The light of the embers flickered in the specially made brazier, dyeing everything in the room with a layer of dancing, warm orange-red.
Aegon and Daenerys's fingers remained locked, their hands still joined; the mixed blood from the wounds on their palms no longer dripped, but the crimson marks and the residual warm connection from deep within their bloodlines remained clear.
Their gazes, drawn like magnets, were locked onto the three dragon eggs in the brazier that were undergoing a dramatic change.
"Crack... Crackle..."
Tiny cracks meandered and spread across the surface of the shells, like undercurrents beneath ice, gathering the strength to break through.
The first to show movement was the egg with the deepest color and black-red patterns like solidified lava.
A small opening suddenly burst at the top of the crack, and a fragment of the eggshell was pushed open from the inside, falling into the charcoal ash below.
Then, a small, wet head poked out laboriously from that opening.
The head, covered in fine black scales, hadn't fully unfurled yet, and the scales were smeared with slimy egg white.
There were two slight bulges on its head, the nascent forms of tender black horns that had not yet grown; at this moment, they still bore a small fragment of eggshell, looking somewhat comical.
It seemed to take some effort to fully open its eyes.
The slit pupils were still covered by a thin, wet newborn membrane, looking dazed and innocent.
Its little head turned, its pupils reflecting the firelight in the room and the two faces watching it closely from nearby.
Silver-haired, purple-eyed Aegon and tearful Daenerys.
"Hiss..."
A faint, weak hiss of a newborn squeezed out of its throat.
It seemed to recognize something; its slit pupils moved back and forth between Aegon and Daenerys's faces, and finally, some instinct from the deepest part of its bloodline made it lock onto its target.
It began to struggle harder, using its tender wing-claws to grab the edge of the shell, its wet little body arching as it laboriously squeezed itself out of the narrow shell bit by bit.
With a soft "thud," it completely broke free from the shell's constraints, falling into the warm charcoal ash and eggshell fragments below.
It was only the size of a palm, covered in fine, smooth black scales that shimmered with a dark luster under the light of the embers; dark red patterns were visible on its back, like unextinguished fire marks.
A pair of small, pink fleshy wings were pressed tight against its sides, covered with translucent wing membranes laced with blood vessels.
It shook its little head, trying to stand steady; its hind legs were still somewhat soft, leaving a few small claw prints in the charcoal ash.
Almost at the same time the black hatchling successfully emerged, the other two dragon eggs also reached their final critical point.
"Crack!"
The cream-white shell was the first to break open further, and a hatchling covered in cream-white, almost translucent scales—seemingly more agile than the black hatchling—almost "slid" out of the shell.
Then, the final deep green egg, like the finest emerald, also finished hatching.
A hatchling with a relatively slender body and deep emerald scales struggled out.
The three hatchlings, different in color and slightly different in form, all bore the fragility and innocence of newborns.
Freed from their bonds, they instinctively stretched their small, pink dragon wings in the warm charcoal ash and eggshell fragments, trying to familiarize themselves with these brand-new bodies.
Then, almost simultaneously, they all raised their small heads; three pairs of slit pupils focused on Aegon and Daenerys with unmistakable closeness, dependence, and an innate bloodline resonance.
They focused on the two hands still tightly locked together and stained with their blood.
Daenerys had completely forgotten to breathe.
She covered her mouth tightly to keep the sobs and gasps from escaping her throat.
Her purple eyes widened to their limit, reflecting the figures of the three tiny dragon hatchlings; tears flowed like a dam breaking, surging out and sliding down her cheeks stained with dust and tear marks.
But this time, the tears were no longer of sadness, fear, or pain.
It was extreme joy, the shock of a soul being shaken, and an indescribable excitement from witnessing myth become reality.
Dragons.
Targaryen dragons.
Dragons that had vanished for nearly a century and a half, existing only in songs, history books, and broken dreams, were born in her and Aegon's hands, under the joint call of their bloodlines and magic!
This was not a dream.
The warmth remaining in her palm connected to Aegon, the faint sting of the wound on her fingertip, the three living, squirming little lives making tiny sounds before her eyes, and the strange scent of faint sulfur mixed with newborn life in the air... everything was so real.
She instinctively gripped Aegon's hand tighter, as if to draw more reality from this firm connection and share this overwhelming happiness.
Aegon also tightened his fingers, responding to her silent excitement and confirmation.
His gaze slowly swept over the three newborn hatchlings, finally landing on their clear slit pupils that reflected himself and Daenerys's joined hands.
Within them, not only were their figures reflected, but also a deeper, invisible connection—a bond of destiny forged by shared blood, shared magic, and casting spells together.
The Blood Magic had succeeded.
