| Chapter 05: The Dragon’s Tutor |

| Author's Note: Soon we shall have some looks at Westeros and some of the important characters. Until then, enjoy the Empress manipulations of Aegon. She seems to me more and more like Cersei in some ways. |

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Small-timeskip - With Aegon Targaryen

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The scent of incense hung heavily in the air as Aegon entered the Empress's private chambers.

The soft crackle of the jade fire burning in the hearth was the only sound that broke the silence of the room. Shadows danced along the walls, their shapes twisting and writhing like spirits trapped in the folds of the silk tapestries that lined the chamber.

Every time Aegon stepped into the Empress's sanctum, it felt as though he had crossed into another world, a world where time moved differently, where his past as a mere servant seemed to fade into oblivion.

The Empress herself,— Jia Niao, was seated on a low cushion, her back turned to him. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, shining like midnight under the soft glow of the lanterns. Before her, a table was spread with maps of Westeros, scrolls detailing bloodlines and histories, and a single, worn tome bound in red leather,— the sigil of a dragon barely visible on the cover.

"You're late, my sweet Aegon." she said without turning around, her voice smooth and rich like the finest silk. She never failed to know when he entered, no matter how quietly he moved.

Aegon stepped forward, his boots sinking into the plush carpets that covered the floor. "I was with Shen Dao," he replied. "My training took longer than expected."

The Empress tilted her head slightly, as if considering his words. "Shen Dao is teaching you well, I trust?"

"He's… harsh." Aegon admitted, thinking of the Yi Ti warrior's relentless instruction. The bruises from the morning's lesson still throbbed under his tunic. "But effective."

"Good." the Empress said softly, her voice carrying the faintest trace of approval. "A king must know how to wield a sword. But there are other weapons far more dangerous than steel." She turned then, her dark eyes gleaming in the flickering light. "Sit with me, Aegon. There is much for you to learn."

Aegon obeyed, lowering himself onto the cushion opposite her. The Empress gestured to the map of Westeros spread between them, her fingers tracing the coastline of the Seven Kingdoms with an almost affectionate touch.

"This is your birthright," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The Iron Throne, the legacy of House Targaryen. It is yours to reclaim, but only if you are willing to fight for it."

Aegon's gaze lingered on the map, his heart pounding in his chest. It all seemed so distant, so unreal,— the lands he had never seen, the throne he had never known. Yet as he stared at the sigil of the three-headed dragon, something stirred within him, a flicker of the fire he felt in his dreams.

"I don't know if I'm ready." Aegon said quietly, his voice betraying the uncertainty that gnawed at him. "I've never even set foot in Westeros. How can I claim something I've never known?"

The Empress smiled, a slow, knowing smile. "You will be ready, my sweet Aegon. I will make sure of it." She leaned forward, her eyes locking onto his. "The blood of the dragon flows through your veins. You are not just a boy, you are bound to end as a king."

Aegon's throat tightened at her words, the weight of them pressing down on him like a physical force. He wanted to believe her, wanted to embrace the destiny she promised him, but doubt still clung to the edges of his mind.

The Empress's hand slid across the table, her fingers brushing against his. The touch was light, but it sent a shiver through him. "You must learn to see the world as it is." she whispered. "Not as a servant, but as a ruler."

She lifted one of the scrolls from the table and unrolled it before him. The parchment was old, the ink faded in places, but Aegon recognized the sigils immediately. The Great Houses of Westeros,— Stark, Lannister, Baratheon, Tyrell, Martell,— each carefully sketched and annotated with details of their strengths and weaknesses.

"You will need allies." the Empress continued, her voice as smooth as ever. "No king rules alone. You must know who to trust, who to manipulate, and who to destroy."

Aegon's gaze flicked over the sigils.

The lion of House Lannister, the direwolf of House Stark, the rose of House Tyrell. They were just symbols to him, names he had heard in passing but had no connection to.

Yet as he stared at them, his mind began to fill with questions. Who could he trust? Who would stand with him, and who would oppose him?

The Empress's voice cut through his thoughts. "Tywin Lannister will never bend the knee to a Targaryen. He is too proud, too ambitious. But the Starks... they could be persuaded. Honor is a powerful weapon, if wielded correctly."

"And Robert Baratheon?" Aegon asked, his voice hardening at the name. He had heard the stories,— the usurper who had taken the throne that was rightfully his father's.

