As the bonfire in the square burned past midnight, a strange change began to occur.
The originally orange-red flames gradually turned golden-red, as if soaked in molten gold, and the dancing fire tongues no longer scattered but gathered towards the center of the pyre, forming a swirling pillar of fire that enveloped Drogo's body and the dragon eggs.The heated stones in the heart of the fire made a soft crackling sound, like some ancient summoning, and even the wind from the Mother River stilled. The entire grassland was so quiet that only the sound of the burning flames and the suppressed breathing of the Dothraki could be heard.
Illyrio clenched his fists, cold sweat beading on his fingertips. He knew this moment would come, but he hadn't expected it to be so awe-inspiring—this was no ordinary fire; it was the "Fire of Life" belonging to the Targaryen, crucial for the hatching of the dragon eggs. He instinctively took half a step forward, his gaze fixed on the center of the fire pillar, afraid to miss any detail.
Daenerys suddenly moved. She shook off the slave trying to hold her back and walked barefoot, step by step, towards the pyre. The heat wave from the flames washed over her, and her leather vest grew hot, but she showed no sign of stopping. "Khaleesi! Dangerous!" Kohol shouted, attempting to rush forward, but Illyrio pulled him back.
"Don't stop her," Illyrio's voice was trembling but exceptionally firm. "This is the destiny of the Targaryen; she must walk through it."
The Dothraki all rose, watching in terror as Daenerys walked into the pillar of fire. The golden-red flames swirled around her, yet did not scorch her skin; instead, like docile pets, they parted a path for her. Daenerys walked to the center of the pyre, knelt beside Drogo's body, and gently touched the scorching dragon eggs—the patterns on the eggshells had fully unfurled, glowing with a dazzling red light, as if life was stirring within them.
Just then, the first dragon egg cracked open.
A tiny crack spread from the top of the eggshell, followed by a crisp "CRACK." The crack widened, and a small, black-scaled claw emerged, covered in wet mucus. The tiny claw waved in the air, and then a small head poked out—black scales gleamed with a metallic luster, golden eyes like two burning sparks, and a faint but sharp cry escaped its mouth.
"Dragon! It's a dragon!" someone gasped in the crowd, their voice filled with shock.
The second dragon egg cracked open immediately after. This hatchling was milky-white, with faint golden patterns on its scales and ice-blue eyes. It was more lively than the black hatchling, struggling to climb out as soon as it hatched and rubbing against Daenerys's hand, emitting soft "woo woo" sounds.
The third dragon egg hatched most spectacularly. It paused for a moment at the top of the fire pillar, then suddenly burst forth with a dazzling red light. The eggshell shattered instantly, and a red hatchling soared into the sky, circling once above the fire pillar and letting out a clear roar that pierced the night sky, making the surrounding bonfires subtly tremble.
Daenerys extended her hand, and the black and white hatchlings immediately climbed into her palms. The red hatchling also swooped down, landing on her shoulder. The three hatchlings affectionately rubbed against her skin, their golden, ice-blue, and fiery-red eyes full of dependence on their "Mother."
Daenerys slowly stood up, holding the hatchlings, and walked out of the pillar of fire. The golden-red flames behind her gradually subsided, revealing Drogo's body, now reduced to ashes in the center of the pyre. Only the heated stone still glowed with a faint red light, lying quietly in the ashes.
The Dothraki erupted into a frenzy. They all knelt, hands placed on their chests, shouting at Daenerys: "Mother of Dragons! Khaleesi! Queen of the Targaryen!" The shouts rose in waves, shaking the grassland. Kohol also knelt on one knee, holding Drogo's bronze Arakh high: "I, Kohol, swear by the name of the Dothraki Blood Riders to forever be loyal to the Mother of Dragons, to follow you in conquest until my last breath!"
Daenerys looked down at the hatchlings in her palms, then up at the square filled with kneeling Dothraki. Tears streamed down her face again, but they were no longer tears of sorrow, but of joy and determination. She walked to Illyrio, gently offering the black hatchling to him: "Illyrio, look, they are alive. Drogo has not left; he is with us in another way."
The black hatchling rubbed against Illyrio's finger, emitting a faint cry. Illyrio carefully extended his finger, touching its cool scales, his heart filled with something—this was the hope of the Targaryen, the very thing he had crossed over for, and was willing to protect at all costs. "They are beautiful," his voice choked slightly. "Daenerys, from today, you are no longer just Khaleesi; you are the Mother of Dragons, the hope of all the old Targaryen loyalists in Westeros."
Daenerys nodded, cradled the hatchlings back in her arms, and turned to face the Dothraki: "My Dothraki, though Drogo has left us, he has given us the most precious gift—dragons. They are the symbol of the Targaryen, the guardians of the grassland. From today, we will take the dragons and leave the Dothraki Sea, heading to Slaver's Bay, where there are people waiting for us to liberate, and the strength for us to rebuild the Targaryen dynasty!"
