Chapter 326: The Mutation

"Me?"

Samwell noticed something peculiar in the Green Grace's words. She had said "you"—singular—not "you both," which would have included Daenerys.

Yet, in the original story, it was Daenerys—the one who abolished slavery and left Astapor to fend for itself—who indirectly led to the city's downfall.

"Yes," the Green Grace replied sorrowfully, her expression tinged with grief. "You carry the curse of the dark gods upon you. Your presence will awaken the sleeping gods of Ghiscar."

"Dark gods?" Samwell's lips curled into an amused smile. "Which dark gods, exactly?"

"Too many to name," the Green Grace said, her emerald eyes piercing through him. "A shadow cloaked in fire, an armor of frozen crystal, countless ancient trees brimming with eyes... they all circle around you, coveting you. They seek to claim your flesh and soul."

Samwell's expression didn't change. He had half-expected something along these lines.

"And what does that have to do with your Ghiscari gods? Why would my presence awaken them? I was under the impression that the Valyrians destroyed your gods when they brought down the Ghiscari Empire."

"Gods cannot die!" the Green Grace suddenly erupted, her voice laced with fury as if Samwell's words had hit a nerve. "The Ghiscari gods will rise again! Thunder will rain down their wrath upon the earth! The skies will change their colors, the land will split open into vast chasms! Lakes will evaporate, mountains will collapse, and a choking black smoke will mingle with crimson clouds to blanket the mortal world!

The ancient palaces and temples shall rise anew from the ruins! The ravenous flames of vengeance will consume the skybound demons!

The great harpy will manifest once more, bringing retribution and ruin! The lands of long summer shall wither into desolation and ash!"

Her voice grew louder and shriller, slicing through the air like a blade, grating on the ears of everyone present.

Suddenly, her stomach began to swell unnaturally, as if she were pregnant.

But the bulge grew at an alarming rate, tearing apart her robe to reveal pale, blood-tinged skin stretched to its breaking point, as if something monstrous was about to burst forth.

Samwell squinted and instinctively stepped back.

The Unsullied raised their spears, pointing them at the Green Grace. Around the hall, the other priestesses screamed in terror and fled in panic.

Boom!

A deafening noise filled the hall as the Green Grace's abdomen exploded like an overinflated balloon.

Jets of sickly green, pus-like fluid sprayed outward, flecked with yellowish streaks.

Samwell leaped back just in time to avoid the spray.

The other priestesses, already fleeing, were spared from the grotesque scene. The Unsullied, standing stoically, didn't flinch—even when the vile fluid splattered on two of them.

Remarkably, the fluid seemed harmless; the two Unsullied remained unharmed and unfazed.

The Green Grace, however, was horrifying to behold. Her abdomen resembled a rotting pumpkin, split open to reveal her innards, mixed with the foul greenish fluid spilling out onto the floor.

Even in this gruesome state, she clung to life. Her face contorted in agonizing pain, her emerald eyes wide with terror and despair. Her mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish, producing only hoarse, guttural sounds.

Samwell observed her closely, then turned to one of the Unsullied nearby.

"Fetch a Blue Grace," he ordered.

The Blue Graces were the healers of the Temple of Graces.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Soon, an elderly woman in a blue robe was brought into the hall. Upon seeing the horrifying scene, she collapsed in shock.

The Unsullied promptly hauled her forward.

Samwell gestured toward the Green Grace.

"Examine her. Is there any way to save her?"

The Blue Grace reluctantly approached the Green Grace, tears streaming down her face.

It wasn't clear whether her tears were from fear or sorrow for her fallen leader.

Under the harrowing gaze of the Green Grace's glowing green eyes, the Blue Grace reluctantly began her work. She shakily shoved the spilled organs back into the abdomen and wrapped the gaping wound with bandages soaked in trembling hands.

Throughout the ordeal, the Green Grace neither resisted nor cried out. She continued to gasp noiselessly, a semblance of life clinging to her shattered body.

