Magister Illyrio Mopatis’s manse was a palace dripping with honey and wealth in the free city of Pentos.
Polished black-and-white marble floor tiles reflected the Myrish glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
The air was thick with a blend of rose pomade favored by the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, expensive perfumes from Qarth merchants, and the fragrance of exotic fruits from the Summer Isles.
Mark Win, dressed in a robe of dark silk, walked down the extravagant corridor with an expression as serene as if he were strolling through his own back garden.
The innate composure he radiated stood in sharp contrast to the surrounding guests, who were straining to force obsequious smiles in hopes of currying favor with the Magister.
“Ah, my dear friend!” A booming voice rang out as Magister Illyrio, fat as a mountain, spread his arms wide and waddled over with warm enthusiasm.
Food crumbs clung to his greasy yellow beard, and his small eyes glinted with the shrewdness and greed unique to a merchant.
“Welcome, treasure hunter from the East!
Your arrival lends even my humble abode the glory of Valyria!” “You flatter me, Magister,” Mark Win replied with a subtle nod, neither humble nor overbearing.
His gaze drifted over Illyrio’s shoulder to a brother and sister standing a short distance away.
The man had long silver-gold hair, an arrogant and fretful demeanor, and eyes brimming with impatience and cruelty.
Without a doubt, this was Viserys Targaryen—the self-proclaimed heir of the dragon who begged across the world, the Beggar King.
Beside him stood a slender young girl who looked fragile enough to shatter at a touch.
She shared his beautiful silver hair, but her violet eyes were filled with fear and submissiveness.
Like a frightened fawn, she cowered in her brother’s shadow, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze.
Daenerys Targaryen.
Mark Win’s heart skipped a beat despite himself.
This was his goal.
The future Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt…
But right now, she was merely a pawn at the mercy of others, about to be offered as a gift to a savage Khal.
“Come, my friend.” Illyrio clearly missed Mark Win’s fleeting flash of emotion.
His plump hand fell affectionately onto Mark Win’s shoulder as he led him toward a long table in the center of the hall.
“I hear you possess deep knowledge of Valyrian antiquities.
Allow me to show you a few of my most prized collections.” The long table was draped in crimson velvet, topped with several so-called antiquities—mostly broken clay pots and rusted metal scraps dug up from ruins.
Mark Win’s eyes swept over them before settling on the three most striking objects in the center of the velvet cushion.
Three dragon eggs.
One was deep green with bronze flecks across its scales.
Another was pale cream with gold whorls.
The last was black as a midnight sea, traced with swirlings of scarlet.
They lay there quietly, hard and cold, as though every trace of life had long since vanished from within them.
“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Illyrio boasted in a grand tone.
“Brought all the way from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai—true dragon eggs!
Though turned to stone, their beauty is enough to drive any king mad!” Greed instantly flared in Viserys’s eyes.
He took a hasty step forward, practically reaching out to touch them, but Illyrio subtly used his massive body to block him.
“Magister, these are indeed matchless treasures,” Mark Win spoke up, his voice clear and steady, instantly drawing everyone’s attention.
From inside his robes, he slowly drew out a long object wrapped in brocade.
As he unwrapped the cloth, a dark, profound luster shimmered beneath the hall’s lamplight.
It was an ingot of solid Valyrian steel.
About an arm long and four fingers wide, its surface was covered in the iconic rippling wave patterns, as though life itself breathed within it.
The moment it appeared, the temperature in the entire hall seemed to drop several degrees.
A collective gasp rippled through the gathered guests.
“Valyrian steel!” a well-traveled merchant exclaimed in disbelief.
“Gods above!
A whole ingot!” Illyrio’s eyes went wide, and his breath grew heavy as he stared at the bar.
Greed oozed from his every feature.
A weapon of Valyrian steel was already priceless, but an unworked ingot was beyond measure!
“Where…
where did you get this?” Illyrio’s voice trembled.
“Beneath the ash of Valyria’s Doom, miracles always endure,” Mark Win said with a faint smile.
Then his tone shifted as his gaze landed on the three dragon eggs.
“Magister, do you know?
These dragon eggs are not dead things.” He paused, laying down his bargaining chip.
“They are merely sleeping.
And the ingot in my hand is not just wealth—it is the key to awakening them.” The hall erupted in uproar.
“Liar!” A shrill scream shattered the commotion.
Viserys’s face turned beet red.
Pointing a finger right at Mark Win’s nose, he bellowed furiously, “You charlatan of unknown origin!
How dare you spout such nonsense here!
The dragon eggs turned to stone long ago—everyone knows it!
Illyrio, seize this lying scoundrel at once and cut out his tongue!” His rage was fueled not merely by Mark Win’s sacrilege, but by the unmistakable hesitation he saw in Illyrio’s eyes.
Those three dragon eggs were supposed to be his sister’s wedding gift—one of his key bargaining chips to secure a Dothraki army!
Yet Mark Win didn’t spare a single glance for the hysterical Viserys.
Acting as though the man didn’t exist, he simply stared calmly at Illyrio.
His deep eyes seemed capable of seeing through every scheme in the Magister’s mind.