The Empress's eyes darkened, her fingers tightening around the edge of the map. "Robert Baratheon is a fool. A brute who rules through fear and violence. He is no true king, Aegon. He is a usurper, and the Iron Throne will burn beneath him before he ever lets you take it."

Aegon felt a surge of anger at her words, a fire that flared briefly before settling into a cold, steady determination. He didn't know Robert Baratheon, but the thought of a man like him sitting on the throne that belonged to House Targaryen made his blood boil.

"And what about the North?" Aegon asked, his gaze drifting to the direwolf sigil of House Stark. "Would they ever support a Targaryen?"

The Empress's lips curved into a small smile. "The Starks are honorable, yes. But they are also loyal. If you can win their loyalty, they could be powerful allies. But they will not bend easily. You must be prepared to offer them something valuable in return."

And Aegon nodded, his mind racing with the possibilities. He had never considered these things before, never thought about how to build alliances or maneuver in the game of politics. But the Empress made it sound so simple, so clear. He felt a sense of excitement building within him,— a strange thrill at the thought of outsmarting his enemies, of weaving the intricate webs of power that she had shown him.

The Empress leaned closer, her dark eyes gleaming. "You must begin to think like a king, Aegon. Every move you make, every word you speak, must be calculated. Trust no one fully, and always keep your true intentions hidden."

Aegon felt the weight of her words sink into him, deeper than before. His mind was always sharp, his instincts honed from years of surviving in the streets of Xia Quo,— even though he lacked the right experience for these things. And this… this was a different kind of survival. This was a "game" for the throne, and it is far more dangerous than anything he had ever known.

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The Empress's hand lingered on his, her fingers tracing the lines of his skin. "You will learn, Aegon. I will teach you everything you need to know."

Her touch was warm, and despite the intensity of their conversation, Aegon felt a different kind of heat stir within him. And as she drew closer, he became acutely aware of the power she held over him. Her words, her presence, her touch,— it all seemed to weave a spell around him, binding him to her in ways he didn't fully understand.

"I want you to rule, Aegon." she whispered, her voice low and seductive. "But you cannot do it without me. Together, we can take back the Iron Throne. Together, we will bring fire and blood to those who have wronged you."

Aegon swallowed hard, his pulse quickening.

He could feel the fire inside him, the same fire that had been growing stronger in his dreams. The same fire that whispered of dragons and conquest.

The Empress's words echoed in his mind, blending with the flames, fanning them into something more.

"I'll need more than words to claim the throne..." Aegon said, his voice quiet but firm. "I'll need an army."

The Empress smiled, her fingers trailing up his arm in a slow, deliberate caress. "And you shall have one. The Golden Company per example, still holds to the memory of your father. When the time is right, they will fight for you."

"The Golden Company?" Aegon's brow furrowed. He had heard of them,— the most famous sellsword company in Essos, their loyalty unmatched, their warriors feared across the world.

"They are somewhat sworn to House Targaryen." the Empress continued. "Jon Connington, one of your father's closest friends, still commands them. He believes your whole family to be dead, but when he learns the truth, he will kneel before you and pledge his swords to your cause."

Aegon's thoughts turned toward the stories he had heard of them,— mercenaries who had never broken a contract, who fought for gold but lived by honor. The idea of commanding such a force seemed surreal to him.

He had lived his entire life serving under Master Phai, running errands and hauling silk, never imagining he would one day speak of armies and thrones.

"The Golden Company will surely fight for you." She said, her voice as smooth as ever. "But you must earn their loyalty first. You must show them that you are more than just the son of Rhaegar,— that you are a man worthy of their swords."

Aegon nodded, though a sense of uncertainty still gnawed at him. "And what of your forces?" he asked, his gaze shifting to meet hers. "Yi Ti has the greatest armies in the East. Will they follow me as well?"

The Empress's smile widened, and for a moment, Aegon saw a flicker of something deeper in her dark eyes,— a hunger, a desire that went beyond power. "You are right to ask." she said softly. "My soldiers are loyal to me, but with the right... persuasion, they could be made to fight for you as well."

Aegon felt a shiver run down his spine as she leaned in closer, her hand moving to rest on his knee. "I have already begun planting the seeds of your claim among the generals of Yi Ti." she continued, her voice a whisper that sent a thrill through him. "When the time comes, they will be ready to march, under my banner and yours."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with promise. Aegon could feel the weight of it pressing down on him,— the thought of commanding both the Golden Company and the forces of Yi Ti.

