Tyrosh, an underground secret chamber.
Nekania, the Archon of Tyrosh, stared intently at the parchment in his hand, his eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and hesitation. The dim candlelight cast long, jagged shadows against the damp stone walls.
"Can you confirm the validity of this?" Nekania asked, his voice raspy.
"Aegon has left the Stepstones," his assistant Taylor replied quickly. "Fifty warships and five dragons were seen heading north toward King's Landing. Hundreds of merchants witnessed the departure. The Stepstones are, for the first time in months, without a resident rider."
Nekania narrowed his small, cunning eyes. "Aegon is the most serpentine enemy I have ever encountered. Before I took this seat, I thought I was the most devious man in the Narrow Sea. But this boy..." Nekania turned to Taylor. "What do you think? Is the bait real?"
Taylor remained silent for a long moment, weighing his words. "I believe it is a trap. Our generals hope to launch a surprise attack while the dragons are away. But what our generals can conceive, Aegon has surely already anticipated. Do you remember his golden beast?"
"How could I forget?" Nekania spat, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the table. "Sunfyre. That damned creature is half to blame for the ruin of our port. I would skin it alive if I could reach its throat."
"That dragon is far more agile than the others," Taylor noted. "And a crucial reason for that is its independence. It often flies without a rider. If that golden devil can sack our city on its own, it can certainly guard the Stepstones without Aegon on its back."
Nekania slumped slightly, the logic piercing through his desperation. "You are right. It is likely a trap. But we have no choice but to jump into the fire now."
"Why?" Taylor frowned, confusion etching his face. "If we know it's a snare, why move?"
Nekania looked at his assistant with weary, bloodshot eyes. "Because Tyrosh is dying. Admiral Elville is dead, and two thousand of our best soldiers went to the gods with him. The city cannot be defended forever. Whether this is a true opportunity or a hollow trap, I must let Recharino try. If we win, we breathe again. If we lose... I will take what remains to the Disputed Lands and continue this blood feud against the Targaryen until the end of my days."
"Perhaps we should negotiate," Taylor suggested softly. "The Scorpions are a joke; those bolts can kill a hatchling, but against an adult dragon, they are useless. That great muddy dragon—the wild one—has been hit by multiple bolts while guarding merchant cogs. It didn't even flinch. It was as if a man had been bitten by a common mosquito. Even the poisons we coated the steel with seem to have no effect on dragon blood."
"Negotiation is a fantasy," Nekania's voice dripped with resentment. "Aegon never intended to let Tyrosh live. He has already split the Triarchy. Have you not noticed? Ships from Myr and Lys pass through the Stepstones unmolested now. They shout slogans of brotherhood to the heavens, but their gold and their spears stay at home because their trade is safe."
He slammed his fist against the table. "Those fools in Myr will be next once we fall. Aegon is a wolf who eats the pack one by one. I should have sold my holdings and fled to Volantis years ago."
Tyrosh was in a death spiral. The elusive dragons had turned the city into a cage. Trade had ceased. The slave markets, the lifeblood of their economy, were silent. Two of the city's major banks had been reduced to molten slag by dragonfire, and the noble manors beyond the walls were nothing but fields of grey ash.
"Let me go to Dragonstone," Taylor volunteered. "Let me try to persuade Aegon to seek a peaceful coexistence. Someone must try, Your Excellency."
Nekania pondered for a moment, then gave a slow, grim nod. "Fine. Go. Try to talk to the boy."
Taylor bowed solemnly and left the chamber. The moment the door clicked shut, Nekania's demeanor shifted. He signaled to a guard. "Bring me Recharino."
Moments later, the flamboyant commander entered, dressed in a garish purple gown that made Nekania's stomach turn.
"Archon," Recharino said with a shallow bow.
"Tomorrow, Taylor departs for the Stepstones as an envoy," Nekania whispered, his eyes cold and dark. "The moment his sails hit the horizon, you will take the hidden fleet. Launch the surprise attack. If the island's defenses are as weak as they seem, kill everyone. Burn every dock, every warehouse, every scrap of Aegon Targaryen's work. If he wants to take my city, I will leave him with a graveyard to return to."
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