*Hungry!*
That was the first sensation Chen Yu felt upon waking. His stomach gnawed at his spine, as if he could swallow a whole cow!
Opening his eyes, he found himself facing a row of thin bars. He was bewildered. *Where am I?*
He turned his head and looked up, his eyes widening in shock as he realized he was trapped in a cage.
*This cage is way too small!* He raised his hands, revealing a pair of small, semi-transparent crimson wings spread over black wing bones, each ending in a sharp black hook. Looking down at his feet, he saw a pair of black claws. *Definitely not a place for humans.*
He clearly remembered being a dragon in *King's Glory*, rampaging through the battlefield. Just as he was getting into the groove, the computer screen went black, and he passed out. Now he'd truly become a small dragon. *What a crappy transformation skill!*
As he silently seethed, a sudden dizziness washed over him, flooding his mind with fragmented memories.
He had transmigrated—and into a dragon's body.
Through the bars, he gazed out at a desolate landscape of reddish-brown earth and dry grass, dotted with sparse, withered trees. Heat shimmered above the barren soil.
In the sky, a comet with a fiery tail blazed across the heavens. Below it, a group of fewer than a hundred people trudged slowly across the land.
The group consisted mostly of the elderly, weak, and women and children, all in tattered clothes. Many could only walk with support, and some warriors even went shirtless.
Chen Yu's cage was tied to a horse at the front of the procession. Not far away, a young woman turned her head. With silver hair and violet eyes, her face was haggard and her lips cracked, yet she couldn't conceal her delicate beauty.
A small, golden-and-yellow dragon stood on her bronze-colored shoulder, looking listless.
She was holding a thumb-sized piece of meat and trying to feed it to the dragon, but it merely sniffed the offering, exhaled a wisp of faint smoke from its nostrils, and drooped its head.
Seeing the dragon still refused to eat, a hint of despair added to her weary face.
*It's really the Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Targaryen!*
Recognizing her face and recalling fragments of memory, Chen Yu was almost certain he had transmigrated into the world of *Game of Thrones*—and into the body of a dragon named Drogon.
Despite the initial shock and discomfort of being a dragon, he had no choice but to accept his fate.
Alone and exhausted from his life as a corporate drone back on Earth, a dragon's life might be a welcome change. From now on, *he* was Drogon.
In his past life, he had been a *Game of Thrones* fan, having watched the uncensored version. Even after two years, some of the more explicit scenes remained vividly etched in his memory. Though the plot details had faded, he could still piece together the general situation based on the current scene.
The Mother of Dragons had just lost her Khal and her son, and her three young dragons had newly hatched.
The Wolf Father Eddard Stark, despite acknowledging Joffrey as the legitimate heir, was still beheaded in a humiliating manner. His eldest daughter, Sansa, remained trapped in King's Landing, while his younger daughter, Arya, managed to escape.
The bastard Jon joined the Night's Watch, his son Robb confronted the Lannisters, and King Robert's two brothers each declared themselves king. The other Great Houses scrambled to forge alliances, and the War of the Five Kings was on the verge of erupting.
After finishing *Game of Thrones*, beyond the overwhelming sense of regret, one sentiment from the Faceless Men echoed in my mind: "All men must die."
Those who should have died and those who shouldn't have, those we wanted to live and those we wanted to die, all met their ends one by one. Even the Mother of Dragons couldn't escape this fate.
Her story was even more tragic. She had been on the run since before she was born, never knowing a single peaceful day. After finally acquiring three dragons and painstakingly conquering lands, she was on the cusp of ruling the world when she was betrayed by her lover. Her body and soul perished, and she had unknowingly paved the way for the Stark wolves.
Drogon was one of the Mother of Dragons Daenerys's three young dragons.
The thought of himself brought on a wave of intense hunger. Drogon tried to call out to his mother, but his small, parched throat could only manage a faint hiss. Using the last of his strength, he flapped his wings vigorously to shake the wooden cage.