“Magister,” Mark Win said, his voice quiet yet carrying easily over Viserys’s roaring.
“Presenting these three stones as a wedding gift to the future Khaleesi might buy you a few years of Khal Drogo’s goodwill.
That is a fine bargain.” He paused briefly, a meaningful curl touching the corner of his lips.
“However, if you entrust them to me…” “I will awaken an era for you.” The words seemed imbued with an incredible magic, freezing the air in the hall.
Viserys’s screaming cut off abruptly.
His mouth hung open, but no sound came out.
Illyrio’s massive frame quivered slightly, and sharp calculation gleamed in the narrow slits of his fat-embossed eyes.
Ignoring the shock around him, Mark Win continued, “Of course, you are free to disbelieve my prophecy.
But you are the shrewdest merchant in Pentos.
You should understand better than anyone…” He lightly tapped the shimmering bar of Valyrian steel with a finger.
“…its intrinsic value.” *Thump.* That soft tap struck Illyrio’s heart like a sledgehammer.
Indeed.
Prophecies could be false, and an “era” was an abstract promise.
But the Valyrian steel ingot sitting right in front of him was real—a staggering fortune that even the kings of the Seven Kingdoms would covet!
On one hand were three beautiful but useless stones, meant merely as an impressive gesture to seal an already finalized political marriage.
On the other hand was an exceedingly rare ingot of Valyrian steel worth a kingdom, plus a mad yet extraordinarily alluring possibility: awakening an era.
As a speculative merchant, risk and gambling ran through Illyrio’s veins.
His fat fingers unconsciously twisted his greasy yellow beard as his mind raced.
Risk…
reward…
This mysterious Easterner had been shrouded in enigma since the moment he appeared.
He had accurately predicted the sky-rocketing spice prices, amassing vast wealth overnight; he could produce a raw ingot of Valyrian steel, proving he had indeed visited the cursed Doom…
Could such a man truly be a mere fraud?
“Seize him!
Illyrio!
What are you waiting for?!” Seeing Illyrio hesitate, Viserys shrieked again.
“Those dragon eggs belong to House Targaryen!
They belong to me!” Illyrio finally snapped out of his calculations.
He cast a glance at the half-crazed Viserys, a subtle flick of disgust crossing his eyes.
Then, plastering a warm smile back onto his face, he turned to Mark Win.
“My friend, I believe there may be a slight misunderstanding between us,” he chuckled like a rotund laughing Buddha.
“These three dragon eggs were indeed meant as a wedding gift for the noble Lady Daenerys.” He paused, pivoting deftly.
“However, seeing this miracle you have brought from glorious Valyria, I have changed my mind.
Such a precious gift should belong to the most exalted master.
I suppose nothing could display the glory of House Targaryen better than a solid ingot of Valyrian steel.
Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace Prince Viserys?” He tossed the question to Viserys, but gave him no chance to reply before immediately clapping his hands.
“Guards, take good care of this ingot and present it to Prince Viserys!” At the same time, he gestured invitingly toward Mark Win.
“And these three lovely stones shall be exchanged with you, my friend, as a testament to our friendship!” A blatant intercept was recast by his words into a mutually beneficial exchange of gifts.
Viserys trembled with rage, yet found himself unable to refute it.
Illyrio was right—a block of Valyrian steel was far more valuable than three petrified eggs.
If he threw a fit now, he would look greedier and more foolish than ever.
He could only watch helplessly as servants carefully lifted the three dragon eggs and carried them toward Mark Win.
A victorious smile touched Mark Win’s lips.
He stepped forward, preparing to receive the eggs.
Just as he brushed past the servant bearing the eggs and drew near Daenerys, he came to a stop.
He did not look at Illyrio, nor did he pay any mind to Viserys, whose face was green with anger.
He turned and looked straight at the silent silver-haired girl, who had been standing there like a delicate doll.
Startled by his sudden focus, Daenerys instinctively took half a step back, her violet eyes wide with fright.
Mark Win’s gaze was warm and steady, without a hint of aggression.
He kept his voice very low, yet it reached her ears with absolute clarity, like a whisper echoing from across time: “Blood of the dragon does not turn to stone.” Daenerys froze instantly.
Mark Win reached out and gently took the three cold dragon eggs from the servant, his eyes remaining fixed on her.
“They are merely sleeping, waiting for their true master.” With that, he paused no longer.
Cradle-holding the three petrified dragon eggs, he gave Illyrio a slight nod and turned away under the complex, lingering gazes of the crowd.
A dead silence descended upon the hall.
Viserys was about to explode, but a sharp glance from Illyrio checked him.
Daenerys remained rooted to the spot, dazed.
*Blood of the dragon does not turn to stone…* *They are merely sleeping, waiting for their true master…* Those words seemed alive, echoing again and again in her empty heart, hammering against the shackles of obedience and submission drilled into her since childhood.
For the first time, not out of fear, but out of an indescribable shock, she looked inward into her own soul.
She lowered her head, looking at her slender hands.
*Blood of the dragon…* Was that truly what ran through her veins?
Deep within her bewildered violet eyes, a tiny spark—one even she had not yet noticed—quietly flared to life.