It was overwhelming, yet intoxicating at the same time. His mind raced with possibilities, with visions of armies marching, a dragon flying, and flames engulfing his enemies.

The Empress's hand slid up his leg, her touch slow and deliberate. "But remember, my sweet Aegon." she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear, "None of this will be possible without me. We are bound together, you and I. Your victory is mine, just as mine will be yours."

Aegon swallowed hard, his pulse quickening.

He felt the heat of her body so close to his.

His thoughts were clouded, muddled by the strange mix of desire and ambition that she stoked within him. Her hand lingered, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his thigh, and Aegon's breath caught in his throat.

"I will fight for Westeros." he said, his voice low but firm. "But I need to be ready. I need to know how to win, not just with swords, but with words, with power."

And Jia smiled at that, satisfied. "And that is why I am here, my sweet Aegon. To teach you, to mold you into the king you were born to be."

She leaned back, her hand slowly withdrawing, leaving a burning imprint where her touch had been. Aegon exhaled, trying to steady his racing heart. The Empress's gaze remained fixed on him however, her eyes gleaming with something darker, something possessive.

"You have already begun the first steps." she said, her voice soft but certain. "Shen Dao's training will make you strong, but strength alone will not win you a crown. It is your mind that must be sharpened. Every word, every gesture,— these are the tools of a king. And I will teach you to wield them as surely as you wield a sword."

Aegon's thoughts drifted to Shen Dao, the warrior who had been teaching him for weeks now. The lessons had been brutal, each session leaving him bruised and sore, his muscles aching from the constant strain.

But under Shen Dao's tutelage, Aegon had grown stronger, faster. His reflexes had sharpened, and he could feel the change in his body,— how it moved with greater precision, how it responded to the demands of combat with newfound power.

His mornings were spent in the training yard lately, facing Shen Dao's relentless drills.

The man was a master of the blade, his movements fluid and deadly. He had taught Aegon the art of the Yi Ti sword, how to dance with the blade rather than simply swing it. Every strike was calculated, every defense measured. Shen Dao spoke little, but his lessons were ingrained in Aegon's body through repetition and discipline.

Just that morning, they had sparred again, the clang of steel echoing in the courtyard.

Aegon had moved faster than before, his strikes coming with more confidence, more force. But Shen Dao had still bested him, disarming him with a flick of his wrist and sending Aegon's sword clattering to the ground.

"You hesitate," Shen Dao had said, his voice calm, yet firm. "A king cannot afford to hesitate, not in battle, not in politics."

The words had stayed with Aegon, even as he had cleaned the sweat from his brow and prepared to meet the Empress. He couldn't afford to be uncertain, not if he wanted to claim what was his. Shen Dao's lessons in swordsmanship were only half of the battle. The other half, Aegon realized, would be won through the Empress's teachings.

Now, as he sat before her, Aegon felt the weight of that responsibility settle over him.

The sword at his hip and the words in his mouth would both be his weapons, and he would need to master them equally if he was to win the game of thrones.

"And what do I need to do?" Aegon asked, his voice steady despite the uncertainty that still lingered in the back of his mind.

The Empress's smile deepened, and she rose gracefully from her cushion, her robes trailing behind her like the whisper of wind. She moved to one of the shelves that lined the chamber, selecting a small, delicate box inlaid with gold and jade. She returned to the table and opened it, revealing a collection of rings,— each one different, each one gleaming with the shine of precious gems.

"Symbols." the Empress said, holding up one of the rings, a golden band adorned with a single ruby. "In Westeros, the lords and ladies will see you as the son of Rhaegar, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. But you must understand the power of symbols. This ring for example, belonged to your mother, Elia Martell. It is a Martell heirloom, and it will be a key to winning Dorne to your cause, by proving that you are indeed part Martell."

Aegon's eyes widened as he looked at the ring. His mother,— Elia Martell.

The name stirred something deep within him, a flicker of a memory that he couldn't quite grasp. He had never known her, but the stories Jia had told him about her sacrifice during the sack of King's Landing haunted him. And now, holding a piece of her history in his hand, the desire for revenge against those who had wronged her flared in his chest.

"The Mountain..." Aegon whispered, his voice suddenly cold. "He killed her. And my sister."

The Empress's eyes softened, though her touch remained firm. "Yes, my love. And he still lives. But he is not the only one who wronged you. Robert Baratheon sits on the throne that is rightfully yours. He led the rebellion that destroyed your family."