Not only had it successfully awakened the dormant dragon eggs, but in the process, it had bound the fates of him and Daenerys more tightly together.
These three hatchlings were not just a revival of Targaryen power, but a symbol of the continuation of their shared blood and will, a brand-new future for House Targaryen born in blood and fire.
The hatchlings seemed to gradually adapt to the world outside the shells. The black one gave a small sneeze, puffing out a few wisps of nearly invisible black smoke.
Daenerys was still immersed in unparalleled shock and emotion, almost unable to think.
Then, Aegon released his hand from hers.
Suddenly losing that firm, warm envelopment, a faint trace of reluctance—one she hadn't even fully realized—flickered through Daenerys's heart.
That connection was not just physical, but one of magic and destiny, brief yet profound.
Aegon didn't notice this subtle change.
He leaned down, reached out, and carefully scooped up the black hatchling that had hatched first.
The hatchling squirmed in his large palm, seemingly a bit uneasy, but soon it sniffed Aegon's fingers with its wet little nose and then extended its tiny tongue to gently lick the wound on his palm where the blood had stopped but was not yet dry.
This action carried an instinctive closeness and comfort.
Then, it seemed to find a comfortable spot, curling its small body in Aegon's palm and letting out a satisfied, faint purr, its eyes half-open and half-closed.
Aegon looked at this warm, hot, fragile yet infinitely potential-filled little life in his palm, the deep light in his eyes flickering slightly.
Then, he turned and handed the black hatchling to Daenerys, who was still kneeling by the brazier, watching him with teary eyes.
"It was the first to respond to you," Aegon's voice was low and gentle amidst the hatchling's faint purrs and the crackling of the charcoal fire. "Give it a name."
Daenerys trembled, using almost all her strength to control her weak arms as she carefully took the black hatchling from Aegon's hands, as if receiving the most precious treasure in the world.
The small dragon moved in her palm, which was noticeably smaller, adjusted its posture, and opened its eyes fully, reflecting her tearful face.
It seemed to feel her racing heart and surging emotions, gently rubbing its little head against her thumb.
An indescribable warm current, mixed with the throb of shared blood, reached straight from her palm to Daenerys's heart.
She looked up at Aegon, tears still hanging from her eyelashes, but the corners of her mouth couldn't help but turn upward, blooming into a smile that was incredibly bright and pure despite the tears and dust.
That smile seemed to dispel all the gloom, blood, and sorrow of the night.
All the sadness seemed to be truly washed away in this moment by the surging joy of new life.
The shadow and madness brought by Viserys seemed to be isolated far away by this warm little life.
A brand-new future full of infinite possibilities slowly began its prologue amidst the faint chirping of these three hatchlings and the warm firelight and bloodline resonance.
Daenerys looked down, gazing at the black hatchling safely curled in her palm, looking at its black wing membranes that were not yet fully unfurled but already showed a majestic outline, and the dark red patterns on the edges of the membranes and its back.
She thought for a moment and spoke softly, her voice still carrying a sob but exceptionally clear:
"Its color... is the same as the Black Dread, Balerion, of King Aegon the Conqueror recorded in the history books." She looked up, her eyes shining.
"Let's call it... Balerion, is that okay?"
Aegon looked at those purple eyes full of hope and inquiry, then at the black hatchling in her palm that seemed to sense the name Balerion and moved its little head slightly, and he slowly nodded.
"Good," he said, his gaze sweeping over the other two hatchlings—the cream-white one with gold patterns and the emerald one. "The colors of these three hatchlings happen to correspond to the colors of the three founding dragons of House Targaryen.
Balerion the Black Dread, Vhagar, and Meraxes." He paused, his tone carrying a trace of almost imperceptible destiny.
"Just as I am about to march west to Westeros, it seems like... destiny is hinting at another war of conquest."
He looked at Daenerys: "Then, for the other two, let the green one be called Vhagar and the cream-white one be called Meraxes, how about it?"
Daenerys looked at the small dragon with calm emerald scales, then at the elegant cream-white one, thought for a moment, and nodded vigorously.
Vhagar, the dragon of Visenya, sister-wife of Aegon I.
Meraxes, the mount of Queen Rhaenys.
Naming them after the ancestral dragons was a commemoration, a legacy, and a wordless expectation for the future.
"Good. Vhagar, Meraxes," she repeated softly, as if to brand these two names, along with Balerion, deep into her heart.
Only then did Aegon notice that Daenerys's face looked somewhat pale under the firelight, and her lips had lost their color.
During the hatching ceremony just now, both of them had lost a lot of blood.
The power and medium required for Blood Magic were far from ordinary. This was why ancient records stated that it was almost impossible for a single person to complete.
