* SECOND MONTH: NEW GHIS - THE GATE*
Aegon came back from Volantis with forty thousand.
Not an army. A people. Men with collars burned off, necks blistered. Women carrying children. Old slaves who had never seen sky without bars. They came by small boats, by foot on the slave road, by dragging themselves.
Meereen opened its gates and wept. Bread was given. Water.
Daenerys stood on the steps of the Great Pyramid, tears on her silver cheeks. "My children. You are home."
Aegon stood behind her, but did not smile. He wore now a Targaryen black uniform — long coat with red three-headed dragon on chest, black boots, tight, made for war, not silks. His red katana at his waist. His hair tied high.
Inside, the letters burned.
> *[SYSTEM - SLAVER'S BAY HOLD]*
> *Meereen: Held ✓*
> *Yunkai: Held ✓*
> *Astapor: Held ✓*
> *Volantis Fleet: Destroyed ✓*
> *Volantis City: Freed ✓*
> *New Ghis: NOT CONQUERED - Legion holds inner city*
> *Qarth Trade Interdiction: NOT BROKEN - Ships still block bay*
> *Time Left: 4 months*
Four months left.
"We march tomorrow," Aegon told the war table. Grey Worm, Barristan, Daario, Marselen, freed captains.
Daenerys said, "Take Drogon. Take Viserion."
"No," Aegon said, adjusting his black uniform sleeves. "New Ghis is not Volantis. Volantis was masters. New Ghis is legion and slaves mixed. If we burn it, we burn the people we came to free. First we fight like men. No dragons. My dragon watches only."
Daenerys stayed in Meereen. She must — Yunkai starving, Astapor revolting, forty thousand new mouths.
Aegon took ten thousand — five thousand Unsullied in lockstep, five thousand freedmen with spears and short swords. No dragon fire. Only steel.
New Ghis sat on its island, brick walls thirty feet high, iron gates that had never fallen. Behind them, three thousand New Ghis legionaries in iron scale, shields locked, spears out.
The Ghiscari general laughed from the wall. "Go home, little Targaryen! Your dragon mother not here to save you! One boy in black?"
Aegon looked up, boots in sand, wind moving his coat.
He drew katana. Red steel sang.
"For freedom!" he shouted, and charged.
He was first. Alone first.
Arrows fell like rain. Aegon breathed.
*"Wind Breathing — First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter!"*
He spun. Wind blades cut arrows mid-air, shafts falling in pieces around him. Behind him, Unsullied shouted and ran, shields over heads.
Scorpion fired. Bolt as big as spear, aimed at his chest.
Aegon jumped — boots left sand — wind under him.
*"Thunder Breathing — First Form: Thunderclap and Flash!"*
BOOM. Like thunder. He vanished. In one flash he was gone from bolt path, appearing ten feet ahead, so fast the air cracked. Bolt hit sand where he was.
Legion thought to crush him. They opened gate a little, sent fifty to take boy.
Mistake.
Aegon landed among them.
*"Wind Breathing — Third Form: Clear Storm Wind Tree!"*
Katana spun like tree in storm. Ten men cut down in one breath, throats opened by wind though sword never touched them.
*"Thunder Breathing — Fourth Form: Distant Thunder!"*
Thunder rolled. Aegon flashed again — not running, lightning. Three flashes, three legionaries fell, cut in half before they saw blade. His boots slid on blood but never slipped.
Grey Worm arrived, spear through Ghiscari throat. Freedmen arrived screaming.
Now wall battle. Shield wall vs freedmen. Iron vs hope. Oil poured from wall — wind pushed it back, burning Ghiscari own men.
Aegon reached gate — huge iron, bars thick as arms.
"Push!" he yelled. Thirty Unsullied put shoulders. Gate groaned but held.
Aegon stepped back, breathed deep, two breathing styles mixing — wind and thunder in chest.
*"Thunder Breathing — Fifth Form: Heat Lightning!"*
He became lightning. Fast, too fast to see, dashing up gate, down, up, cutting hinges, cutting bars, sparks flying. Thunder cracked each cut.
Then—
*"Wind Breathing — Sixth Form: Black Wind Gale!"*
He slammed katana into cracked seam and breathed out. Wind exploded — not push, but gale, black with dust. Gates burst inward, iron screaming, hinges ripped from brick, falling flat and crushing twenty legionaries beneath.
Dust cleared.
Gate open. City half open. Outer New Ghis taken.
Aegon stood in broken gate, black Targaryen uniform torn at shoulder, boots bloody, katana dripping, breathing hard, wind and faint thunder still crackling around him.
Behind him ten thousand cheered, banging spears.
In front, inner city still held — legion retreating to inner keep, slaves watching from windows, afraid.
Aegon pointed red sword inside.
"Rest," he told his men. "We broke the gate. Tomorrow we take the heart."