Darkness… so this is how death feels like.
Empty, alone… quiet. I hate it. I can't believe I finally died.
Well, it seems God finally had enough of me testing the boundaries of life.
I wonder if I will get a second chance at life again… or maybe go to heaven and be in peace with Him.
......…
"AHHHHHHHH!" The scream tore from my lips. Why do I feel like this? Why do I feel pain? Aren't I supposed to feel free?
Why do I feel like I have a body… my eyes—they feel heavy. And why do I feel cold?
'Whoosssshhhh.' Dust brushed against my skin. Am I in a desert?
Let me try to open my eyes…
"Ahhhhhhhh…" The brightness stung, forcing me to squint until my vision cleared. A vast blue sky stretched above me, and birds circled lazily overhead.
I moved my hands, feeling the gritty soil beneath them. I'm lying on dirt. It's real. I can feel it in my palms.
I thought there wasn't soil in heaven.
Pushing myself up from the ground, I sat, my gaze drifting over the desolation that surrounded me. Cracked earth stretched endlessly in every direction, a barren wasteland devoid of life.
"Where am I?" I muttered, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar in my own ears.
Looking down, I caught sight of my hands—red, raw… but not my hands.
"These weren't my hands before…" I whispered, dread creeping up my spine.
I flexed them slowly, feeling the power coursing through unfamiliar limbs.
"Am I… in a new body?"
I tried to stand, but my legs felt strange—stronger, yet alien. My balance wavered, and I instinctively spread my arms to steady myself. That's when I felt them.
Wings. Massive, foreign, twitching at my back.
"What the…?" I whispered, twisting awkwardly to see them. Black and jagged, they gleamed faintly in the sunlight, each movement precise, as if they obeyed my thoughts.
A surge of panic hit me. Voices. Distant, faint at first, but growing louder. Steady. Purposeful.
Survivors? No… whoever they were, they were organized. The rhythm of their movements carried intent. My instincts screamed at me to run, but the desert offered no cover. My wings folded tightly against my back as I sank to the ground, trying to appear as small and unthreatening as possible.
..............
The Red Waste was an unrelenting expanse of death. Heat waves rippled across the horizon, and the ground seemed to shimmer with malice. Daenerys Targaryen marched at the head of her khalasar, her silver hair plastered to her sweat-dampened skin.
Her dragons chirped softly from her shoulders, their tiny claws gripping her as they surveyed the lifeless land.
"Khaleesi," Jorah Mormont's voice broke through the oppressive silence. "There's something—someone—up ahead."
Daenerys squinted, following his gaze. A figure lay sprawled in the sand, unmoving.
As they approached, details sharpened. The man's body was a canvas of contradictions—ragged clothing clung to him, his skin raw from the sun, but it was the wings on his back that stole their breath. Massive, black, and glinting like obsidian, they shimmered unnaturally in the harsh light.
"Is he alive?" Daenerys asked, her voice steady despite her curiosity.
Jorah stepped protectively in front of her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "We should be cautious, Khaleesi."
The man stirred, his body jerking like a puppet pulled from slumber. With a groan, he rolled over, squinting up at the approaching khalasar.
Bright, disoriented eyes met Daenerys'. "Where…?" His voice cracked, heavy with confusion.
"You are in the Red Waste," Daenerys replied gently, kneeling before him. Her voice carried both command and kindness.
"The… Waste?" His eyes darted wildly as if searching for something to ground him. Then his gaze landed on his wings. His breath hitched. "This… isn't Earth."
Daenerys' brow furrowed. "Earth? What do you mean?"
The man clutched his head as if the act of remembering physically hurt him. "I… I don't know. I was… sent. To bring faith… to free the broken."
At her side, Jorah tensed, his suspicion palpable. "Khaleesi, we don't know who or what he is. This could be a trick."
Daenerys raised a hand, silencing him. Her violet eyes studied the stranger, searching for answers he himself seemed to lack.
Finally, she extended her hand. "Then you are welcome to walk with us until we learn more."
The man hesitated, his confusion melting into gratitude. "Thank you… Khaleesi."
Her lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile. "Rest. We have much to discuss."________The Red Waste was unyielding, the air shimmering with heat and sand clinging to every surface.
The man stumbled slightly as he walked beside Daenerys, his wings trailing awkwardly behind him, leaving faint impressions in the cracked soil. The khalasar kept their distance, eyes filled with suspicion, while Jorah walked a few paces behind, ever watchful.
Daenerys glanced at him, her curiosity barely contained. "You said this isn't your world. What world are you from?"