It wasn't a lack of magic, but the demand for life energy was enough to cause a strong adult to go into hemorrhagic shock before the ritual was finished.
With the two of them sharing the burden, and both possessing true dragon bloodlines, they barely managed to pull through, but the consumption was still massive, especially for Daenerys, who was physically weaker.
"You need to rest," Aegon said in a tone that brooked no argument. "You've lost a lot of blood. The hatchlings have just been born and also need a stable environment and care."
"I will arrange reliable hands to help you take care of them starting tomorrow."
He had to leave to handle many subsequent matters.
The purge of Lys, the preparation of the army, the plan for the westward campaign, and the final arrangement for Viserys.
But before that, he had to ensure the safety and initial settlement of Daenerys and these three hatchlings.
Daenerys nodded obediently; she also felt waves of weakness and dizziness, but her previous excitement had masked the physical discomfort.
She still carefully held Balerion in her palm, watching Vhagar and Meraxes in the brazier, who had already begun trying to crawl and explore their new environment, her eyes full of tenderness and reluctance.
Aegon took one last look at her and the three hatchlings, turned, and prepared to leave.
Leaving the room and closing the door, he shut the warmth, the faint sounds of the newborn hatchlings, and Daenerys's tired but bright eyes behind him.
Aegon stood in the silent corridor, taking a deep breath of the cold night air to let his somewhat scattered thoughts settle.
He remembered the girl he met in the Golden Company who had obvious Valyrian features and claimed to be a descendant of Aerion "Brightflame."
The thin Targaryen blood in her might give her some affinity for the hatchlings.
Having her serve as Dany's handmaid to assist in caring for the hatchlings would also allow him to observe her reactions to the dragons up close, accumulating experience for possible large-scale hatching and taming in the future, and even... providing a reference for certain long-term plans.
This successful hatching not only brought three newborn dragons but also gave Aegon new ideas on the use of Blood Magic.
The knowledge gained from Blood Magic, and the terrifying sacrificial scenes at the ruins of Torregar in the Smoke Sea he had witnessed before, all indicated that the Blood Magic mastered by the ancient Valyrian dragonlords was full of extreme bloodiness and cruelty.
Often using large-scale sacrifices of living beings to extract the essence of life to achieve their goals... whether it was hatching dragon eggs or conducting other terrible magical experiments.
But this experience of awakening the dragon eggs with blood alongside Daenerys showed him another possibility.
The root of Blood Magic lay in the life energy and potential magic contained within the blood.
The ancient Valyrian dragonlords pursued efficiency and speed, accustomed to the most cruel and direct ways.
Slaughter and sacrifice.
Extracting massive amounts of energy all at once.
In a way, this was an expression of power and arrogance, but wasn't it also a kind of cognitive rigidity and superstition?
He had over a hundred dormant dragon eggs in his hands; the energy required to awaken most of them would be astronomical.
If done according to the ancient ways, it would require mountains of corpses and seas of blood, unimaginable cruelty and sin.
Aegon certainly pursued power and was not soft-hearted, but he believed more in efficiency and sustainability.
Since blood energy was the key, then killing for sacrifice might not be the only way.
Extracting just a little each time, accumulating over days and months... like a trickling stream eventually forming a river.
This required time, patience, and a complete, sustainable blood supply system.
Perhaps he could find those with Valyrian blood flowing in their veins and, in some form of "voluntary" or "trade," have them provide small amounts of blood regularly.
Although the Valyrian dragonlords could command dragons and cast powerful spells, they were ultimately rulers born of an ignorant, feudal era that viewed slaves as grass.
Their thinking was inevitably limited by their era and their own arrogance.
But he, Aegon, came from another world, possessing a different perspective and knowledge system.
He respected magic and utilized it, but he would not blindly worship or fully accept ancient traditions.
Methods can be improved.
Paths can be explored.
As for the so-called gods of this world, whether it was R'hllor, the lord of light fanatically worshipped by the Red Temple, the Faith of the Seven, or the drowned god, the Old Gods, and so on...
Does the source of Blood Magic also point to some unknown deity hungry for blood and life?
Would his actions count as exploiting the "rules" of the gods, or even a kind of "trickery"?
If it's trickery, then so be it.
A cold and indifferent arc curled at the corner of Aegon's mouth.
Gods?
His system, the Ghidorah he possessed, and the potential and status it contained, once grown to the extreme, might not necessarily be inferior to the rumored gods of this world.
Information fragments from the system had hinted that Ghidorah was a conceptual seed he had absorbed, and its growth had no upper limit; as long as there was enough energy, it could surpass "Legendary" and even reach the unimaginable level of a "Planet Eater."
Compared to such a future, what did the so-called gods at the source of Blood Magic matter?
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