The Dothraki erupted in enthusiastic cheers. The confusion and wavering caused by Drogo's death were now replaced by awe of the dragons and anticipation for the future. Illyrio stood beside Daenerys, watching this scene, and breathed a sigh of relief—the birth of the dragons not only brought hope but also united the Khalasar's hearts, which was crucial for their journey to Slaver's Bay and ultimately back to Westeros.
That night, the main tent was brightly lit. Daenerys named the three hatchlings: the black hatchling was named "Drogon," in memory of Drogo; the white hatchling was named "Rhaegal," after her father The Mad King (Aerys Targaryen)'s middle name; and the red hatchling was named "Viserys," for although her brother was mad, he was still of Targaryen blood.
Illyrio sat by, watching Daenerys gently feed the hatchlings (with chopped raw lamb), and began to plan the next steps: "Daenerys, we need to depart for Slaver's Bay as soon as possible. Although the Dothraki Sea is safe, it lacks sufficient resources to feed the hatchlings, and it is too far from Westeros, which is not conducive to us consolidating our old loyalists. Slaver's Bay has a large number of slaves; if we liberate them, we can form a powerful army. There are also abundant spices and food there to support our expedition."
Daenerys nodded, stroking Drogon's scales: "I will listen to you. But we cannot depart rashly; we need to first consolidate the Khalasar. After Drogo's death, some minor leaders might be disobedient. We need to let them see the power of the dragons, to let them know that only by following us can they achieve true glory."
"I will go with Kohol to persuade those minor leaders," Illyrio said. "Kohol was Drogo's most trusted Blood Riders; with his support, plus the deterrence of the dragons, those leaders will not dare to easily resist. Additionally, we must prepare enough food and water. The journey to Slaver's Bay is long, and we cannot let the Dothraki starve along the way."
Over the next three days, the Khalasar entered a tense preparation phase. Illyrio and Kohol visited all the minor leaders of the Khalasar. Whenever a leader hesitated, Daenerys would appear with the hatchlings—Drogon would roar at the sky, and red flames would erupt from its mouth, instantly terrifying the leaders into kneeling submission. No Dothraki would refuse the leadership of the "Mother of Dragons"; that was the most sacred symbol on the grassland.
The slaves also became busy. They collected food, repaired tents, and checked horses, each person's face showing unprecedented enthusiasm—the birth of the dragons gave them hope of escaping slavery, and they believed that by following the Mother of Dragons, they would usher in a new life.
On the night before their departure, Illyrio came alone to the Mother River, looking at the shimmering water, holding the heated stone he had retrieved from the pyre—the stone's temperature had dropped somewhat, but it still held a faint warmth. He touched the dragon-sigil necklace beneath his collar, recalling the morning he had crossed over, his struggles in the slums of Pentos, the assassination at the wedding, Drogo's death, and now the lively hatchlings, his heart filled with mixed emotions.
"Mother, I did it," he whispered to the river. "The Targaryen are not extinct; the dragons have returned. We will take the dragons back to Westeros and reclaim everything that belongs to us."
Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and Daenerys approached, holding Drogon. "What are you thinking about?" She handed Drogon to Illyrio. "He seems to like you very much; every time he sees you, he becomes especially lively."
Drogon rubbed against Illyrio's arm, emitting soft "woo woo" sounds. Illyrio smiled, gently stroking its scales: "I'm thinking about our future. Slaver's Bay will not be the end; Westeros is. But I know the road ahead will not be easy. The Lannister will not give up, and other powers in the Seven Kingdoms will also see us as a threat."
"But we have dragons," Daenerys's eyes were firm. "And you, and Kohol, and all the Dothraki who follow us. As long as we are united, there is no difficulty we cannot overcome."
Illyrio nodded, returned Drogon to Daenerys, and the two stood side by side by the Mother River, watching the distant morning light gradually brighten. A new day was about to dawn, and their Khalasar, with the power of the dragons, would set off towards Slaver's Bay, beginning a new journey for the Targaryen.
As the first rays of morning sun fell upon the grassland, the Khalasar's procession set off. Thousands of horses trod upon the green grass, moving eastward, and the three hatchlings circled above Daenerys's head, emitting clear roars. Illyrio rode his horse beside Daenerys, looking at the vast procession, at the dragons flying in the sky, his heart filled with hope.
He knew this was just the beginning. The challenges of Slaver's Bay, the conflicts of the Seven Kingdoms, the threat of the Others, all awaited them ahead. But he was no longer afraid—because he had the Mother of Dragons by his side, the reborn Targaryen, a united Khalasar, and their own future of fire and blood.