Marcos had been staring at the dragon eggs for three days straight.
Not literally—he slept, ate, handled imperial business—but mentally, they consumed every spare thought.
The eggs sat on a pedestal in his private study, rotating slowly on a Redstone-powered mechanism he'd built. One was deep green with bronze flecks. Another was cream and gold. The third was black with scarlet swirls.
They were beautiful.
They were terrifying.
They were the key to everything.
"You're going to burn a hole in them with your eyes," Daenerys said, entering with lunch. "Elia says you missed breakfast. Again."
"I was researching." Marcos gestured to the books scattered around—volumes on Valyrian magic, dragon lore, ancient rituals. "Every source says something different about hatching dragons. Fire. Blood. Sacrifice. Magic. Some combination. Nobody agrees."
"Maybe because nobody's actually done it in centuries." Daenerys set down the food. "Maybe you need to stop looking for the 'correct' answer and start experimenting."
"Experimenting with potentially apocalyptic magical creatures sounds like how horror stories start."
"Or how legends begin." She sat beside him, studying the eggs. "What does your instinct say?"
Marcos closed his eyes, extending his magical perception into the eggs again.
The life inside was so faint. Like a candle flame in a hurricane, barely clinging to existence.
It needed three things, he realized. Three fundamental elements.
"Fire," he said slowly. "Not just heat. True fire. Magical fire. The kind that doesn't just burn—it transforms."
"I can feel that too," Daenerys whispered. "What else?"
"Blood. But not just any blood. Blood with magic in it. Ancient magic. Dragon blood." He opened his eyes. "And we don't have that."
"We have my blood," Daenerys said immediately. "Targaryen blood. The blood of Old Valyria. The blood that rode dragons."
"Dany, I'm not going to—"
"It's my choice," she said firmly. "If there's even a chance my blood can help, then I'm giving it. These eggs were meant for me. I can feel it."
Marcos wanted to argue. But he could see the determination in her eyes.
And deep down, he felt she was right.
"Third element?" Daenerys asked.
"Life force. Not sacrifice, exactly. But... willpower. Intent. Someone has to want the dragons to live so badly that they're willing to pour their own life energy into making it happen." Marcos looked at her. "That's the dangerous part. Too much, and whoever does it dies. Too little, and nothing happens."
"Can you do it? With your Anos powers?"
"Probably. But it'll take everything I have. And if I miscalculate..." He didn't finish the sentence.
"Then we do it together," Daenerys said. "Your power. My blood. Our shared will. Three elements: fire, blood, and life. Together."
"This could kill us both."
"Or it could change the world." Daenerys smiled. "I'll take those odds."
Three Days Later - The Ritual
They'd chosen a location outside Astoria—a clearing in the hills, away from the city in case things went catastrophically wrong.
Garrett had tried to stop them approximately seventeen times.
"This is insane," he said for the eighteenth time. "You're the leaders of an empire. If you die, everything collapses."
"We won't die," Marcos said with more confidence than he felt.
"And if you do?"
"Then Mira runs the economy, you run the military, and Elia coordinates civilian government. You'll be fine." Marcos strapped on his gear. "Besides, we're not going to die."
"You said that already."
"I'm convincing myself."
Mero walked up with a bottle of wine.
"If you're going to possibly die doing something stupid, at least drink to it first." He offered the bottle.
Marcos took a long drink. Then another.
"Courage or stupidity?" he asked.
"With you, always both," Mero said cheerfully. "Good luck, jefe. Try not to explode."
"That's the plan."
The ritual site was simple: a circle of stones, the three eggs in the center, and enough magical preparation that Marcos's head hurt from the complexity.
He'd combined everything he knew: Minecraft's fire blocks, Anos's magical theory, and every scrap of dragon lore he'd absorbed.
The result was something that shouldn't work.
But might.
Daenerys stood beside him, dressed in simple white robes. Her hair was unbraided, flowing silver in the evening wind.
She looked like a priestess from ancient times.
"Ready?" Marcos asked.
