The desert smelled of blood and horse shit.
Kael sat slumped against one of the abandoned Baratheon wagons, pressing a torn strip of cloak against the gash on his ribs. Every breath hurt. The cut on his arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He felt dizzy, stupid, and dangerously close to vomiting.
This is what power feels like? he thought bitterly.
A few feet away, Sylva lay on her stomach while Ysira cleaned the ugly bruise and split skin across her back. The girl hissed every time the cloth touched her. Mira stood a little apart, calmly wrapping her own minor cuts, her silver-white hair now streaked with dust and dried blood.
None of them spoke for a long time.
The dragon egg rested in the center of their makeshift camp, half-covered by a red silk sheet they had ripped from one of the wagons. It no longer glowed. It just sat there — heavy, quiet, and far too aware.
Ysira broke the silence first.
"We can't stay here," she said. Her voice was steady, but Kael noticed how tightly she gripped the bloodied cloth. "Gwayne's men who escaped will run straight to the nearest outpost. Within two days, half the Stormlands will know something important happened in these dunes."
Sylva turned her head painfully. "Then we go south. Deep into Dorne. Your family's lands—"
"My family's lands are watched," Ysira cut her off sharply. "House Uller is not as strong as it once was. If we bring this… thing there, Prince Qoren will hear of it before we even unpack."
Kael let out a weak, bitter laugh. "So what? We just carry a giant dragon egg across the desert like it's a fucking wineskin?"
Mira glanced at him. "You're bleeding on the sand, bastard. Maybe focus on not dying before you give opinions."
Kael wanted to snap back, but the pain in his side made him wince instead. He hated how weak he sounded. Hated how all three women kept looking at him like he was both a tool and a liability.
Sylva pushed herself up on her elbows, grimacing. "I say we sell it. Find some rich merchant in Planky Town and disappear with enough gold to live like queens."
Ysira's eyes flashed with contempt. "Sell it? You still think like a street thief. That egg is worth more than gold. It's a weapon. A legend."
"And legends get people killed," Mira said quietly.
Kael caught the way Mira watched Ysira — calculating, almost hungry. She wasn't just Prince Qoren's spy. She had her own game running. Maybe she was already planning how to deliver the egg directly to King's Landing for a better price.
The egg pulsed once. Very softly.
Kael felt it behind his eyes this time — not heat, not power, just a faint whisper of interest. Like something ancient was slowly waking up and studying their greed and fear. He shivered and looked away.
Ysira noticed. "You felt it again, didn't you?"
"I feel a lot of things," Kael muttered. "Mostly pain."
She moved closer anyway. Kneeling beside him, she pulled the cloth away from his ribs to check the wound. Her fingers were surprisingly gentle, but her face stayed cold and distant. For a brief second their eyes met. Kael noticed the small scar just above her left eyebrow — something personal, not noble. A reminder that even she had bled before.
"You're lucky it's not deeper," she said. There was no warmth in her voice, but she didn't pull her hand away immediately either.
Kael looked at her lips for half a heartbeat, then forced himself to look at the sand instead. Stupid. She'd kill you without blinking.
Sylva watched them from the ground, her expression unreadable. Jealousy? Anger? Fear that she was losing her place beside Ysira? Kael couldn't tell.
Mira broke the moment. "We need a plan. Real one. Not dreams."
Kael wiped sweat from his face. "We take it east. Toward the Boneway. There are old caves and smugglers' trails. Hard to track. We can hide there while we figure out what the hell this thing actually is."
Ysira frowned. "That puts us closer to the Stormlands."
"Everything puts us close to someone who wants us dead," Kael said. His voice cracked with exhaustion. "Or did you forget we just killed a Baratheon knight and half his men?"
Silence again.
Sylva spoke, voice weaker than before. "I can't ride far. My back…"
"I'll take her on my horse," Kael said without thinking.
All three women looked at him.
Sylva narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"Because I owe you," he answered simply. "And because if you fall off and die, I'll have one less person watching my back."
It was the truth. Ugly, practical truth.
Mira gave the smallest, coldest smile. She approved of the logic, even if she didn't trust it.
They spent the next hour preparing. They took two of the strongest horses, loaded the egg onto a makeshift litter dragged behind one of them, and buried the bodies as best they could. The sun was already beginning to sink, painting the desert blood-red.
As they mounted, Ysira rode up beside Kael.
"I meant what I said earlier," she told him quietly. "We are not allies. We are temporary survivors. The moment this becomes more trouble than it's worth, I will choose my House."
Kael met her gaze. "Same. Don't expect me to die for you, my lady."
For a second, something almost like a real smile touched her lips — gone before he could be sure.
They rode east as the sky darkened.
Behind them, the dragon egg rocked gently on the litter. Its red veins had gone dark again.
But Kael could still feel it.
Watching.
Learning.
And somewhere far to the north, ravens were already flying with news of Ser Gwayne Baratheon's death and rumors of a black dragon egg in the dunes.
The game had begun.
And none of them — not even Kael — truly understood the rules yet.