He hesitated, his lips pressing together as if searching for the right words. "Earth. A place… very different from this." His voice was steady but tinged with weariness. "I don't know how I got here, or why. One moment I was… gone. The next, I woke up in that wasteland."
"Earth," she repeated thoughtfully, the unfamiliar name rolling off her tongue. "And these…" She motioned subtly toward his wings. "They are not… natural to you?"
He shook his head. "No. Not even close. Back home, I was… normal. A soldier." His gaze dropped, the weight of his words pulling him down. "I died. At least, I thought I did."
Daenerys frowned, her steps slowing. "And now you're here. Do you believe you were sent for a reason?"
He met her eyes, his own filled with a mix of confusion and determination. "I don't know. But there's something… pulling at me. A purpose I can't quite understand. Something about… faith. About freeing the broken."
Her expression softened, though her voice remained measured. "Then you and I share a similar path. I seek to free the slaves of this world—to break the chains that bind them."
He looked at her with renewed focus, her words igniting something within him. "Then maybe this is why I'm here. To help you."
Jorah cleared his throat from behind them, his tone cautious. "Khaleesi, his words may be noble, but his origins are unknown. We can't trust him so easily."
Daenerys turned, her gaze sharp but calm. "And yet, trust is what I ask of others every day. Should I not offer it in kind?"
The man gave a small, grateful nod. "I understand your doubt," he said, addressing Jorah directly. "I can't even promise I'm someone you should trust. But I'll earn it. Somehow."
They walked in silence for a while, the rhythm of their footsteps blending with the distant sounds of the dragons chirping and the wind brushing over the dunes.
Finally, Daenerys spoke again, her voice quieter, more introspective. "Tell me about your world. What kind of place is Earth?"
A faint smile crossed his lips, the first sign of warmth since he awoke. "It's… chaotic. Beautiful, but flawed. A place of towering cities, endless fields, and oceans that stretch further than the eye can see. People there dream big, but they're also broken in ways they can't always fix."
Her brows knitted together. "And you were a soldier there?"
"Yes. I fought to protect… but sometimes I wonder if we did more harm than good. I… I made mistakes." His voice faltered, and he turned his gaze to the horizon, unwilling to let her see the guilt etched in his face.
Daenerys studied him for a moment, sensing the weight of his past. "We all carry mistakes. What matters is what we do now."
Her words hung in the air, a gentle balm against the harshness of the desert. The man glanced at her, his wings twitching slightly, and for the first time, he felt a flicker of hope.The heat bore down mercilessly as the khalasar trudged forward, their exhaustion palpable. The dragons, perched on Daenerys' shoulders and arms, occasionally chirped, their small bodies restless under the relentless sun.
Suddenly, a sharp whistle pierced the air.
Jorah stiffened, hand flying to the hilt of his sword. "Khaleesi, trouble!"
From the dunes emerged a group of riders, their faces obscured by scarves, their weapons gleaming menacingly in the sunlight. Raiders.
The man instinctively moved closer to Daenerys, his wings flaring out slightly. The raiders circled the khalasar, their leader barking orders in a guttural language. The air grew tense, the khalasar clutching what few weapons they had, while Daenerys stood firm, her gaze unyielding.
The leader dismounted, approaching Daenerys with a sneer. "You are trespassing," he growled, his Common Tongue heavily accented. "This land demands tribute."
Jorah stepped forward, sword drawn. "We have no tribute to give."
The man watched the exchange, his senses on high alert. Every shift of the raiders' bodies, every twitch of their hands, screamed imminent danger.
The leader's eyes flicked to Daenerys, lingering on her dragons. "Then we'll take her… and those creatures she carries."
Before anyone could react, the man stepped forward, his wings spreading wide like a dark shadow engulfing the sun. "You'll do no such thing."
The raiders recoiled slightly, their horses skittering nervously at the sight of his wings. But the leader laughed, unsheathing his blade. "And what are you, demon? Do you think you can scare us?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he moved, faster than any of them could track. One moment he was standing beside Daenerys; the next, he was in front of the leader, wrenching the sword from his hand with an inhuman strength.
The other raiders shouted, charging forward, but he was already in motion. His wings lashed out, knocking riders from their mounts. His fists connected with a force that sent men sprawling, the sound of bone meeting bone echoing through the desert.
The khalasar watched in stunned silence as the man dismantled the ambush with precision and ferocity. Even the dragons seemed mesmerized, their tiny heads tilting as they observed him.
One raider managed to get close to Daenerys, his blade raised. The man turned, his senses flaring. Without thinking, he leaped—his wings propelling him forward—and tackled the attacker, disarming him in seconds.
When the dust finally settled, the raiders lay defeated, groaning or unconscious. The man stood amidst them, his chest heaving, his wings twitching slightly as he turned back to Daenerys.
