บท 3: | Chapter 03: Revelations |

| Author's Note: I'm still getting accustumated with writting about stuff I have no knowledge on, Yi Ti is such a thing. |

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With Aegon Targaryen - Next Morning

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The streets of Xia Quo were alive with noise and color. Merchants hawked their wares from every corner, their voices blending into a cacophony that filled the air like the hum of a thousand restless bees. The scents of roasted meats, pungent spices, and the sharp tang of river mud from the wharves created a dizzying blend, one that had long since dulled in Aegon's senses.

He had walked these streets for years, from boy to "man", and the city no longer held the awe it once did.

Today, however, felt different.

As he walked through the narrow, crooked streets, past the silk stalls and the ivory traders, Aegon couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. His skin prickled, the hairs on the back of his neck rising despite the warmth of the late afternoon sun. He glanced over his shoulder, but the crowd was a shifting sea of faces, none lingering on him for more than a passing moment.

Still, the sensation remained,— a shadow trailing him, unseen but ever-present. His mind drifted to the strange encounter earlier that week at the Jade Palace, the woman's cryptic words still ringing in his ears.

"You should leave." she told him. "Before you awaken something you are not prepared to face."

Her voice had been soft but carried the weight of certainty, as though she had seen through him, through the layers of silk and the dirt of the city streets, straight to something he himself could not yet understand.

And Aegon shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but the feeling persisted. He hurried his pace, the soft soles of his boots slapping against the dusty ground as he cut through a quiet alleyway, far from the bustling market squares.

Here, the noise of the city faded to a dull murmur, and for a moment, he allowed himself to breathe.

The alley smelled of damp wood and rotting vegetables, a sharp contrast to the perfumed air of the palace grounds he had visited days before.

Aegon leaned against a moss-covered wall, his heart slowing as he listened to the distant hum of the city, feeling its pulse, but still, that invisible thread of unease pulled at him.

Then he heard it,— a soft footstep behind him, quiet but deliberate. Aegon spun around, his hand instinctively going to the small knife tucked into his belt,— one he learned to carry ever since he was younger.

But there was no one there.

He stared down the length of the alley, eyes scanning the shadows that clung to the narrow space between the buildings.

The sun was beginning to sink below the rooftops, casting long, dark fingers across the stone walls. For a moment, he thought he had imagined it.

Perhaps his nerves were playing tricks on him. But then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.

The man was tall and gaunt, his face obscured beneath the hood of a red silk cloak. His steps were slow, almost deliberate, as though he meant to close the distance between them with no intention of haste, while moving with the quiet grace of a man who knew how to avoid attention.

Aegon had seen this strange man before.

"Boy." the man's voice was gravelly, as though each word scraped against his throat, "I told you that you could not outrun what is already inside you."

Aegon's grip tightened on his knife, but he made no move to draw it.

There was something in the man's presence that made the act of violence seem both foolish and unnecessary, and so Aegon stepped back instead, eyeing the figure with suspicion.

"Who are you?" Aegon asked, his voice steadier than he felt. "What do you want from me, again?"

The man stopped a few paces away, his head tilting slightly, as though appraising Aegon from beneath his hood.

He took a slow breath, and for the first time, Aegon caught the faint scent of something foreign,— something sharp and metallic, like steel left too long in salt air.

"It is not who I am that matters." the man rasped. "It is who you are."

Aegon frowned. "I'm nobody. Just a servant,— Master Phai's errand boy."

The man's lips curled into something that could have been a smile, though it lacked warmth. "Do you truly believe that?" he asked, his voice quiet but cutting.

Aegon opened his mouth to reply, but the words faltered on his tongue.

Did he believe it? All his life, he had carried a sense of displacement, a feeling that he did not quite belong in the streets of Xia Quo, nor even under Master Phai's roof. He had always felt it deep in his bones, like a half-forgotten memory of somewhere else, someone else.

"You do not belong here," the man repeated, the words that were awfully similar to those of the woman he met on the palace, yesterday. "But you already know that, don't you, boy?"

The knife in Aegon's hand suddenly felt heavy, like a useless tool in the face of whatever this man represented.

His heartbeat quickened again, the unease settling deeper into his chest. He took another step back, but the man surprisingly made no move to close the distance any further.

"Tell me who I am, then," Aegon said, surprising himself with the demand in his voice. "If you know so much about me, as everyone seems to know as of late, then tell me."

The man's smile widened, and this time, there was something darker in it.

He reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a small, shimmering object,— a coin, dull and weathered with age, but unmistakably marked with a sigil Aegon had seen only in his dreams.

A dragon.

"Your past has been hidden from you for too long." the man said, tossing the coin to him.

Aegon caught it reflexively, staring down at the intricate design, his heart hammering in his chest. The dragon's eyes seemed to glow in the fading light of the alley, a faint shimmer of silver against the tarnished surface.

"What is this?" Aegon whispered, though he already knew.

"A key," the man said, his voice barely a breath now. "To your future."

