After the Titan of Braavos fell, Lo Quen's golden vertical pupils turned toward the Braavos naval port. There, moored in the harbor, lay the Braavos Purple Fleet—a force feared throughout the Narrow Sea. Hundreds of warships stood in orderly formation, their banners fluttering proudly. They symbolized Braavos's maritime supremacy and embodied the confidence that allowed it to challenge other powers.
Golden dragon Lo Quen let out a thunderous roar as his massive form dove downward. The sailors and soldiers in the naval port, already cowed by the earlier battle, now fell into utter panic at the sight of the golden dragon bearing down on the harbor.
"By the gods! It's coming for us!"
"Set sail! Leave the harbor!"
"Cut the mooring lines! Quickly!"
Chaotic shouts erupted instantly. Some captains tried to order anchors raised and sails hoisted to flee the harbor. Sailors frantically hacked at ropes, straining at the winches. But it was all futile.
Golden Dragonfire poured down once more.
BOOM! CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
The flames, like a golden waterfall, instantly engulfed the outermost warships. Wooden hulls disintegrated rapidly under extreme heat. Sails turned to ash, ropes snapped instantly, masts toppled like burning torches. The warships moored in the harbor were too densely packed to escape. One after another, they ignited, forming a spreading sea of fire. The sea seemed to rise with a burning forest.
Explosions and the shrill, desperate screams of people pierced the sky. The scorching shockwaves even caused distant buildings to smoke. Some warships attempted to force their way out of the harbor, but they were often overtaken by Dragonfire before getting far, turning into charcoal along with their crews.
More desperate sailors and soldiers chose to leap from the burning ships into the icy sea, attempting to swim to safety. Yet the sea surface was already blanketed in burning oil slicks and wreckage. Those who plunged in were often engulfed by flames or drowned in the boiling, icy water. The scene was horrifying, like a living hell.
"Stop, Your Grace! Please stop!"
Sealord Ferrego Antaryon emerged from the Sealord's Palace, his voice thick with despair.
When he learned that the Faceless Men had been hired to assassinate the Eastern man who had conquered the Three Daughters, only to fail, and that the Eastern man was now riding a dragon to Braavos demanding answers, he nearly fainted. The mess these Faceless Men had created would ultimately fall to him to clean up.
Lo Quen soared above the military harbor now engulfed in flames, coldly surveying the scene below. He watched a group of exquisitely dressed individuals, protected by elite guards, tremble as they approached a square untouched by the fire. It was Braavos's ruler, Sealord Ferrego Antaryon. Watching his fleet—built at immense cost—vanish before his eyes, the Sealord felt a pain so sharp it nearly stole his breath. But what terrified him more was the dragon's potential to erase Braavos entirely from the map.
"Your Grace, we surrender! We admit defeat! We beg you to quell your fury! Braavos will pay any price!"
The Sealord's voice trembled, nearly breaking into sobs.
The golden dragon descended slowly onto the square, his massive claws crushing the stone slabs beneath. The scorching breath made the Sealord and his retainers struggle to breathe, forcing them to retreat. The Sealord struggled to maintain his dignity, his gaze searching the dragon's back for the Easterner.
"Your Grace, please show yourself. We... we beg for negotiations..."
A cold, deep voice boomed directly from the golden dragons' mouths, shaking the air:
"I am here."
The Sealord and all his nobles and advisers froze instantly, the color draining from their faces as their eyes filled with disbelieving horror. The dragon was speaking?! No! It wasn't the dragon speaking! It was the Easterner... He was the dragon?!
This realization shattered their worldview more profoundly than the destruction of their fleet. How could a human transform into such a colossal, terrifying beast?! Was this the magic of Further East Asshai? In that instant, every shred of defiance within them was utterly crushed, leaving only boundless terror.
The Sealord was the first to regain his senses, his voice trembling:
"Your Grace, the esteemed Dragonlord! The Faceless Men and Braavos have offended Your Majesty's dignity. We beg Your forgiveness, plead for mercy for this city's ignorance!"
The golden dragons Lo Quen gazed coldly down upon the terrified nobles of Braavos:
"Forgiveness? Granted."
A flicker of hope crossed the faces of the Sealord and the nobles.
"Three hundred billion Braavos iron coins in reparations."
Lo Quen's voice was completely steady.
"Three... three hundred billion?!"
The Sealord nearly fainted; this was nearly all of Braavos's reserves in the Sealord's Palace.
Other nobles gasped in shock; it felt like being drained to the bone.
Braavos iron coins had little value, and three hundred billion was equivalent to just three million gold dragons.
"And..."
Lo Quen, the golden dragon, continued, "Braavos pledges never to rebuild the Purple Fleet. If I ever hear of Braavos rebuilding its navy, I will return. Next time, it won't just be the fleet that faces destruction."
The Sealord's face turned as pale as paper, his lips trembling.
He knew there was no room for negotiation.
Refuse, and it would be annihilation.
He swallowed hard, nearly grinding his teeth to dust, forcing the words out between clenched teeth: "We... we accept your terms, Your Grace. Braavos submits..."
"The money must be delivered to Conquest Keep promptly. My patience is limited."
With that, Lo Quen, the golden dragon, turned away from the despairing nobles. His enormous dragon wings flared, sending a violent gust of wind that blew the people off their feet.
He soared upward, flying over the still-burning city and the wreckage of the fleet below, heading south until he vanished into the horizon.
All that remained was a shattered Braavos, its Sealord and his court sunk in deep grief and humiliation.
When Lo Quen returned to Conquest Keep, he did not linger on his victory over Braavos.
His bloodline purity had now reached 31%, giving him the capacity to awaken another Flame Knight and a dragon egg.
So, he made his way to Daenerys's chambers.
She had recently become his queen, still radiating the soft allure of someone newly acquainted with love.
Her silver-gold hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her violet eyes sparkled with affection for Lo Quen.
"Your Grace," she greeted him softly, a blush coloring her cheeks.
Lo Quen dismissed the maidservants and closed the door behind him.
He extended his hand, and his fingertips subtly sharpened as he gently sliced his own palm.
A drop of Dragonblood, rich with magic, slowly oozed out, glowing faintly.
"Daenerys, open your mouth."
Lo Quen's voice was calm.
At his words, Daenerys's cheeks flushed an even deeper red.
She seemed to misinterpret his intention. Her eyes briefly flickered away before she lowered her head obediently, gathering her silver-gold hair and tucking it behind her ear. Then... she kneeled before Lo Quen, as if preparing to do something.
Lo Quen froze for a moment, then a wave of embarrassment hit him.
It seemed their previous intimacy had been a bit much, teaching this young woman some unintended reflexes.
He sighed inwardly, quickly reaching out to lift her up.
"It's not what you think, Dany."
His tone was tinged with both a touch of amusement and resignation. "This is the ritual to grant you power."
Only then did Daenerys realize her mistake. Instantly, her shame deepened, her ears turning bright red. She wished she could disappear into the floor.
Lo Quen brought his palm, still dripping with Dragonblood, to her lips. "Drink it. This will transcend your mortal limits and make you my Flame Knight."
Daenerys looked at the golden blood, radiating an astonishing power. Without hesitation, she trusted him completely and obeyed his command.