"No." She smiled. "But let's do it anyway."
Marcos activated the ritual.
Fire erupted around the circle—not normal fire, but Minecraft's eternal flames, channeled through his magic and amplified by Anos's power.
The temperature spiked instantly. The air shimmered.
"Your blood," Marcos said, voice strained. "On each egg."
Daenerys drew a small knife and cut her palm. She placed her bleeding hand on each egg in turn, leaving crimson handprints.
The eggs began to glow.
Faintly at first. Then brighter.
"Now the hard part," Marcos muttered.
He reached deep into his magical reserves—deeper than he'd ever gone—and began pouring life energy into the eggs.
It was like trying to fill an ocean with a bucket.
The eggs drank his power greedily. More. More. Always more.
Marcos felt his knees weaken.
"Too much," he gasped. "It's taking too much."
"Then take mine too," Daenerys said.
She grabbed his hand, and suddenly he could feel her life force joining his. Not replacing it, but supplementing it.
It was still almost not enough.
The eggs were heating up. Cracks appeared on their surfaces. Light leaked through—gold, red, green.
"Come on," Daenerys whispered. "Live. Please, live."
Marcos felt his consciousness starting to fade. He'd given too much. They both had.
This was how it ended. Trying to play god and dying for the hubris.
Then, impossibly, something changed.
The eggs stopped drawing power.
Instead, they began to radiate it.
The fire around them intensified, turning from red to white to something beyond color.
And the eggs hatched.
Three dragons emerged.
The green one was first—small, barely larger than a cat, but perfectly formed. Emerald scales that shimmered like jewels. Eyes like molten gold.
The cream-gold one followed—slightly larger, with wings that seemed to glow with inner light.
The black-and-red one was last—smaller than the others, but with eyes of deep crimson that seemed to see everything.
They chirped.
It was the most ridiculous, adorable sound Marcos had ever heard.
Then he passed out.
When He Woke Up
Marcos opened his eyes to find himself in his bed, with Daenerys asleep in a chair beside him, her hand holding his.
And three dragons curled up on the blanket at his feet.
"Holy shit," he croaked. "It worked."
The black-and-red dragon—the smallest one—opened one eye and chirped at him.
"Yeah, I'm awake," Marcos muttered. "And apparently we have dragons now."
Daenerys stirred, then jolted awake.
"Marcos! You're—" She saw he was conscious and threw her arms around him. "You idiot! You nearly died! Elia said you were in a coma for two days!"
"Two days?" Marcos blinked. "Shit. How's the empire?"
"Running fine. Garrett and Mira handled everything." Daenerys pulled back. "But you scared me. When you collapsed, I thought..."
"I'm okay. We're okay." Marcos looked at the dragons. "And we have dragons."
"We have dragons," Daenerys repeated, wonder in her voice.
The cream-gold dragon stretched its wings and flew—actually flew—the short distance from the bed to Daenerys's shoulder, where it perched and nuzzled her cheek.
"I think she likes you," Marcos said.
"She?" Daenerys looked at the dragon. "How do you know?"
"I... don't know how I know. I just do." Marcos studied the green dragon, which was now investigating his hand with curiosity. "This one's male. The black one too."
"We need names," Daenerys said.
"You name them. They're more yours than mine."
Daenerys considered. "The gold one... Syrax. After the dragon Queen Rhaenyra rode."
"Historical. Nice."
"The green one... Vaemon. Strong name for a strong dragon."
"And the black one?" Marcos asked.
Daenerys looked at the smallest dragon—the one with crimson eyes that seemed far too intelligent for a newborn.
"Morningstar," she said softly. "Because he was born at dawn after the darkest night."
"That's poetic as hell." Marcos smiled. "I like it."
Morningstar chirped and climbed onto Marcos's chest, settling down like he owned the place.
"I think he likes you," Daenerys laughed.
"Great. I've been adopted by a dragon."
A knock at the door interrupted them.
"Come in," Marcos called.
Garrett entered, took one look at the dragons, and sighed.