His efforts were not in vain. After just a few wobbles, he caught the attention of the maid following behind him.
"What's wrong, Drogon?" asked Ji Qi, a round-faced maid with dark hair and tanned skin, wearing a revealing leather bodice that showed off a sliver of her waist. As she spoke, she opened the cage.
To Drogon's surprise, he understood her words. The moment the cage swung open, he scrambled out, flapping his wings in Ji Qi's hands and lunging toward the wooden basket of meat on the horse's back as if ready to fly.
Ji Qi hadn't expected Drogon to want meat; he'd refused it earlier.
*Whinny!*
Just as she pulled a chunk of meat from the basket, she heard a weak horse's whinny. In the distance, a white horse lay collapsed on the brown earth, too weak to rise.
Daenerys, who was carrying the golden dragon at the front of the procession, heard the whinny. She quickly placed the dragon in its wooden cage and ran over.
Seeing the white horse's eyes close and its body go still, Daenerys's heart ached. This was the first gift Khal Drogo had given her. When her brother Viserys had ruthlessly given her away to Khal Drogo, riding this little mare across the plains had been her only joy. Now, she couldn't even protect it.
"Does this wasteland have an end? Why haven't we reached it yet?"
Gently stroking the white horse, Daenerys looked up at the tall, middle-aged man squatting beside her.
The man had thinning hair and appeared to be around forty years old, dressed in a faded linen shirt.
"Of course there's an end to it," the middle-aged man replied. "I haven't traveled that far myself, but I know there are several great cities to the east."
"Ser Jorah, when will we reach them?" Daenerys asked, her eyes full of hope as she looked at him, seeking reassurance.
"The Red Waste is drier than we ever imagined," Jorah replied, his cracked lips pressed together. "But we have no choice but to keep moving forward, do we, Khaleesi?" His answer left Daenerys feeling as helpless as ever.
"The Lamb Men of Kalasar are to the east. They'd be eager to slaughter us and steal your Dragon. And the Khals of the northern plains would show us no mercy either—they'd kill us and take your Dragon."
"No one will steal my Dragon!" Daenerys declared, her voice firm. If she lost her Dragons, she would truly have nothing left.
"Blood of My Blood!" She turned to the several Dothraki warriors to her right.
Hearing Daenerys's call, the three Bloodriders approached.
"Rakharo, you head northeast. Kovarro, southeast. Aggo, straight east. Find the exit from the Red Waste or a city."
The three men bowed and departed. Daenerys walked over to Rakharo, who was packing the water and provisions, and said, "Blood of My Blood, I hope you bring us good news."
"Blood of My Blood, I will not fail you."
This Rakharo is about to lose his head.
Drogon thought as he heard Daenerys speak to Rakharo.
The scene of the Mother of Dragons instructing Rakharo felt eerily familiar. Back then, he'd thought Rakharo had found a way out of the wilderness, only to see Old Man bring back a blood-dripping head. He'd even pitied Daenerys for her misfortune.
Just as she was speaking to Rakharo, Daenerys suddenly turned to look at Ji Qi, the maid beside her.
Seeing Daenerys's sudden gaze, Ji Qi looked puzzled.
*It wasn't Ji Qi. The voice was too childish to be hers.* Daenerys scanned the surroundings again. In the distance, two women were supporting a wavering, nearly collapsing girl, who was peering in their direction.
*Could it be that girl? But the voice doesn't sound like hers. And why would she say that?*
"Blood of My Blood, I go now," Rakharo said, tugging on the reins as Daenerys remained silent.
"Wait."
Rakharo was Daenerys's most valued Bloodrider. She would never allow him to die. The voice she'd heard earlier had unsettled her deeply. Before she understood its source, she couldn't let Rakharo take such a risk.
"What is it, Khaleesi?" Ser Jorah asked, approaching as he noticed Daenerys's unusual demeanor.