*DAENERYS IV — YUNKAI*
The Yellow City woke to dust.
Daenerys had not brought siege towers or catapults. She had brought hunger and hope. For three days her tents stood before Yunkai's high walls, and for three days the slaves inside saw the Unsullied standing in perfect ranks — men who had been slaves and now stood free.
The Yunkish sent out their pride. Four thousand sellswords. The Second Sons on the left. The Stormcrows on the right. Two companies, five hundred each. Behind them, the slave soldiers of Yunkai in their quilted armor.
Jorah wanted battle. "We outnumber them now, Khaleesi. Let us break them."
Daenerys looked to Daario. He had blue hair and a grin that never reached his eyes. He had come to her tent the night before alone.
"I brought you the Stormcrows," he said. "Prendahl and Mero are dead. Their heads are in a bag."
And so they were.
The battle was short.
The Second Sons broke first — Brown Ben Plumm saw the dragons circling and remembered who paid better. The Yunkish slaves threw down their spears when Grey Worm's Unsullied marched forward chanting _"Freedom! Freedom!"_ in Ghiscari.
Yunkai opened its gates before noon. The Masters came out in bare feet, begging. Daenerys made them free every slave and give each a piece of gold from the city.
And they called her _Mhysa._
Far to the west, across the Narrow Sea, in the black stone of Storm's End, another dragon grew.
*STORM'S END — THE REVEAL*
The gates of Storm's End had not opened in six months.
Since Stannis left for the North, the castle had been a tomb. No ravens in, no ravens out. The garrison ate salted meat and boiled lichen. They whispered that the boy was dead. That Ser Cortnay was hiding a corpse to keep his honor.
That morning, Cortnay Penrose put on his surcoat — the red chequy on yellow, now faded and patched — and gave an order.
"Open the gates."
Ser Harbert looked at him like he was mad. "My lord, there are Florent scouts in the woods —"
"Open the gates," Cortnay said again. "And ring the bell. All men to the yard."
The great chains groaned. The portcullis that had not moved since Blackwater rose screaming. Pale light poured into the dark yard.
Thirty men gathered. Thin. Bearded. Swords rusted.
Then he came.
Aegon Targaryen. Not a boy anymore. 18, tall for his age, silver hair cut short with a dagger, his mother's eyes and his father's face. He wore plain black wool, not a crown. The red katana hung by his waist .
Behind him, three shadows.
They did not chirp anymore.
The first was black as the space between stars, scales like polished obsidian, eyes violet. Voidscale. Big as a destrier now, his head at Aegon's shoulder, wings folded but dragging on the stones.
The second, ashblack , steam rising from his nostrils. Aegnis .
The third, Grey with pale grey horns, hissing at the wind. Chaosfyre .
One of the men screamed. Another dropped his spear and ran, only to stop when Voidscale looked at him.
The yard went dead silent except for the wind and the heavy breathing of dragons.
Aegon placed a hand on Voidscale's neck. The dragon crooned — a deep, chest-shaking rumble that made the stones of Storm's End vibrate.
Ser Cortnay Penrose, who had held this castle against Stannis, against Renly, against hunger and doubt, fell to one knee. Tears cut lines through the dirt on his face.
His sword shook as he raised it.
"BOYS!" he roared, his voice breaking and echoing off Durran's walls. "KNEEL! KNEEL FOR THE TRUE KING! KNEEL FOR AEGON OF HOUSE TARGARYEN, SIXTH OF HIS NAME, LORD OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS!"
One by one, they knelt. Not for Cortnay. For the dragons.
Aegon looked down at them, at the castle that had been his cage and his home, and for the first time since Rhaegar died on the Trident, a Targaryen dragon spread its wings over Storm's End.
And Aegon finally stopped hiding.