Two years had passed, and Meereen was no longer the fractured city Kael and Daenerys had reclaimed in fire.
Its streets bustled with industry. Great markets of silks, spices, and steel. The pyramid stood taller than before, now crowned with black-and-red banners stitched with three dragons in flight. In its shadow, temples to justice, schools of law, and training grounds for the new Free Legion—all dreamt into being by Daenerys, and shaped by her will.
But peace was a flickering flame.
Kael stood at the edge of the Grand Council Chamber, arms crossed, silent as a storm waiting to break. Torchlight danced across the mosaic floors, where ambassadors from Astapor and Yunkai sat squabbling over trade routes. Voices rose, accusations flew, and the weight of ruling threatened to grind down even the strongest intentions.
Daenerys sat at the head of the table, regal in a blood-red gown laced with silver thread. Her hair was braided into seven loops, each representing a conquered district of Essos. She no longer hesitated when facing noblemen or generals. Her voice was sharper. Her eyes clearer. But Kael could see the tension behind her poise.
They were winning—but they were not yet free.
Not from rebellion.Not from betrayal.Not from the slow burn of power demanding more.
Daenerys raised her hand.
"Enough," she said.
The chamber silenced immediately.
"I didn't forge peace in Meereen to have it strangled in gold and parchment. Astapor will have its shipping rights. Yunkai will lower its tariffs, or I'll lower them for you—with dragons."
Kael smirked as the Yunkish envoy paled.
The council disbanded shortly after, muttering and bowing.
Later, in the gardens of the pyramid, Kael found Daenerys standing beneath a flowering sycamore tree. The wind played with her hair, and her expression was unreadable.
"You were quiet," she said without turning.
"Would you have preferred fire and thunder?"
"I might," she said, glancing at him, "if only to scare them into sense."
He moved to her side, letting silence hang between them before he spoke.
"They're stalling. Hoping you'll misstep. Hoping you'll break."
"They've been hoping that since I took Astapor without lifting a sword," she replied. "I won't give them the satisfaction."
He studied her carefully. There was steel in her posture, but fatigue in her voice.
"You haven't slept."
She shrugged. "Ruling doesn't leave room for dreams."
Kael gently reached for her hand. "Then let me give you one."
They moved to her chambers—lit not by fire, but starlight.
Kael kissed her softly, hands roaming her back as he pressed her to the balcony railing, the city sprawling beneath them. Their lovemaking was slow, quiet, desperate without being frantic—two souls clinging to something real in a world that demanded masks and sacrifices.
As Daenerys shuddered in his arms, body trembling from climax, something shifted. A warmth—deeper than flesh—rippled between them. Kael inhaled sharply as a thin thread of his power flowed into her, unbidden but accepted.
Daenerys felt it too.
She gasped as her eyes widened, body tense with the afterglow of something more than physical.
"What was that?" she whispered, voice husky.
Kael brushed her cheek. "A beginning."
She studied him, breathless. "You said you wouldn't use your power."
"I didn't," he said. "But you called it. You're closer to me now. Every time we share something real—your soul draws closer."
"And if I want more?" she asked, eyes glowing faintly, unnaturally, in the moonlight.
Kael stepped back, torn between fear and awe.
"Then you'll have it," he said. "In time. But you must grow into it."
The next day, the peace shattered.
A message arrived by raven from Volantis.
One of Daenerys' emissaries—Lord Jorek Vhalon, a former noble turned loyalist—had been flayed and hung over the city gates.
The Triarchs had declared her a tyrant.
"She's no queen," the message read, sealed in black wax. "She is fire wrapped in madness. Come to Volantis, and we'll show you what becomes of false dragons."
Daenerys' face was pale as she finished the letter. Then her hands crumpled it into ash.
Kael watched her with a quiet tension. "They want war."
"Then they'll have it," she said, standing.
He waited for her to say more—but instead, she walked past him, armor already being summoned by her handmaidens.
"Dany—"
She stopped, half-turning. "I will not wait for Essos to unite against me. I will burn Volantis to the bone if I must."
Kael felt the fire stirring in her—not from him, not from his influence, but from the path she chose herself.
"Then I will march with you," he said, stepping into her orbit. "But this road won't just be war. It will be sacrifice."
She looked into his eyes. "If I must kill the old world to birth a new one… then let it burn."
Later that night, Kael stood atop the highest tower of the pyramid, watching the stars. He reached into the void—not to shape, but to listen.
The First Flame whispered to him.
She is changing.
I know.
You gave her a piece of yourself.
She's becoming something greater.
Are you afraid?
Kael didn't answer.
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