"You're safe," he said simply, his voice steady but his eyes scanning for any lingering threats.[He's strong] Daenerys thought as she stepped forward, her dragons chirping softly. She met his gaze, her expression a mix of awe and gratitude. "You saved us."
Jorah approached cautiously, his grip on his sword still tight. "He's… extraordinary, Khaleesi. Unlike anything I've seen."
Daenerys nodded, her silver hair glinting in the fading sunlight. "Extraordinary, indeed. And a valuable ally." She turned to the man. "What should I call you?"
He hesitated, the question catching him off guard. "I… I don't remember my name."
Her lips curved into a small smile. "Then we'll find you a new one."The man shifted uncomfortably, his wings twitching at his sides. The weight of Daenerys' gaze and the curious stares of her khalasar pressed down on him. "I'm not sure what I'm meant to do here," he admitted, his voice quieter now, as though speaking the thought aloud made it more real.
Daenerys studied him for a moment, her dragons chirping faintly as if in approval. "Whatever purpose brought you to us," she said, "you've proven that you're willing to stand for something greater than yourself. That's enough for now."
The man nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
Jorah's eyes darted to the man's wings, then back to Daenerys. "Khaleesi, it would be wise to tread carefully. His strength is undeniable, but we still know little of him—or what sent him here."
"Perhaps," Daenerys replied, her tone firm, "but he saved my people, Jorah. Whatever his reasons, he's earned a place among us—for now."
The man's lips pressed into a thin line. "I won't betray you," he said, his tone resolute. "I don't know why I'm here, but I know this: I can't stand by while innocents suffer. If you're freeing slaves and fighting for the broken, I'll stand with you."
Her expression softened at his words, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "Then you'll walk with us," she said simply. "Together, we'll see where this path leads."
With a nod, the man stepped into the khalasar's fold, the curious whispers of the Dothraki trailing after him. His wings folded tightly against his back as he fell into step beside Daenerys, his eyes scanning the the dessert.As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Red Waste, the khalasar began to set up camp. The man stayed close to Daenerys, his unease palpable as he watched the Dothraki move with practiced efficiency. His wings folded tightly, drawing curious and wary glances from the riders.
Daenerys noticed the tension and motioned for him to sit near her. "You've drawn their attention," she said lightly, offering him a piece of dried meat.
"It's the wings," he replied, taking the food with a nod of thanks. "And the fact that I don't belong here."
She tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Perhaps. But belonging isn't always about where you're from. It's about what you choose to stand for."
He chewed in silence, her words lingering in the air.
Nearby, Jorah approached, carrying a waterskin. He handed it to Daenerys, his gaze briefly settling on the stranger. "We move at first light, Khaleesi. The riders are restless, but they'll follow your lead."
She nodded, then turned back to the man. "If you're to walk with us, you'll need to be ready for what lies ahead. The Red Waste is merciless."
"I've survived worse," he said, his tone quiet but firm.
Daenerys leaned forward slightly. "Then tell me, stranger. What is it you've survived?"
His jaw tightened as flashes of his past flickered through his mind—battlefields, the roar of gunfire, the weight of comrades lost. "War," he said at last. "A different kind than you've known, but war all the same."
Her gaze held his, searching for something in his eyes. "War leaves its mark on us all," she said softly.
Before he could respond, a sudden commotion erupted at the edge of the camp. Shouts in Dothraki rang out as a group of riders returned, dragging a figure bound and bloodied. The captive's cries were sharp, cutting through the evening stillness.
Daenerys rose to her feet, her expression hardening. "Stay here," she told the man, though her tone left little room for argument.
He hesitated but obeyed, watching as she and Jorah moved toward the disturbance. The sight of the captive—a thin, sunburned woman—made his chest tighten. Her wrists were raw from the ropes, her face streaked with tears and dirt.
"She was found stealing from our supplies," one of the riders growled, yanking the woman forward.
Daenerys' eyes flicked to the woman, then to the gathered khalasar. She stood tall, her voice steady. "And what would you have me do?"
The riders exchanged glances, some muttering darkly. Jorah stepped closer to Daenerys. "Khaleesi, this is an opportunity to show strength. Mercy is not always understood here."
The man watched from a distance, his fists clenching. Every instinct in him screamed to intervene, but he forced himself to wait, to see how Daenerys would handle the situation.
The woman's cries tugged at Daenerys' heart, but she kept her face steady. The Dothraki looked to her, their expressions hard, expecting judgment. She glanced at Jorah, whose guarded look betrayed his thoughts—strength over sympathy.
