Aegon Targaryen/The Sword of Justice

The morning sun rose over the camp, bathing the Red Waste in hues of gold and crimson. The khalasar stirred awake, murmurs spreading quickly as it became clear that Aegon was nowhere to be found.

Daenerys stepped out of her tent, her silver hair catching the light. She scanned the horizon, a flicker of concern passing over her features. Jorah approached, his expression grim.

"He's gone," Jorah said simply.

Daenerys frowned. "Gone where?"

Jorah shook his head. "He didn't say. The men on watch last night said they saw him take to the skies before dawn."

Daenerys crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on the empty sky. "He didn't tell me he was leaving."

"He's a curious one," Jorah said carefully. "Perhaps too curious for his own good."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "He'll return. He did before!."

But her tone betrayed the slightest hint of doubt.......…Aegon soared high above the Red Waste, the dry desert winds roaring past him as his wings cut through the air. The ground below was a blur of shifting sands and jagged rocks, a barren expanse that seemed to stretch on forever.

He relished the freedom of flight, the way it allowed him to leave the world's troubles far below, even if only for a time. The rhythmic beat of his wings was almost meditative, carrying him steadily toward his destination: Valyria.

The name alone was enough to inspire both awe and dread. The once-mighty empire had long since fallen, its ruins swallowed by time and the Doom that had destroyed it. Yet it was a place of legend, a place where men had forged steel with dragonfire and created wonders the world had never seen since.

Aegon wasn't chasing legends, though. He needed something tangible—armor. artifacts. Protection against the dangers that awaited him and Daenerys on their journey.

As he climbed higher, breaking through a bank of clouds, the horizon shifted. The Red Waste gave way to a shimmer of blue: the ocean. The sight was a welcome reprieve from the monotony of the desert. He angled his wings, adjusting his trajectory toward the Smoldering Sea.Aegon soared across the sky, the rhythmic beat of his powerful wings carrying him steadily onward. The vast expanse of the Red Waste receded behind him, its barren sands giving way to the shimmering blue of the open ocean.

The journey was long, a relentless test of endurance as the wind howled past him. Each beat of his wings sent him further from the khalasar, from Daenerys, from the responsibilities that tethered him to the ground.

The ocean stretched endlessly below, the waves dark and restless, their crests catching the faint light of the sun as it climbed higher in the sky. The air here was different—salt-laden and cool, a sharp contrast to the searing heat of the desert.

Aegon glanced down at the rolling waves, their ceaseless motion almost hypnotic. He forced his focus forward. Time blurred as he flew, the monotony of the ocean broken only by the occasional glint of a distant island or the shadow of a passing storm.

He climbed higher, seeking thinner air where the winds were stronger and easier to ride. The sun arced across the sky, marking the passage of hours as the continents fell away beneath him. The vastness of the world stretched out in every direction, humbling in its immensity.

As he flew, his thoughts drifted to Daenerys and her khalasar. He could almost hear her voice, commanding yet tempered with warmth, her unwavering determination a source of strength for those who followed her. He didn't tell her where he was going; he hoped she would understand when he returned.

The horizon shifted. Clouds thickened, their edges glowing faintly red, and the air grew heavier, tinged with ash. The ocean beneath him darkened, its surface broken by jagged rocks and the remnants of ancient ruins jutting like teeth from the water.

Then, at last, Valyria came into view.

It rose from the sea like a phantom, the shattered remains of a once-mighty empire now swallowed by time and fire. Spires and towers, blackened and broken, clawed at the sky. The ruins stretched as far as the eye could see, a labyrinth of collapsed streets and crumbling structures.

Aegon descended, his wings straining against the turbulent winds that seemed to guard the city. He landed lightly on an outcrop of scorched stone, the ground beneath his feet gritty with ash.

He scanned his surroundings, taking in the eerie silence that enveloped the ruins. The air here was thick with an unnatural weight, as though the city itself remembered the horrors of its fall.

Valyria was a graveyard of titans, and he was a trespasser among their bones.

The forge lay ahead, its massive chimneys standing defiantly against the ravages of time. If he was to find armor, it would be there. Aegon steeled himself and stepped forward, his wings shifting slightly behind him.

He moved with purpose, his senses on high alert. The wind whispered through the crumbling ruins, carrying with it the faint echoes of a long-dead civilization. Shadows loomed around every corner, the remnants of what had once been a city of gods now a silent testament to their hubris.