Aegon's hand tightened around the ring, the cold metal biting into his palm. His dragon dreams had begun to twist into nightmares of his mother's death, of Rhaenys's small body crushed beneath the Mountain's brutality.

The rage that simmered beneath the surface began to rise, and Aegon felt the fire of his ancestors stirring within him.

"Robert Baratheon will die." Aegon said, his voice trembling with emotion. "And the Mountain... I will make him suffer for what he did."

The Empress's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good, my sweet Aegon. Your dragon blood is truly awakening. But remember, you must be patient. There will come a time for vengeance, but you must be smart, careful. Do not let your rage blind you."

Aegon nodded, though the fire still burned hot in his chest. He knew she was right,— he couldn't let his emotions rule him, not if he was to win. The Empress had shown him that much already. Every move, every word, had to be carefully calculated.

"You will have your revenge." she promised, her hand brushing against his cheek. "But first, you must claim the throne. Only then can you truly punish those who have wronged you."

Aegon met her gaze, his mind swirling with thoughts of Westeros, of vengeance, of dragons. He could feel the weight of his destiny pressing down on him, but for the first time, he felt as though he was almost ready to bear it.

The Empress moved closer then, her lips brushing against his ear. "I will make you a king, Aegon. And together, we will bring fire and blood to Westeros, I promise you that much."

The blood inside Aegon burned fiercely as she spoke her whispered promises, sinking deep into his soul.

His mind churned with thoughts of vengeance, of reclaiming what was rightfully his, but a lingering question gnawed at him until now.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes, dark as the depths of the Jade Sea, filled with a mix of warmth and something far more dangerous.

"How did you get this?" he asked suddenly, his voice low as he held up the ring,— the symbol of his mother's house, the blood of Dorne.

The Empress, — Jia,— smiled, a subtle curve of her lips that sent a shiver down his spine. "You've only just begun to ask the right questions, my sweet Aegon." she said softly, her fingers trailing down the side of his face. "In the world of kings and queens, nothing is truly lost. It simply passes into the right hands."

Aegon's gaze lingered on the ruby-studded ring, the weight of it more than just physical.

He could feel the connection to his mother, to the life that had been stolen from him. The rage that simmered beneath the surface began to rise once again. "But how did it come to you?" he pressed, his voice hardening despite the closeness between them.

Anya's fingers lingered on his cheek for a moment longer before she pulled away, moving gracefully to one of the shelves lined with trinkets and artifacts from across Yi Ti and beyond. The firelight flickered across her figure as she spoke, her words laced with a mix of nostalgia and danger.

"After the rebellion, many treasures were lost or stolen. Some were claimed by those who believed they had earned the spoils of war, others fell into the hands of merchants and collectors," she began, picking up a small jade figurine and turning it over in her hands.

"Your mother's ring was among them. It passed through many hands, from Essos to Yi Ti, until it found its way to me. Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps it was simply the way of the world."

Her dark eyes met his again, gleaming in the low light. "But now, it belongs to you. A symbol of your past, and of the vengeance that will come."

Aegon's grip tightened around the ring, his mind racing with the possibilities. He had never known his mother, had never truly grasped the depth of what had been taken from him. But now, with this small piece of her legacy in his hand, he felt closer to her than ever before. The fire that had been kindling in his heart now roared to life, driven by a thirst for revenge against those who had destroyed his family.

"Those damned traitors..." he said, his voice a growl. "They will pay for what they have done."

Anya's smile widened, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. She moved toward him again, her steps silent, graceful, like a shadow gliding across the room. "Yes, my love." she whispered, her hand resting lightly on his chest. "But not yet. Just like I told you, you must claim the throne first. Only then can you truly destroy them all."

Aegon's breath quickened as her fingers trailed down the front of his tunic, her touch light but electrifying.

His body responded to her closeness, to the heat that radiated between them. But even as his blood stirred, his mind remained sharp. He knew what Jia wanted from him,— she had made it clear in every word, every glance, every touch. She saw him not just as a lover, but as the key to her own power.

And yet, despite knowing this, Aegon couldn't help but be drawn to her. There was something intoxicating about the way she moved, the way she spoke. She had unlocked something inside him, something that had been buried deep beneath the surface,— his ambition, his desire for power, for vengeance.

Jia's lips brushed against his jaw, her breath warm against his skin. "Together, we will bring fire and blood to Westeros." she whispered, her words winding around him like a silken noose. "And no one will stand in our way."

