The sun blazed mercilessly over the arid plains as Jon Snow—no, Aemon Targaryen now—marched toward Yunkai. The yellow city loomed in the distance, its sandstone walls rising like jagged teeth from the dusty ground. The banners of the slaver lords fluttered atop its towers, proud and defiant, but Jon knew they would fall soon enough. Astapor had crumbled beneath his heel, and Yunkai would fare no better.
The Unsullied marched in perfect formation behind him, their spears glinting in the harsh light, their faces as impassive as ever. At Jon's side rode Missandei, her sharp mind already proving invaluable as his assistant. Ghost padded silently ahead, his red eyes scanning the horizon, while high above, the shadow of Ancalagon passed over the army like an omen of fire and blood.
Jon had not come to Yunkai as a mere conqueror. He had come as a Targaryen, and the world would remember his name.
The Offer
As they approached the city, Jon called a halt. He dismounted and stepped forward, flanked by Missandei and a small contingent of Unsullied. The slavers of Yunkai had sent envoys to meet him, draped in silks and gold, their faces twisted with disdain and false bravado.
Jon studied them silently for a moment before speaking, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command.
"I am Aemon Targaryen, rightful heir to the blood of Old Valyria. I offer you a choice—surrender your city, your wealth, and your armies, and you will be spared. Refuse, and you will burn."
The envoys laughed, their confidence born of ignorance. They spoke of their mercenary protectors—the Second Sons and the Stormcrows, fierce and loyal sellswords who had never been defeated.
Jon's lips curled into a faint, cold smile. "Then let them come."
The envoys returned to Yunkai with Jon's message, but he already knew their answer. Slavers were creatures of pride and greed; they would never surrender without a fight.
The Battle Begins
The attack came at dusk. The Second Sons and Stormcrows, confident in their strength, launched a coordinated assault on Jon's camp. But Jon was ready.
The Unsullied met the mercenaries with unflinching precision, their disciplined ranks absorbing the initial charge before driving the attackers back with deadly efficiency. Ghost tore through the enemy lines like a specter of death, his white fur stained red with the blood of the fallen.
Jon watched the battle unfold from a nearby ridge, his expression unreadable. When the time was right, he mounted Ancalagon for the first time.
The moment Jon climbed onto the dragon's back, he felt an overwhelming surge of power and connection. Ancalagon responded instinctively to his touch, as if they had been one since birth. With a mighty beat of his wings, the dragon lifted into the sky, and Jon felt the wind rush against his face, the ground falling away beneath him.
From the air, Jon saw the battlefield clearly—the mercenaries struggling against the relentless advance of the Unsullied, their formations breaking under the pressure. He guided Ancalagon with ease, the bond between them unbreakable.
"Dracarys," Jon whispered.
Ancalagon roared, unleashing a torrent of fire upon the mercenaries below. The Second Sons and Stormcrows were consumed in an instant, their screams lost in the roar of dragonfire. The remaining soldiers fled in terror, their will to fight shattered.
The Fall of Yunkai
With their mercenaries defeated, the slavers of Yunkai had no choice but to open their gates. Jon rode into the city at the head of his army, Ancalagon soaring overhead, a living symbol of his power.
The city's leaders were dragged before him, their fine clothes singed and their faces pale with fear. Jon regarded them with cold detachment.
"You were given a choice," he said softly. "You chose poorly."
He ordered the execution of the slaver lords, their bodies displayed as a warning to any who might oppose him. The city's wealth was seized to fund his growing army, and the Unsullied established strict control over Yunkai's streets.
But Jon did not free the slaves. As in Astapor, he maintained the system of control, introducing reforms that would slowly dismantle the institution without sparking open rebellion. The economy of Slaver's Bay would continue to fuel his rise, and the fear of his dragons would keep the cities in line.
The Dragon Revealed
From the balcony of Yunkai's grand palace, Jon addressed the city. The Unsullied lined the streets below, their spears raised in silent salute, while the people watched in uneasy silence.
"I am Aemon Targaryen," Jon declared, his voice echoing across the plaza. "Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. The blood of the dragon runs in my veins, and Yunkai belongs to me."
The crowd remained silent, their fear palpable. Jon didn't care. He hadn't come for their adoration. He had come for their obedience.
As night fell, Jon stood atop the palace, watching the horizon. Ancalagon and his brood circled above, their shadows flickering in the moonlight.
The world had seen the rise of a dragon.
And it would never be the same.