"Haha! Dragons! Dragons! Fly! Fly!"
In the dead of night, as Astapor slept, Kraznys mo Nakloz, one of the "Good Masters," dreamed he was soaring above Slaver's Bay on the back of a colossal yellow dragon. His dream took him far beyond the bay—across the Free Cities, the endless Dothraki Sea, distant Vaes Dothrak, and even the ruined remnants of Valyria.
In the dream, Kraznys wore a triple crown—one for Yi Ti, one for Slaver's Bay, and one for the Free Cities—each symbolizing his dominion. He rode the dragon like a god-king, ruling over the world. Even his descendants were crowned as "Dragonlords."
In one hand, Kraznys held a long, unbreakable chain, so long it stretched down through the clouds. The end of it was fastened around the neck of a silver-haired man—Viserys Targaryen. All around him, voices echoed the same name: God-Emperor—the title reserved for the supreme ruler of the Old Empire of Ghis.
"I am the God-Emperor!" Kraznys roared in his dream, laughter booming through the skies. He was so caught up in the dream's joy that it jolted him awake.
Hsssh—hsssh—
He froze. What's that sound? he wondered, his heart pounding. The candle at the foot of his bed flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows across the room. His night-slave was dozing off in the corner, barely aware of his master's wakefulness.
Kraznys rubbed his eyes and peered out the window. The sky was still pitch black.
"Did I imagine it?" he muttered, half-dazed from the dream.
He strained his ears again...
Hssssss... The sound was unmistakable now, a low, ominous hiss that seemed to come from the heavens. Kraznys stiffened. The noise wasn't in his head.
"Wake up!" he barked at the slave. The servant, dressed in brown flared trousers, jolted upright and ran to the window. He gasped, staring up at the moonlit sky, his face pale with terror.
Kraznys followed his gaze, and his heart nearly stopped. Silhouetted against the silver light of the moon were enormous shadows—creatures with wide, leathery wings, hovering in the sky like harbingers of doom.
Dragons.
Without warning, they descended, their presence like a dark omen, rousing the blood-soaked city of Astapor from its slumber. They were the heralds of what was to come: Viserys Targaryen had arrived.
"Damn it! What is that silver-haired idiot up to?" Kraznys cursed, wrapping his dressing gown around himself. Suddenly remembering something, he barked at his servant, "Quick! Go check if the bald one is still here!"
By "the bald one," he meant Regis. If Viserys was planning to attack Astapor, having Regis around could at least serve as a valuable hostage.
"Yes, my lord," the servant replied, scurrying to the door.
"Wait! You fool!" Kraznys snapped, catching himself. "Ask him about the dragons—what's going on? Is Viserys attacking?"
"Yes, my lord!"
As the servant hurried off, Kraznys turned his gaze back to the sky, his eyes fixed on the dragons circling overhead. His gut twisted with anxiety, worried that one of the beasts might swoop down and burn the city to ashes. But for now, the dragons kept their distance, gliding ominously through the night sky without approaching.
Elsewhere in the city, it wasn't just the Good Masters of Astapor who had noticed the dragons. Pree, the warlock, watched from the shadows. He had been the "contact" designated to take Viserys back to Qarth after the Unsullied were purchased.
Viserys's decision to bypass Astapor initially and head straight for Meereen had caught everyone off guard. But what followed had lulled many into complacency. Word had already spread through Slaver's Bay about the absurd things Viserys had done in Meereen and Yunkai.
"What? Music and dancing?" Pree muttered to himself, recalling the stories. "After all those battles, what's wrong with enjoying oneself?" Viserys had become a joke among the slave owners, his actions seen as laughable.
Still, the sight of dragons now looming over Astapor sent a shiver of unease down Pree's spine. "Could he have discovered something?"
Returning to his chamber, Pree lit a small oil lamp, the flame no larger than his thumb. Thin trails of smoke curled up from the flickering yellow light, swirling in the air just above his head. As Pree chanted in a rhythmic cadence, the smoke began to shift, slowly coalescing into the shape of a human figure.
The smoke took on the form of Viserys—floating naked, helpless in midair. In Pree's vision, several warlocks closed in, draining the life force from the dragonlord.
Pree watched, his face tightening with concentration. The vision was unclear, but the unease remained, lingering like the smoke around him.
"No problem," Pree muttered with a sly grin, confident in Hizdahr's analysis of Viserys. Greedy, lustful, and hungry for power—such were the traits that would make the dragonlord vulnerable. The Warlocks of the House of the Undying specialized in conjuring illusions based on their target's deepest desires. Once they trapped someone in a fantasy, they could feed on their life force to their heart's content.
But one question nagged at Pree: Why had Viserys come to Astapor now?
Despite his doubts, Pree decided to investigate. Meanwhile, Regis, after being warned by Viserys, had gone to bed early and now felt refreshed, his spirit invigorated.
Your Grace is truly remarkable, entering my dreams at will... Regis thought with admiration as he dressed. His face flushed as he recalled the dream—he had been in a rather compromising position with a voluptuous Astaporian woman when Viserys appeared unexpectedly. The interruption had been awkward, to say the least.
As Regis prepared to leave the pyramid and greet Viserys, two Astaporian guards blocked his path.
"Lord Regis," one of them said, "Lord Kraznys is concerned about the sudden appearance of the dragon and asks if it is His Grace Viserys who has arrived."
Regis glanced at the formation behind them—at least thirty heavily armed guards. A simple inquiry didn't warrant such a large escort. These men mean trouble, he thought.
Regis was no longer the small-time thug from Braavos. After following Viserys through countless events, he had matured and learned to control his emotions. With calm composure, he replied, "I believe it is His Grace, but I don't know why he's visiting Astapor at this moment. As his adviser, it's my duty to greet him upon his arrival."
His words were measured, without a single flaw, which put the guards at ease. Satisfied, they let him pass, and soon the entire slave-owning elite of Astapor began preparing to head to the port.
Meanwhile, on the deck of Viserys's ship, he gathered Dany, Hoyt, Jorah, Young Connington, Gerrold, Dyman, and Milen to make final preparations.
"Now," Viserys said, addressing the group, "I'll tell you the true purpose of our mission."
The old captain, Hoyt, didn't seem particularly interested. He knew Viserys was always up to something, and the details hardly mattered. Dany and Jorah, however, had been briefed in advance.
It was only Young Connington, Gerrold, and the two young officers from slave backgrounds who were unaware, believing the sole objective was to purchase Unsullied.
"Our goal isn't just to buy the Unsullied," Viserys continued, his voice commanding. "We're here to liberate them."
"Liberate the Unsullied?" Young Connington and the others exchanged confused glances. The concept was foreign to them—they had no idea what liberating the Unsullied even meant. But if Viserys had said it, they would follow.
Dyman and Milen, on the other hand, didn't care much about the mission's deeper meaning. For them, it was simple: there would be an enemy, and that's all they needed to know.