The khalasar marched on as the horizon swallowed the sun, shadows lengthening across the cracked earth. Aegon, now walking at Daenerys' side, drew glances—curious, wary, and outright suspicious—from the others. His imposing figure and the dark wings folded against his back were impossible to ignore.
"You know they're scared of you," Daenerys said, breaking the silence as she glanced up at him. Beside her, Rhaego, the young boy who clung to her hand, watched Aegon with wide, curious eyes. The other children, scattered among the khalasar, whispered about the winged man in hushed tones.
Aegon gave a slight shrug, his wings twitching in response. "Fear is useful. It keeps people cautious."
Her lips twitched into a faint smile. "I prefer loyalty over fear."
"Loyalty has to be earned," Aegon replied simply, his voice steady.
Daenerys nodded, her silver hair catching the dim light as she led the group forward. "Then we'll give them a reason to follow us."
Jorah approached, his expression as guarded as ever. "Khaleesi, we need to set camp. The men are exhausted."
She looked over her shoulder at her khalasar, their steps sluggish and shoulders slumped. "Very well," she said, gesturing to a small rise ahead. "We'll rest there."
As the camp began to take shape, Aegon found himself alone at its edges. He watched as fires were lit and meals prepared, the chatter of the khalasar like distant white noise. He could feel their eyes on him, their unease palpable. A few children hovered nearby, whispering among themselves but too afraid to approach.
A bold voice interrupted his thoughts. "Do you eat?"
He turned to see one of Daenerys' handmaidens—Irri, if he remembered right—standing with a bowl in her hands, her expression carefully neutral. Behind her, Rhaego peeked out, his tiny face full of wonder.
"Of course," Aegon said with a faint smirk, accepting the offering.
"Then you're not a demon," she muttered under her breath, though her voice carried enough to reach him.
"I'm just a man," he replied, biting into the food. "A very strange man, maybe, but still a man."
The handmaiden hesitated, then nodded, retreating back to the center of the camp. Rhaego lingered for a moment longer before running back to his mother.
Daenerys appeared shortly after, her dragons perched lazily on her shoulders. She regarded him for a moment, then gestured for him to follow her to a quieter spot away from the others.
"You've drawn their attention," she said, her tone warm, her gaze steady.
"I seem to have that effect," Aegon replied, his voice lighter this time, finishing the last of the food.
"They'll need to trust you eventually," she said, meeting his gaze with a hopeful glint. "If you're going to stay with us, that is."
He leaned back slightly, his wings shifting. "Trust comes with time. And action."
Daenerys nodded, the corner of her lips lifting ever so slightly to speak but she decided to keep silent. As the fires burned low and the stars claimed the sky, Daenerys lingered by the largest of the embers, her thoughts weaving between the day's trials and the future now tinged with possibility. Rhaego slept soundly beside her, his tiny breaths steady, as her dragons coiled protectively around them both, their warmth a silent comfort in the cool desert night.
Aegon sat nearby, his wings now folded close, the firelight flickering over his sharp features. He seemed a paradox—an unyielding strength tempered with an unmistakable weariness, as though he carried the weight of a world not his own.
"I've always believed the gods send us what we need, even if it's not what we expect," Daenerys murmured, her voice soft but resolute.
Aegon glanced at her, his expression unreadable but his eyes steady. "Do you believe they sent me for you?"
"I believe they sent you for all of us," she replied, meeting his gaze.
Aegon nodded, his lips curving into a faint, determined smile as he looked back at the fire. For the first time since his arrival, the barren desert around them felt less like an end and more like a beginning.The camp buzzed with quiet activity, the soft crackle of fires blending with the faint murmurs of Daenerys' people. My wings, still unfamiliar even to me, rested awkwardly against my back as I sat near the edge of the camp. Despite the warmth of the fire, the weight of their gazes chilled me.
They were afraid.
I didn't blame them.
I wasn't sure what I was anymore—a man blessed by God, or cursed with gifts I barely understood. My hands flexed involuntarily as the faint echo of a pulse thrummed in my palms, a power lingering just beneath my skin.
Movement caught my attention—a child, no older than seven, sat cradled in her mother's lap. Her tiny frame trembled as she clutched her arm, the skin red and raw. Her mother whispered to her, stroking her hair with one hand while struggling to steady her own trembling breath.
I pushed to my feet.
The whispers around the camp fell silent as I moved. All eyes were on me. My shadow stretched long in the firelight, my height and wings giving me a presence I hadn't asked for.
I knelt beside the child, my knees pressing into the hard earth.
"What happened?" My voice came out softer than I expected, almost… gentle.
Her mother flinched but answered, her words hesitant. "She fell… onto the rocks."
