"Dong Dong…" Two muffled sounds resonated through the air, announcing the arrival of two knights bedecked in dusted lead armor and golden cloaks. They landed upon the brown earth, casting a cloud of choking smoke in their wake.

Before them, a congregation of Fiends huddled at the edge of the vast dirt plaza nestled in the valley. Kneeling, cowering, their faces etched with fear!

"Who holds sway in this place? A priest?" Daenerys stepped forth, her voice carrying a weight forged through countless battlefield commands and impassioned orations over the past year.

"The elder here is the priest of Blackwater Town. Pray, from which Dragonlord's lineage do you hail?" The first elder to speak approached Daenerys tentatively, taking measured steps as if fearful of unsettling a visitor or, perhaps, of the Dragon that exhaled twin plumes of smoke from its nostrils.

Dany chose not to address his query directly. Instead, she inquired in the refined tongue of Valyria, "Do you carry the blood of Valyria within your veins?"

"I do bear the noble lineage of Valyria, though now…" The old man's hand traced the contours of his twisted nose and mouth, his gaze lowered in sorrow.

"Daenerys Targaryen, I am of House Targaryen," Dany declared.

"Targaryen?" The old man's azure eyes flickered with confusion.

"Before the cataclysm, the Targaryens departed from Valyria, descending from Aenar Targaryen." Dany provided a gentle reminder, tinged with a hint of embarrassment.

Targaryen—the most esteemed royal house in Westeros.

Valyria, in contrast, lacked the privilege of proximity to the centers of power. Their blood was deemed inferior even to most nobles of Volantis. Those individuals may have lacked Dragons, but they traced their lineage to the families of the Fourteen Flames.

"I apologize, my years weigh heavily upon me…" The old man's grimace spoke of his own discomfort.

He retreated a few paces, then beckoned a three-handed youth beside him, who swiftly darted toward a secondary structure across the square.

After a fumbling pause, as she scrutinized the grotesque figures surrounding them, the three-handed youth returned with a stack of aged parchment scrolls.

The grimacing elder sifted through the parchments, muttering to himself, until he suddenly remarked, "It appears we have an exile from the lineage of Aenar."

Dany…

"Our ancestors did not flee to escape the courts. It was Daenys the Dreamer who foretold Valyria's doom in her visions. Evidently, her foresight was true," she said.

"Indeed," the old priest stowed away the parchment, sighing as he continued, "Valyria perished in the cataclysm, and only the Targaryens endure to this day. It is a tragedy, a lamentable fate…"

"What was the tragedy?" Dany's curiosity was piqued.

"Alas, you are not the one we await." The old man intoned solemnly.

"Who are you waiting for, then?"

"All the accursed Valyrians of the Lands of Long Summer await a noble Dragonlord capable of shattering their confines."

Dany couldn't help but bristle. Were they insinuating her lineage was insufficiently noble?

And how many dragons could the world possibly bear?

"Why not I? What is this 'cage,' and if memory serves, the Lands of Long Summer were open to all, were they not?"

The grimacing elder chose his words carefully as he explained, "Noble Dragonlord, it is not my intent to slight you. In times of Valyria's glory, Dragonlords such as yourself commanded utmost respect. However, House Targaryen's bloodline lacks the purity, the nobility… Well, it is difficult to put to words. Mayhaps you should journey to Oros and seek an audience with the High Priestess. She would undoubtedly delight in your presence, along with your Dragon, and she can elucidate the matter of the 'cage'."

"Oros still endures?" Barristan queried for the first time, his interest piqued.

The grimacing old man's gaze shifted to the imposing black dragon looming behind Dany as he inquired, "Lord, are you also of House Targaryen?"

Before the Knight could respond, Dany offered a cryptic reply, "He is a knight sworn to my family."

"Ah, the Targaryens do seem to thrive." The old man's expression held a mixture of sentiments as he continued, "Oros lies in close proximity to the first main peak, fortunate enough to endure. For centuries, we… as you can see…"

He gestured towards the figure behind him—a two-headed woman who extended her hand in greeting.

"My lord." It wasn't until the woman emerged from the crowd that Dany realized she was cradling an infant. The old man peeled away the swathing covering the child, revealing a plump, fair-skinned baby girl kicking her legs vigorously…

No, that wasn't quite right. This was not a typical child. Instead, a flesh-colored tail emerged from her back.