Aegon's gaze snapped back up, but the man was gone. The alley stretched out before him, empty and still, save for the faint rustling of wind through the narrow cracks in the walls. The coin burned hot in his hand, and he quickly pocketed it, his mind spinning with questions.

He felt an invisible door had been opened,— a door to something vast and terrifying, something that had been waiting for him all along.

The next morning, the market was alive with its usual bustle, but Aegon moved through it as if in a daze.

His thoughts clung to the words of the man in the alley, to the weight of the dragon coin now tucked away in his tunic. He had tried to ignore it, tried to convince himself it had been a dream or some elaborate trick of the mind. But the sensation lingered,— the feeling that something had shifted, that his life in Yi Ti was beginning to unravel like an old tapestry.

His feet carried him down familiar streets to Master Phai's merchant house, where bolts of fine silk were already being loaded onto a cart.

Aegon watched in silence as the other servants bustled about, their voices filled with the routine of daily work. But he felt removed from it all, as though he were watching from a great distance.

"Boy!"

Master Phai's voice cut through the haze, sharp and impatient. The merchant stood on the steps of the house, his face creased with a frown as he gestured for Aegon to approach.

Aegon hurried over, his mind still tangled with the events of the previous day.

"Take the cart to the Jade Palace." Phai ordered, his tone brusque. "It seems that the Empress herself has requested a delivery from us, and I won't have you dawdling like you did last time."

Aegon nodded obediently, the mention of the Jade Palace sending a fresh wave of unease through him.

He hadn't wanted to return there, not after the strange encounter with that strange and alluring woman,— and her cryptic warning.

But he had little choice.

He grabbed the reins of the cart and began leading it through the city, his thoughts spiraling once more.

As he passed through the golden gates of the Jade Palace and its warrior guards, the sense of something watching him returned.

The palace was as beautiful as it was oppressive, its tall, jade-encrusted walls rising like sentinels above the city.

He guided the cart into a vast courtyard this time, where a small retinue of servants waited to unload the silk.

Aegon glanced around, half-expecting to see the Empress's pale face peering down from one of the balconies, her eyes following his every move.

But the palace was still, and no one seemed to be approaching him.

He then felt the weight of the coin in his pocket once more, its presence an anchor pulling him deeper into the mystery of his own existence.

After the last of the silk had been unloaded, Aegon turned to leave, but his path was suddenly blocked.

A figure stood in the shadow of a pavilion, cloaked in robes of deep red, her face obscured by a veil of fine silk.

His breath caught in his throat as he recognized her,— the woman from before, only now did his mind realized that the woman could actually be the Empress.

She stepped forward, her movements graceful, like a panther stalking its prey.

Her voice, when it came, was soft, but laced with a predatory edge.

She stood before him, her silhouette framed by the intricate carvings of the pavilion's jade columns. Her movements were as graceful as before, the soft rustle of her robes blending with the gentle breeze that carried the scent of exotic flowers from the palace gardens.

The air here was thick, perfumed with jasmine and the musk of incense. It should have been comforting, but it only heightened Aegon's unease.

"You didn't listen," she said, her voice as smooth as silk, yet cold with a distant authority. "I warned you to leave, and yet here you are, still tied to a place that is not your own."

Aegon felt the weight of her words settle on his chest.

Her pale eyes, hidden beneath the thin veil, seemed to bore into him, stripping away the pretense of the life he had lived. He shifted his stance, unsure whether he should bow his head in deference or flee from her presence altogether.

"I… had no choice," Aegon said, his voice steadier than he expected. "I work for Master Phai. This is my life."

The Empress stepped closer, her gaze never leaving his. Her presence was suffocating, yet alluring, like a storm on the horizon,— both beautiful and terrifying. "This is not your life. It never was. Do you feel it, boy? The restlessness, the fire in your blood?"

Aegon's throat tightened.

How could she know what he felt? The dreams, the fleeting sense of power, of something untouchable calling out to him, had been plaguing him for months. Yet every time he tried to make sense of it, the answers slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.

"You don't belong here," the Empress repeated, her voice softer now, almost sympathetic. "You belong to a different place, a different destiny."

Aegon frowned. "Then why warn me to leave Yi Ti? If I don't belong here, why should it matter what I do?" He said, answering the Empress in a way that none would dare, but he didn't even notice his tone amidst his unruly thoughts.

Her lips curved into a small smile, one that did little to warm the chill in her eyes. "It matters because there are forces at work beyond what you know. Powers you do not yet understand, but that will soon make themselves known. If you stay, you will find yourself locked in a web from which there may be no escape."

Aegon's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to meet her gaze. "What forces? What do you know about me, that I don't?"

The Empress said nothing for a long moment, studying him as though weighing how much she should reveal. "You carry blood that others would kill to claim." she said finally. "Valyrian blood. The blood of past dragonlords."

Her words hit Aegon like a punch to the gut. His mind reeled.

Valyrian blood. Dragonlords.