Aegon's hand moved instinctively to her waist, pulling her closer as the fire inside him raged, not just with thoughts of vengeance, but with something deeper, something primal. Jia's eyes gleamed as she leaned into him, her lips barely grazing his as she whispered, "Do you trust me?"

It was a loaded question, one that cut through the haze of desire clouding his mind. Did he trust her? She had given him more than anyone ever had,— knowledge, strength, and now a piece of his mother's past. But Aegon wasn't a fool. He had seen enough in the courts of Yi Ti to know that trust was a dangerous thing to offer freely, especially to someone like Jia.

"I trust that we want the same thing," he said carefully, his voice low and steady. "To reclaim the Iron Throne."

Jia's smile deepened, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer still. "Good boy." she whispered, her lips brushing against his with maddening softness. "We are bound together, you and I. Our fates are forever entwined."

Aegon could feel his heart racing, his pulse thundering in his ears as her words washed over him. The fire inside him burned hot, driven by the promises she whispered in his ear. But beneath it all, there was a flicker of doubt,— a small voice in the back of his mind that warned him of the danger she posed. He could feel her influence creeping deeper into his thoughts, her control growing stronger with each passing day.

But the power she offered, the promise of revenge, was too tempting to resist.

Aegon's grip on the ring tightened as he kissed her, the intensity of the moment overwhelming his senses. Jia responded in kind, her lips soft yet demanding, her hands weaving through his hair as if claiming him as her own. The tension between them built with every touch, every breath, until it became a storm of passion and ambition, swirling around them like the flames of the dragons in Aegon's dreams.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, Jia's eyes gleamed with triumph. She stroked his cheek, her voice a soothing whisper. "You are becoming everything I knew you could be."

Aegon swallowed, the fire in his chest still burning, though now tempered by the weight of what lay ahead. "What's next?" he asked, his voice rough with the remnants of passion and determination.

Jia's smile softened, though her eyes remained sharp. "Next, we will strengthen your mind, just as Shen Dao strengthens your body."

At the mention of his training, Aegon's thoughts flickered back to that morning once more. The brutal clash of swords in the training yard, the sharp commands of Shen Dao, and the relentless drills that had left him sore but stronger. Shen Dao was a master, a warrior unlike any Aegon had ever seen. His movements were precise, his strikes swift and deadly. Each lesson had been a test, pushing Aegon further, shaping him into the kind of man who could one day stand on a battlefield and command armies.

But now, it seemed, the true test would come not with steel, but with words.

"The lords of Westeros will not fall to brute force alone." Jia said, pulling him from his thoughts. "You must learn to play their game."

Aegon frowned, leaning back slightly as he considered her words. "What do you mean?"

Jia moved gracefully to the table where the map of Westeros still lay, the symbols of the Great Houses staring up at him like a silent challenge. "Power is a game, Aegon. It is not enough to have soldiers or swords. You must understand the people you seek to rule, their ambitions, their fears. You must learn to manipulate them, to bend them to your will without them ever realizing it."

Aegon rose to his feet, his gaze fixed on the map. The fire in his chest had not dimmed, but now, it was accompanied by a new feeling,— something cold and calculating. "And you will teach me."

Anya smiled, her eyes gleaming with pride. "Yes, my love. I will teach you everything you need to know."

She stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as she whispered in his ear, "You will be a king in both body and mind."

Aegon stared down at the map, his thoughts swirling with the possibilities. He could see it now,— armies marching under his banner, lords bending the knee, the Iron Throne within his grasp. But more than that, he could see the faces of those who had wronged him,— Robert Baratheon, Tywin Lannister, the Mountain. They would all pay for what they had done.

And he would be the one to make them suffer.

The fire inside him roared to life once more, and this time, Aegon did not shy away from it. He embraced it, letting it fuel him, letting it guide him toward the future that awaited him.

"Then I will await your teachings." Aegon said, the words firm and clear. There was no hesitation in his voice now. The doubt that had once plagued him was gone, replaced by a hard-edged determination. The Iron Throne wasn't some distant dream,— it was a future he could see clearly now, a future within his grasp. And he would take it.

Jia's lips curled into a satisfied smile. She could feel the change in him, the shift from a hesitant boy to a man who understood the weight of his birthright. She stepped closer, her hand lingering on his arm, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of desire and triumph.

"You will learn fast enough, my sweet Aegon." she murmured, her voice low and intimate, though her words carried the weight of a promise. "Your enemies will not see you coming until it's too late, I am sure."

