar, and then a resounding "bang!" resonated as it detonated into countless shreds within the relentless embrace of Dragonflame.

Each Soul Strike exacted a toll, directly striking Balerion's very essence—slaying a thousand adversaries and sacrificing twelve hundred. It was a dance of attrition, written in blood.

But both Dany and Big Black shared physical forms; only a fragment of each other's souls had descended upon Jaen. Their perspectives were markedly disparate. Dany's approach was one of "harming with the essence."

Three consecutive Soul Strikes had spent Balerion's divine might to its limits, yet it still failed to engulf Jaen in its entirety. As for Dany's vulnerable, fleshy mortal vessel, it proved ill-suited to withstand the scorching fury of Dragonflame.

"It is done," Dany sighed in relief.

"Be wary!" The hall before them pulsed with a flicker of obsidian light, and Ser Barristan, his astonishment giving way to righteous fury, unleashed a thunderous shout.

In an instant, a malevolent figure resembling a nightmarish earthworm—its arms long, fingers thick—split in twain and crumbled to the floor. The dark crimson blood it spewed etched a small, corrosive depression into the ground.

"Chi chi!"

"You shall die!" Within the hall, a cacophony of voices emerged, representing men and women, the aged and the young, the innocent and the corrupt. Their tones ranged from somber and melodic to shrill and discordant, all amalgamated into a sinister, feminine baritone.

Dany's scalp prickled with unease; she stepped back several paces and cried out, "Run, Big Black, Little White, make haste, take to the skies!"

The seasoned veteran could hold back no longer.

"Rushing…" From the other side of a door, the hall presented a nightmarish sight—a multitude of "earthworms," their crimson glow flickering like coiled hairs in a bubbling cauldron, writhed and twisted.

The mere sound of their slithering sent shivers through one's spine as if these grotesque entities were on the verge of slithering into people's mouths, and burrowing into their throats.

"His-" With a strenuous effort, Big Black struggled to his feet. In one deft motion, he clamped his jaws around Dany's shoulder, bearing her weightless form on his back. With a vigorous kick of his legs, he propelled himself into the heavens.

Barristan, fleet of foot, swiftly mounted the Black Dragon.

"Curses!" Just as the Earthworms began to emerge from the hall, Little White, too, soared into the sky.

The streets below teemed with hundreds of Oros people, forming an inescapable encirclement.

Dany hesitated no longer and urged her two Dragons southward. She made certain not to venture into the treacherous waters of the Smoking Sea.

"Dong dong!" Yet, a mere three minutes later, the Dragons descended once more, alighting atop the towering spire.

Barristan, his voice fraught with panic, inquired in a shaky tone, "Your Majesty, are you harmed!?"

"I am unharmed," Dany replied with an effort, her leaden armor, softened and reshaped by the Dragonflame's searing heat, had solidified into a cumbersome mass, rendering her mobility restricted but her spirit undaunted.

White Cloak dismounted the Black Dragon and joined Dany's side, using his sword to carefully shave away the solidified lead that had melded at the joints. With a stony expression, he inquired, "Why do we not flee, Your Grace?"

Dany gingerly touched the blisters that marred her countenance and offered a wry smile. "I am physically unharmed, but I am indisposed."

"Alas, there is naught I can do," the stalwart and honorable old man lamented, evidently oblivious to the particular cadence of his Ruler's demeanor.

With a soft exhalation, Dany, now able to move her hands, drew a Valyrian steel dagger from her waist. She encouraged the old Knight, "You are free to leave; I shall continue alone."

"Go where?" Whitebeard inquired, his visage perplexed.

"I am unwell and intend to liberate this Tower. Do you comprehend?"

Truly, this Old Knight lacked any semblance of discernment.

When Jaen had descended from the Tower and found it devoid of guards, Dany had pondered—cough, cough, cough, she was merely pondering, nothing more.

"To take to Robbery?" The old Knight's voice thundered, his eyes agape as if the very stars and sun had deviated from their celestial course.

"When you descended from the tower, did you not survey the surroundings? What did you perceive?" Dany queried.

Barristan's face reddened, and he retorted in a disgruntled tone, "Your Majesty, I was attentively assessing the enemy's disposition, not lurking like a thief with designs on a master's treasury."

"Peng peng peng..." Dany pounded her chest a few times in exasperation. "Look at me! Do I resemble a kindly welcomed guest? We have fought and triumphed, should we not claim the spoils?"

"This..." Dany's once-gleaming silver hair now appeared matted and raven-black, while her fair visage bore the unsightly scars of fiery blisters. Her magnificent lead armor, now in tatters, had transformed into a sooty shroud.

The situation was indeed dire!

"Should have summoned Jorah Mormont. I'm not cut out for this..." Ser Barristan muttered, ascending the staircase with a heavy heart.

This aged Knight had devoted decades in service to various monarchs, always upholding the ideals of honor, nobility, and righteousness. But now, for the very first time in his life, he found himself playing the role of a common thief!

"No gold or silver, just Valyrian steel weapons, and magical tomes," Dany hollered to the White Cloak, who was navigating the dim corridors. It was apparent that the old man's footing had become unsteady, likely due to the disconcerting transformation of his role.

Before long, a faint cry reverberated from a maid stationed downstairs, "Intruders, robbers! Bandits have infiltrated the City Lord's palace!"

Following this outcry came Barristan, attempting to offer a hasty defense. His anxious voice quivered, "I am not a thief, nor a robber! Fear not, and please do not raise an alarm. The building is towering, and the commotion won't carry to the streets. Hurry, fetch the High Priest's Treasure; I shall not harm you."

One could well imagine the old Knight's profound discomfort and disarray at that moment.

"Ah!" The old man's exclamation was infused with astonishment, and after a brief interval, Barristan returned, trudging with deliberate steps. In his grip, he clutched a mammoth of an object, an iron contraption the size of a banquet table. This peculiar device was studded with protrusions and painted a somber black, featuring an array of pipes welded to its surface.

The old man's neck strained as he gazed up at his sovereign. His footsteps were ponderous, nearly causing him to stumble.

"What in the name of all the gods is this? Why have you brought back a colossal lump of black iron? Where are the swords, where are the mystical scrolls? Did you not find any tomes of history?" Dany's brow furrowed in perplexity.

"Your Majesty, this is the Sorcerer's Lens! The fabled Sorcerer's Lens!" The old Knight exclaimed with fervor.

"Dispose of it!" Dany waved her hand dismissively.

What use had she for a cumbersome object, despite its legendary title? It was too large and rudimentary to serve any practical purpose.

When the time came, Dany intended to engage skilled glassworkers from Myr and master smiths from Qohor to craft an arsenal of finely crafted "Sorcerer's Lenses" boasting high magnification.