He had heard whispers of the ancient Valyrians,— tales of their empire's rise and fall, of their connection to dragons. But those stories had always seemed distant, like something out of a myth.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the Empress raised a hand, silencing him. "You don't understand yet, but you will. The blood that runs in your veins is more than just a lineage. It is a key to power, one that many would use for their own ends."

Aegon felt his stomach turn.

The cryptic man from the alley, the dragon coin, the dreams that haunted his nights,— it was all beginning to make sense, though it left him with more questions than answers. "What do you want from me?"

The Empress stepped closer, close enough that Aegon could see the faint outlines of her face through the veil.

She was beautiful, more so than anyone he had ever seen, but there was something sharp about her beauty, something dangerous. "I want nothing from you," she said, though her tone easily suggested otherwise. "I warned you to leave because the path ahead will be dangerous. You are marked, Aegon, whether you realize it or not. There are those who will come for you,— those who will seek to use you, to bend your will to theirs."

The wind shifted, carrying with it the soft clink of bells from distant courtyards, but neither of them moved. Aegon swallowed, his mind racing. "Then why not let me go? Let me leave this city and be done with it."

The Empress's lips twitched, as though amused by his naivety. "Because you cannot run from who you are. You are bound to this fate, whether you embrace it or not."

Aegon felt the weight of her words settle over him like a mantle, a heavy burden he hadn't asked to carry. He was just a boy,— no, a man now, but still a servant, a common errand-runner for a silk merchant. How could he be anything more than that?

"I don't believe you," he said, shaking his head. "I've been no one for all of my life."

Her hand shot out, faster than he expected, gripping his chin with surprising strength.

She tilted his face up, forcing him to meet her gaze fully, her fingers cold against his skin.

"You are Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar. The blood of kings flows in your veins, and whether you like it or not, that blood will call to you. It already has, hasn't it?"

Aegon's breath caught in his throat.

He wanted to deny it, to push away her words as the ramblings of a madwoman. But deep down, he knew there was truth in them. The dreams,— the dragons, the flames,— they had been calling to him, pulling him toward something he could not yet grasp.

The Empress released him, stepping back with a grace that belied the strength she had just displayed. "There is no escaping what you are, Aegon." she said, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. "The question is whether you will let yourself be consumed by it, or whether you will learn to control it."

Aegon stared at her, the weight of her revelation pressing down on him. His name,— Aegon Targaryen.

He had never known it, never heard it spoken aloud, yet it felt as though it had always been there, hidden beneath layers of forgotten memories.

Before he could respond, she turned away, her robes sweeping across the stone floor like the tail of a serpent.

"You have a choice." she said, her voice drifting back to him. "You can run, as I warned you before. But the farther you run, the closer you will come to your true self. Or…" She paused, her gaze flicking back to him for the briefest of moments with a strange allure. "You can embrace your fate and see where it leads."

With that, she was gone, disappearing into the depths of the palace, leaving Aegon standing alone in the fading light of the courtyard.

That night, the city of Xia Quo seemed different to Aegon. The same streets he had walked for years now felt foreign, as though the buildings and faces he had known were but shadows of a life that no longer fit him.

He wandered aimlessly, the weight of the Empress's words heavy on his mind, the dragon coin tucked safely in his pocket.

He found himself at the edge of the river, where the water lapped gently against the wooden docks. The scent of brine and fish filled the air, a far cry from the perfumed gardens of the Jade Palace. Aegon sat down on one of the stone steps that led to the water, staring out at the dark surface.

Aegon Targaryen.

The name echoed in his mind, over and over, until it felt like a part of him he had always known but never acknowledged. The son of Rhaegar Targaryen. The blood of kings.

He had never known his parents. Master Phai had told him he had been found on the sea, a nameless babe floating in a barrel, a stroke of luck,— or fate,— that had brought him to Yi Ti. But now, the truth seemed far more complicated. ( Author's Note: It will be later explained. Varys plan didn't work as intended.)

The dreams, the visions of dragons,— they were no mere coincidence. The Empress had known his name, known his lineage.

And the coin, marked with the sigil of a dragon, it was a symbol of something far greater than he had ever imagined.

But what did it mean? And what was he supposed to do with this knowledge?

Aegon stared down at the river, his mind a whirl of confusion and uncertainty. The Empress had warned him of danger, of forces beyond his understanding. But she had also hinted at power,— power that came with his blood, his name.

Aegon's hand strayed to the coin in his pocket, his fingers tracing the outline of the dragon etched into its surface. The metal was cool against his skin, but it seemed to pulse with a strange energy, as though it were alive.

He closed his eyes, and once again, the strange dreams he usually had, returned.

Fire and blood.

A throne of swords.

A black dragon, with pink accents, soaring through the sky, its large wings blotting out the sun.

He opened his eyes then, the vision fading into the night. The path ahead was unclear, but one thing was certain,— he could no longer ignore what lay within him.

He was Aegon Targaryen.

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