"May I?" I asked, extending a hand toward the girl.
The girl's wide eyes darted to her mother, who nodded reluctantly. Slowly, the child extended her arm toward me. The scrape was deep, the edges angry and swollen. Blood had dried in streaks down her forearm.
I took a deep breath.
The same warmth that had carried me from death to life stirred in my chest, spreading through my veins until it pooled in my hands. A golden glow seeped from my fingertips, soft and warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds.
The girl's sharp intake of breath startled me. Her arm twitched, but she didn't pull away. The pain faded from her face, replaced with awe.
When the light dimmed, her wound was gone.
"It's… it's healed!" she exclaimed, twisting her arm to see. Her tiny fingers brushed over the smooth skin where the injury had been.
The murmurs around the camp grew louder, a mixture of astonishment and unease. Her mother's eyes brimmed with tears as she clutched the child close. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking.
I straightened, the ache in my chest easing as I stepped back.
"Can you do that for others?" The question came from Daenerys, her silver hair catching the firelight as she approached. Her voice carried the weight of curiosity and command, but her eyes… her eyes held something deeper.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I'm willing to try."
She nodded, her expression softening. "There are many here who suffer. If this is a gift you can share, they'll see you for what you truly are."
"And what is that?"
Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "A blessing."
I spent the next hours moving through the camp, tending to the wounded and the weary. Each time I placed my hands on someone's skin, the same warmth surged forth, erasing their pain and leaving behind only astonishment. Their fear of me began to fade, replaced by something else—curiosity, hope, maybe even gratitude.
When I finally sank back to the ground near the fire, exhaustion weighing down my limbs, Daenerys was waiting for me.
"They're no longer afraid," she said, her voice low and steady.
"They're no longer in pain," I replied.
She smiled faintly, her dragons chirping softly from their perch nearby. "You've done more for them in one night than many could in a lifetime. They'll remember this."
I didn't answer. I wasn't sure how to respond. Instead, I let the quiet of the night wash over me, the stars stretching endlessly above.
The stars above felt closer than they should, almost as if they were leaning in to witness the scene below. The camp had quieted now, the soft hum of life settling into the stillness of night.
I closed my eyes, letting the cool desert air fill my lungs. My wings, heavy from both exertion and the burden of unfamiliarity, rested awkwardly at my sides. Healing the khalasar had left me drained—not just physically, but in a way I couldn't quite name.
"You look tired," Daenerys said, her voice soft yet piercing the quiet.
I opened my eyes to find her standing nearby, her silhouette framed by the flickering embers of the dying fire.
"I'll recover," I said simply, my voice steady despite the exhaustion I felt.
Her dragons shifted, their tiny bodies coiled around her shoulders. One of them—the cream-colored one with red markings—watched me intently, its eyes gleaming with intelligence far beyond its size.
"You've given them hope," Daenerys continued, stepping closer. "More than I could have done alone."
I shook my head. "It wasn't hope I gave them. Just relief from pain."
She crouched beside me, her expression thoughtful. "Sometimes relief is all it takes to give hope."
Her words lingered in the air between us, heavy with truth. I wanted to argue, to remind her that I was no savior, that I didn't even fully understand the power I wielded. But something in her gaze silenced me.
"You're different from anyone I've ever known," she said, her tone curious but not unkind. "Not just because of your wings or your strength."
I met her eyes, finding no fear there—only the weight of expectation. "And what do you think makes me so different?"
"You believe," she said simply.
"Believe in what?"
She tilted her head, considering. "In something greater than yourself. I see it in the way you act, the way you speak. It's as if you carry a purpose larger than this world."
I looked away, the firelight dancing in my peripheral vision. "Belief can be dangerous."
"It can also be powerful," she countered. "And you… you're both."
The silence stretched between us, the weight of her words settling over me like a second skin. I didn't know how to respond, so I said nothing.
"I'll leave you to rest," she said after a moment, rising gracefully to her feet. Her dragons chirped softly as she turned back toward the heart of the camp.
But before she walked away, she paused, glancing over her shoulder. "They may not see it yet, but they'll come to understand. You were sent here for a reason."
Her words lingered long after she was gone.
As the night deepened, the camp fell into complete silence, save for the occasional rustle of fabric or the soft snort of a horse. I leaned back, letting my wings fan out slightly behind me. My eyes turned skyward, seeking answers in the stars that refused to give any.
Had I been sent here for a reason?
Or was I just a man lost in a world not my own, clinging to the only thing I had left—my faith?
Sleep came slowly, fitful and restless, but when it finally claimed me, I dreamed not of Earth or war, but of fire and wings.....