Daenerys stepped closer to the woman, her dragons shifting restlessly on her shoulders. "What is your name?" she asked softly.
The woman flinched, her wide eyes darting between Daenerys and the riders holding her. "Lira," she whispered hoarsely, her voice raw.
"And why did you steal, Lira?"
The question hung in the air. The riders muttered among themselves, some laughing darkly. Lira hesitated before answering, her voice trembling. "I was hungry. My child… he's sick. I needed food for him."
A murmur rippled through the khalasar, though most looked unimpressed. Daenerys' lips tightened as she glanced back at her people, then to Jorah. His expression was unreadable, but the slightest shift in his stance showed discomfort.
Before Daenerys could respond, the stranger rose to his feet, his wings unfurling slightly as he approached. The murmurs grew louder as the Dothraki stepped back instinctively, their eyes widening.
"That's enough," he said, his voice calm but firm. He looked directly at the riders holding Lira. "Let her go."
One of the riders snarled, stepping forward with his hand on his whip. "This is not your place—"
"It is now," the man interrupted, his voice low and unwavering. The whip-wielding rider froze, as though struck by the weight of his words.
Daenerys raised a hand, silencing the tension. "Wait," she said, her gaze locking onto the stranger. "You would have me release her, just like that?"
He turned to her, his expression a mix of defiance and resolve. "You're not like them," he said, his voice steady. "You're trying to build something better. You don't need fear to lead these people—you need trust."
Daenerys held his gaze, her mind racing. He was right, but it wasn't so simple. These people respected strength; they needed to see that she could lead. Yet there was something in his eyes—an honesty that made her chest tighten.
She knelt before Lira, her dragons chirping softly as if echoing her thoughts. "You have a child?"
Lira nodded quickly, her tears flowing freely now. "Yes, Khaleesi. Please, he's all I have."
Daenerys straightened, her decision made. "Then you will both stay with us," she said firmly. "You will work, and you will earn your place. But you will not steal again. Do you understand?"
Lira sobbed in relief, nodding fervently. "Yes, Khaleesi. Thank you."
The khalasar murmured in surprise, some nodding in approval, others looking uneasy. Daenerys turned to the riders. "Let this be a lesson. We are not savages. We do not punish desperation with cruelty."
She glanced at the stranger again, his expression softening as he gave her a small nod of approval.
Jorah stepped closer, his voice low. "You've taken a risk, Khaleesi. They'll test you now."
"Let them," Daenerys replied, her voice steady. "They'll see that I am not weak, only fair."
As the camp settled again, the stranger approached her. "You didn't have to listen to me," he said quietly.
"No," she replied, her tone light but firm. "But I did. Don't make me regret it."
He smiled faintly. "I won't."
For the first time since his arrival, he felt a glimmer of belonging, even in this foreign land.
.....…..
As the group continued their march through the endless expanse of the Red Waste, Daenerys found herself walking beside the man more often. The rhythm of their steps seemed to match, a silent acknowledgment of shared burdens.
"You're different from anyone I've ever met," she said, breaking the silence.
He glanced at her, his wings shifting slightly in the dry wind. "And you're unlike anyone I've ever known. Where I'm from… no one commands dragons or walks with such purpose."
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Purpose is all I have left. My brother spoke of a Targaryen legacy—of dragons, conquest, and destiny. But for me, it's about breaking chains, not forging them."
The man nodded, her words resonating with something deep within him. "That's something worth fighting for. Worth believing in."
She stopped abruptly, causing the khalasar to pause. Turning to face him fully, her eyes burned with determination.
"You need a name," she said firmly.
His brow furrowed. "A name?"
"You said you don't remember yours, and I won't have someone who saved my life walking nameless among us." She tilted her head, studying him. "You came to me from the heavens, with wings like a dragon and strength unlike any man. You're extraordinary."
Her voice softened, yet carried the weight of her choice. "There was a name once, carried by a man who united kingdoms and brought dragons to this world. Aegon. I name you Aegon Targaryen, in honor of that legacy."
The khalasar murmured in surprise, and even Jorah raised an eyebrow.
"Aegon…" The man repeated the name, testing its weight on his tongue. It felt foreign yet familiar, as though it had always been waiting for him.
Daenerys stepped closer, her dragons chirping softly on her shoulders. "If the gods sent you, then they sent you with a purpose. And if I am to trust you, you'll need to carry the name of someone who changed the world. Will you accept it?"
He met her gaze, the gravity of her words settling into his chest. Slowly, he nodded. "Aegon Targaryen… I'll carry it."
Daenerys smiled, a rare glimmer of hope in her expression. "Then let us see if the name suits you,......
Aegon."