He wasn't here to dwell on the past. He was here to prepare for the future—to arm himself for the battles yet to come. And whatever lay within these ruins,Meanwhile back with the khalasar The sun hung low over the endless desert, casting long shadows on the sand as Daenerys Targaryen walked at the head of her small group. Her horse carried her along the rocky path, its hooves making faint clopping noises in the still air. The Kalasah, her followers, trudged behind her, the weight of their journey bearing down on them. Daenerys's eyes were fixed on the horizon, her thoughts distant.

Suddenly, the horse under her stumbled, its legs buckling as it fell to the ground with a sharp cry. Daenerys gasped, quickly dismounting. She knelt beside the animal, her fingers brushing its side. It was still warm but lifeless.

 "It's dead, Your Grace." Jorah spoke

Daenerys looked down at the lifeless creature, her heart sinking. The horse had been a gift from Khal Drogo, the last of the gifts from the man she had once loved. She had lost so much in this journey, and now she had lost another part of him.

Daenerys: (softly, almost to herself) "Drogo gave it to me…"

The horse had been the last reminder of her life in the Dothraki Sea, the last tie to Drogo, the man who had shaped her into who she was today. The desert was taking everything from her, one piece at a time.

"We need to keep moving."

Daenerys: (shaking her head, her voice quiet) "I will not be carried by dead things."

She stood, her eyes scanning the desolate landscape around them. The wind stirred the sand, and the weight of their journey pressed down on her shoulders. The way ahead was uncertain, and the loss of the horse was only a reminder of how fragile their survival was.

Jorah spoke up "We need to rest, Your Grace. If we keep moving, we risk losing more."

Daenerys's gaze shifted toward the horizon, where the endless stretch of desert lay before them. She felt a pang of doubt. She had promised her people that she would lead them to greatness, that she would conquer cities, free slaves, and reclaim the Iron Throne. But in this barren land, it felt like all her promises were slipping away, like the sands themselves were erasing her future.

she asked? (with a heavy sigh) "Where do we go now?"

"Qarth lies to the east, Your Grace. We can find food and shelter there." he added.

 (looking to the west) "What's to the west?"she questioned again.

 "Nothing. The Red Waste. It stretches for hundreds of miles." Jorah said

Daenerys's face darkened as she absorbed his words. The Red Waste was a dead land, a place where nothing grew, where people perished. It was the road less traveled, the road that most avoided, and yet it was the road she had chosen.

 (softly, almost questioning herself) "I promised them something. I promised them a future. But… how can I give them one if I cannot even keep my word?"

Her voice trembled slightly, the weight of leadership, of responsibility, pressing on her heart. But she was Daenerys Targaryen.

She had to be strong, for them and for herself. The road ahead was uncertain, but she had to keep moving forward. She had no choice.

 (turning to Jorah, her voice hardening with resolve) "Send messengers. Go to Qarth. Tell them we need allies. Food, horses… everything. And tell them who I am."

Jorah nodded, understanding the weight of her command. Daenerys called for three riders to step forward. They were her most trusted, loyal followers—men she knew would not falter. They stood before her, waiting for her orders.

 "You will go in different directions. One to Qarth. One to the nearest trading post. And one toward the Red Waste, to see if there's anything we can find. Go quickly. We need to keep moving."

The three riders mounted their horses, preparing to set off in their separate directions. Daenerys's eyes lingered on them for a moment, feeling the pressure of her decisions bearing down on her. She knew the risks, but there was no turning back now.

Then, she turned to one rider, a man she knew well, one who had never failed her.

 (quietly, looking him in the eyes) "You… you've never failed me."

Roacath, a man with weathered features and a steady gaze, gave a small nod. He had been with her since the beginning, through every trial and challenge.

he spoke: "I won't fail you now, Your Grace."

Daenerys's heart stirred at the loyalty in his voice. It was the kind of loyalty that fueled her resolve. She could rely on him, just as she could rely on the others.

 "Go. Blood of my Blood And return to me."

The riders spurred their horses forward, each heading in their designated direction. The sound of hooves echoed in the air as they disappeared into the vast desert, their figures becoming small dots in the distance.

Daenerys watched them go, her eyes hardening with determination. The road was long, and the challenges ahead were immense. But she was Daenerys Targaryen...