Moments later, as Daenerys's body trembled slightly, the dullness in her eyes faded and her gaze gradually regained focus—she had finally awakened from the illusion.
"Welcome back, Daenerys."
Aedric could roughly guess what she had just experienced. To ease the pain of losing loved ones—real or illusory—he joked lightly, "Do you need me to pinch you, to make sure you're really back among the living?"
"No need, Lord Jon. I'm already awake." Glancing at the bisected corpse of the warlock on the floor, Daenerys looked utterly drained, as though she had lived a lifetime within that brief illusion.
After standing silently for a while with her eyes closed, she finally opened them again and said softly, "Thank you for your protection. Let's continue."
Aedric didn't ask what she saw in her illusion, and Daenerys didn't explain. The two moved forward in silence until they reached the circular hall from the television series. From behind a stone door came the familiar cries of dragons.
Pushing open the door and stepping in, they saw three young dragons chained to a stone platform. Joy and anguish flashed across Daenerys's face; she instinctively wanted to rush forward, but Aedric pulled her back sharply, his eyes fixed on another doorway in the chamber.
"Still hiding, warlock?" he said coldly.
"Hehehehe… truly worthy of your title, Storm Sword Saint," came a shrill, grating laugh. Pyat Pree emerged slowly from the shadows, bowing mockingly toward Daenerys. "You've finally reunited with your children, Mother of Dragons."
"Give them back to me, you liar!"
"I'm afraid that's impossible, Mother of Dragons."
As he spoke, another Pyat Pree walked in—and then another, and another. The hall soon filled with dozens of identical warlocks, each droning on about the glory of their order and their tragic downfall after the dragons disappeared.
Before long, the clones had surrounded Aedric and Daenerys.
The illusionary trick was impressive, but meaningless before Aedric, whose dragonflame energy shielded him from such magic. He had already spotted the real Pyat Pree—creeping in from behind with a dagger glinting blue with poison, clearly aiming to assassinate him.
A sorcerer using poison and knives… how far magic had fallen in this world. Aedric almost laughed. "Wizards in Harry Potter at least use wands," he thought. "These ones use cutlery."
Tiring of the act, Aedric interrupted Pyat Pree's speech with a wave of his hand. "You really do talk too much," he said coldly. "Looks like you've forgotten who I am."
"Of course not, Storm Sword Saint," all the clones said in unison, bowing slightly. "But can you tell which of us is real? You only get one chance. Choose wrong, and you'll die here."
Every illusion drew a dagger, their blue-glowing blades flashing through the hall's dim light in a synchronized display. Meanwhile, the real Pyat Pree tensed, ready to strike from behind once Aedric made his move.
Sensing Daenerys's growing tension, Aedric gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and said flatly, "Same cheap tricks again. You and that fat pig are two of a kind. Did you already forget what happened at the gate? There are things in this world that nullify magic."
"You mean dragonflame, don't you?" the illusions said together. "You're right—dragonflame is the bane of magic. But the dragons here are too young to breathe fire. And as for that Valyrian dagger imbued with dragonflame energy—you left it outside the hall, didn't you?"
They glanced at the sword in Aedric's hand, smirking. "And that blade of yours isn't Blackfyre, either."
Daenerys's eyes widened at that, her lips parting as if to command her dragons.
But Aedric lightly tugged her hand, stopping her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another Valyrian steel dagger, smiling at the shocked faces surrounding him. "Sorry," he said, "turns out I have a spare. Surprise."
With a flick of his wrist, the dagger shot through the air like lightning, striking the real Pyat Pree just as he tried to flee.
A shrill scream tore through the chamber as all the illusions vanished, leaving only the true warlock pinned to the wall by the dagger through his shoulder.
Releasing Daenerys so she could free her dragons, Aedric strolled over to the writhing man and smiled. "Anything else you'd like to say, honored warlock?"
"Mercy! Please, spare me! I'll give you everything—everything I have!"
"I want all your magical knowledge. All of it," Aedric said as he yanked the dagger free. The warlock collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain. "And one more piece of advice: since you love dragons so much, why not swear loyalty to Daenerys?"
"What?!" both Daenerys and Pyat Pree exclaimed in shock.
Aedric sheathed his sword and dagger, shrugging. "What's so strange about it? Daenerys has dragons, and this old warlock needs dragons. Since he can't keep you locked here, the best option is to follow you.
"And you, Daenerys—if you accept his loyalty, you gain the service of all warlocks of Qarth. No more worries about shadow magic assassins. Sounds like a win-win to me.
"Of course, if you think his blue lips are too ugly and ruin your royal image, you can always refuse. Without dragons, their power isn't worth much. And considering how many enemies they've made among the Thirteen, they won't last long here anyway. What do you think?"
"I understand." Daenerys nodded, then glared down at the trembling Pyat Pree. "Choose, warlock—swear loyalty to me, or die!"
Other options? She didn't mention any.
Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Pyat Pree realized he had no better choice. He knelt and pledged allegiance to Daenerys, bringing the entire warlock order of Qarth under her command.
As for Pyat Pree himself, under Aedric's suggestion, he became Daenerys's first Kingsguard, the oldest and strangest one of them all.
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