After the Blue Grace finished, Samwell stepped forward and asked a few more questions.

But the Green Grace could no longer respond, her lips moving soundlessly.

Samwell sighed and gave up.

"Stay here and monitor her," he instructed the Unsullied. "If anything changes, notify me immediately."

Turning toward the door, he paused and pointed to the two Unsullied who had been splashed with the green fluid.

"You two, come with me."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Once outside the temple, Samwell addressed them:

"Both of you, head to the dungeon and remain there for two days. Don't worry; this isn't a punishment. It's just for observation. If nothing happens, you'll be released."

"Yes, Your Grace."

The two Unsullied complied without hesitation, their obedience unwavering.

Samwell marveled at their absolute loyalty. Even though they were now technically free, their ingrained sense of duty made them incapable of acting otherwise.

The thought left him with mixed emotions.

Mounting his white dragon, Samwell flew back to the pyramid.

The earlier meeting had ended, leaving the grand hall empty except for Missandei waiting by the door. She bowed and informed him:

"King Caesar, the queen has gone to the garden atop the pyramid. She asked me to direct you there when you returned."

"Thank you."

Ascending to the rooftop garden, Samwell found a lush space shaded by greenery.

Viserion coiled lazily around a pear tree, his head resting on his tail.

Hearing Samwell's approach, the dragon opened one golden eye and let out a soft hiss.

"Where are your brothers?" Samwell asked, smiling as he patted the dragon's head.

Viserion's golden scales felt hot to the touch, like sun-scorched armor.

The dragon didn't seem to understand, merely opening its maw and releasing a sulfurous breath.

"Fighting with Drogon again?" Samwell teased, scratching the dragon under its chin.

Viserion shook its head, tail lashing against the tree trunk and sending a few pears tumbling down.

Catching one, Samwell chuckled. "Thanks."

Continuing through the garden, he soon reached a pavilion where Daenerys sat, flanked by her handmaidens Irri and Jhiqui, who were brushing her silver hair.

Nearby, Drogon and Rhaegal squabbled over a piece of roasted meat. Viserion, spotting the commotion, eagerly joined the fray with a defiant hiss.

"Sam," Daenerys called, waving at him. "How did your meeting with the Green Grace go?"

"It was... interesting," Samwell replied, recalling the ghastly scene. "We exchanged some friendly opinions."

Daenerys didn't catch the sarcasm and smiled. Stretching her arms wide, she showed off her new attire and asked,

"How do I look?"

"Stunning," Samwell replied honestly. "Is that a tokar robe?"

"Yes," Daenerys admitted with a sigh. "And it's the most impractical garment I've ever worn."

Tokar robes, the traditional attire of Ghiscari elites, required meticulous wrapping and constant adjustment, making them a symbol of privilege rather than practicality.

"If you don't like it, why wear it?" Samwell asked.

"The city's elders suggested it," Daenerys said with a shrug. "They told me that to rule rabbits, I must wear rabbit ears."

Samwell burst out laughing.

"If your brother Viserys heard that, he'd probably shout, 'You're a dragon, not a stupid rabbit!'"

Daenerys giggled at the thought, then grew thoughtful.

"Still, I think the elders have a point. Wearing the tokar might help the people of Astapor accept me more readily."

Samwell's smile faded.

"Not the people. The old nobility might accept you, but the former slaves will see you dressed like their former masters and feel only fear and mistrust."

Daenerys froze, realization dawning on her.

"And consider this," Samwell continued. "What if these so-called elders have ulterior motives? Today, they convinced you to wear the tokar. Tomorrow, they'll push you to reopen the fighting pits, calling it tradition. And the day after, they'll pressure you to restore slavery."

"I will never restore slavery!" Daenerys exclaimed, yanking at her robe in frustration.

The loose tokar fell from her shoulders, leaving Samwell momentarily speechless as he enjoyed the unexpected view.

(End of Chapter)