"So it's real. We have actual dragons."
"Three of them," Marcos confirmed.
"Do I want to know how big they're going to get?"
"Probably not."
"Are they dangerous?"
"Eventually, absolutely." Marcos scratched Morningstar's head. "But right now, they're babies. We have time to train them."
"Train them," Garrett repeated flatly. "You're going to train dragons."
"I built an empire with Minecraft and magic. Training dragons seems comparatively simple."
"Your definition of 'simple' is terrifying." Garrett shook his head. "Also, there's a crowd outside. Like, the entire city. Word spread that you hatched dragons. They want to see them."
"Of course they do." Marcos tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. "Ugh. Everything hurts."
"That's what happens when you pour most of your life force into dragon eggs," Daenerys scolded. "Elia says you need at least a week of rest."
"I'll rest when I'm dead."
"That can be arranged if you don't listen," Daenerys threatened.
"Fine. Three days of rest. Then I'm back to work." Marcos compromised. "But we need to make a public appearance with the dragons. Show the people this is real."
"Agreed," Garrett said. "But jefe? This changes everything. Dragons haven't existed for over a century. When word spreads—and it will spread—every power in Essos and Westeros is going to react."
"Some with fear," Daenerys added. "Some with ambition. Some will try to kill us. Some will try to ally with us."
"And some will try to steal the dragons," Marcos finished. "I know. We're now officially the most dangerous people in the known world."
"Is that a problem?" Garrett asked.
"No." Marcos smiled despite the exhaustion. "That's exactly what we need to be."
One Week Later - Public Presentation
The entire population of Astoria—plus representatives from allied cities—had gathered in the main square.
Marcos stood on the platform with Daenerys, feeling mostly recovered. The dragons were hidden under a silk cloth, making small noises that the crowd could hear but not see.
"People of Astoria," Marcos called out. "Citizens of our empire. Allies from distant lands. You've heard the rumors. Today, I confirm they're true."
He pulled away the cloth.
Three dragons sat there, looking around with curiosity at the massive crowd.
The silence was absolute.
Then someone started clapping. Then another. Then everyone.
It wasn't applause. It was something deeper. Awe. Wonder. Recognition that they were witnessing something that would be in history books centuries from now.
"These are Syrax, Vaemon, and Morningstar," Daenerys announced, her voice clear. "Born from eggs thought dead. Brought back through magic, blood, and will."
"They are not weapons," Marcos added. "They are not tools of conquest. They are living beings who will grow, learn, and eventually choose their own paths."
"But," Daenerys said, her voice hardening slightly, "they are also symbols. Symbols of what we represent: the return of wonder to a world that had forgotten it. The restoration of power to those who would use it justly."
Syrax spread her wings—still small, but growing—and let out a small gout of flame.
The crowd gasped.
"To our allies," Marcos continued, "these dragons represent our commitment to protecting those under our care. To our enemies—and yes, we have enemies—they represent consequences."
"The Empire of Astoria has dragons," Daenerys declared. "And the world will never be the same."
It was dramatic. It was theatrical. It was exactly what they needed.
And as Marcos looked at the crowd, at their expressions of wonder and hope and fear and excitement...
He realized they'd done it.
They'd fundamentally changed the game.
In Pentos, magisters heard the news and panicked.
In Braavos, the Sealord smiled and authorized additional funding for their alliance.
In the slaver cities of Yunkai, Astapor, and Meereen, wise masters began fortifying their defenses.
In Westeros, King Robert Baratheon heard about dragons returning and immediately ordered more wine.
In the North, somewhere beyond the Wall, ancient powers stirred, sensing fire in the world again.
And in Astoria, three baby dragons chirped, played, and had absolutely no idea they'd just rewritten history.
But their riders—because that's what Marcos and Daenerys had become, whether they'd planned it or not—knew exactly what they'd done.
And they were ready for whatever came next.
Together.
With dragons.
Because apparently, their lives weren't complicated enough already.
[END OF CHAPTER 21]