Aegon turned his gaze back to the map, focusing on the symbols that represented the powerful houses of Westeros. The lion of Lannister, the stag of Baratheon, the direwolf of Stark,— all of them would one day bend the knee, or be crushed beneath the fire of his vengeance. His mother and sister would be avenged, and the Targaryen banner would fly once more over the Red Keep.

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The sound of footsteps echoed softly from the entrance to the chamber, and Aegon turned to see a familiar figure standing at the threshold. Shen Dao. The warrior's face was unreadable as ever, but Aegon could see the intensity in his eyes,— the kind of focus that had sharpened him in every lesson, every sparring session.

"You are needed in the training yard." Shen Dao said simply, his voice steady, though his gaze flickered briefly to Jia.

Aegon nodded, feeling the weight of Shen Dao's silent judgment. The warrior had never said it, but Aegon knew that Shen Dao expected more from him than just skill with a sword. He expected discipline, focus, and strength,— not only of body but of mind.

Aegon glanced back at Jia, her gaze softening, though the flicker of possessiveness never left her eyes. "Go." she said, her voice gentle. "But remember, your mind must be as sharp as your blade. This is the path to becoming a king."

He nodded once more, turning to leave the chamber. But as he reached the doorway, he paused, the weight of the ring still heavy in his hand. He looked down at it,— Elia's ring, a relic of his mother, a symbol of the past he was finally beginning to understand.

"I will make them pay, I swear it." Aegon said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. He slipped the ring into his pocket, feeling its cold weight settle against him, a reminder of the fire that burned within.

Shen Dao fell into step beside him as they made their way down the stone corridors, the cool air of the palace a sharp contrast to the heat that still simmered in Aegon's chest. For a moment, the two walked in silence, the only sound the soft thud of their boots against the floor.

"You are changing." Shen Dao said suddenly, his tone neutral, though there was something deeper hidden beneath his words. "The fire in your blood is awakening."

Aegon glanced at the warrior, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Shen Dao's eyes remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable. "You are beginning to understand what it means to carry the weight of your birthright. But remember, Aegon, fire can destroy as easily as it can forge."

Aegon's steps slowed, Shen Dao's words sinking into him. He had felt the fire growing stronger with each passing day,— the fire of ambition, of vengeance. But Shen Dao's words reminded him of the danger that came with it. The fire that burned in his blood was powerful, yes, but if he let it consume him, it could destroy everything.

"I won't let it control me, don't worry." Aegon said, his voice firm.

Shen Dao turned his head slightly, his gaze sharp. "See that it doesn't. You are stronger than when we first began, but there is still more to learn. Steel and fire must be wielded with care."

Aegon nodded, the words of both Jia and Shen Dao swirling in his mind. The lessons he was learning were more than just physical,— they were shaping him, molding him into someone who could not only wield a sword but also command armies, navigate politics, and take the throne that was rightfully his.

As they reached the training yard, Aegon felt a sense of clarity settle over him. The path ahead was not easy, and it was not without danger. But for the first time, he felt ready.

Ready to embrace the fire inside him, to wield it as both a weapon and a shield.

The sun was beginning to set over Xia Quo, casting long shadows across the courtyard.

Aegon unsheathed his sword, the steel gleaming in the fading light. Shen Dao watched him, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his stance relaxed yet ready.

The world of Westeros may have felt distant, but Aegon could feel it calling to him, closer with each passing day. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, the weight of it familiar, solid, reassuring. Every strike, every lesson, brought him one step closer to the destiny that awaited him.

With a final glance toward the horizon, where the light was fading into darkness, Aegon lifted his sword and met Shen Dao's gaze. "I'm ready."

Shen Dao's lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile, and without another word, he moved,— fast and sharp, his blade slicing through the air. Aegon met his strike with a clang of steel, his muscles reacting with the strength and precision he had honed over the weeks.

The clash of swords echoed through the training yard, but this time, there was no hesitation in Aegon's movements. He parried, struck, and dodged with newfound confidence. Every blow, every step, felt more natural now, as if the fire inside him had become a part of him,— something he could control.

And though the battle for Westeros still loomed on the horizon, Aegon knew that this was only the beginning. The game of thrones was already in motion, and with Jia's guidance, with the strength of his blood and the lessons of Shen Dao, he would be ready when the time came.

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| Author's Ending Note: Thoughts? I'm sure many of you are noticing some differences in the Yi Ti empire political structure, but I have made it that there is an Empress rulling Yi Ti. I am unsure if I will introduce any Emperor but we will have to see. |