"The less cursed a person, the closer they dwell to Oros." The old man couldn't help but smile, despite his grotesque appearance. "Heh, Xiaona here has but a minor tail. She may reside within the city of Oros, and her offspring might be spared the curse."

Dany pondered this revelation, gaining a glimpse into the origin of the notorious outcasts rumored to haunt these lands.

These were the most severely deformed outcasts, banished from their villages.

"What of Mantarys? They seem to maintain contact with the outside world, unlike Oros, which is reclusive."

"Mantarys? I cannot say."

Dany proceeded to pose several more questions about the cataclysm, but the priest hesitated, sifting through parchments as he spoke. More often than not, his response was simply, "I do not know."

Dany found herself somewhat disappointed by the old man's limited knowledge. She left behind ten cans of sugar and two packets of oriental spices as she rode away on her dragon, acknowledging the old man's gratitude.

The straight stone road stretched between Oros and Mantarys, a path unmistakably clear even to the blind. To the north lay Mantarys, and to the south, Oros—no one could lose their way on this route.

After passing through four or five villages, a dark city appeared suddenly on the plain.

Among the stone structures, a mountainous tower stood as the centerpiece to the dark land of the town. It was a testament to the Valyrian Dragonlords, and a Dragon could alight directly upon the tower's pinnacle.

Like Valyria, Oros had no city walls, with black stone towers, warehouses, streets, gardens, and squares—spreading unrestrained in every direction. It exuded a flamboyant vitality and an unapologetic grandeur.

However, at this moment, the grandeur remained, but vitality was scarce.

In a city spanning over ten kilometers in diameter, most buildings had succumbed to ruin. Streets were chaotic, littered with rocks, old feces, and the skeletons of unidentifiable creatures. Tower walls chipped, cracked, and peeled, presenting a mottled and unsightly visage. Waterways lay stagnant, clogged with dust and silt. Once lively city gardens had lost their vibrancy, replaced only by a swath of grey-green weeds. Occasionally, you might spot noses and ears, either missing or discarded, or a goat grazing with a single nostril and a head, munching on the grass stalks. Grey-clad oddities trundled bullock carts through the city, the wheels crunching and echoing emptily across the 50,000-square-meter square…

This was a ghost town, a burial ground frozen in time for four centuries!

Despite the low deformity rate among the city's inhabitants, the ghostly atmosphere hung thick in the air.

"Greet the city of Oros."

"Sizzle-"

"Sizzle-"

A sharp, glass-like Dragon's roar pierced the city center, punctuated by intermittent bursts of dragon flame escaping from its nostrils.

"A dragon?"

"Aye, a dragon, indeed!"

"Look, it's a dragon! A Dragonlord has arrived!"

The city below, however, couldn't exactly be described as bustling. Compared to the sprawling expanse of Oros, the streets, balconies, squares, and rooftops seemed sparsely populated.

Dany couldn't help but wonder if there were even 5,000 souls here.

"Bang, bang, bang, bang…"

After about a quarter of an hour, a tallow torch, fourteen arms thick, ignited atop the 150-meter-tall tower in the center of the city, signaling a welcome to the Dragonlord.

Dany noticed several black-cloaked figures standing at the center of the rooftop deck. Embroidered with golden thread, their cloaks bore the image of the Fourteen Flames, with Dragons soaring above the fiery peaks.

"Let us go and meet the High Priest," she said, urging the two Dragons to descend.

"Crackling…"

The wings of the two dragons, one white and one black, unfurled with a mighty gust of wind that sent the cloaked figures' robes billowing.

"Welcome, Dragonlords," a clear and melodious female voice emanated from the central cloaked figure.

It was a young woman.

"Boom, boom!" Iron boots thudded on the rooftop with a weighty resonance.

Dany removed her barrel helmet, revealing a delicate visage framed by silver-gold hair and violet eyes.

—A true Valyrian Dragonlord.

The people of Oros, nearby and afar, all thought the same at that moment.

"I am Daenerys, a descendant of Aenar Targaryen," Dany introduced herself, gesturing toward the imposing knight behind her. "This is my guardian knight, Ser Barristan."

"Greetings, Princess," the girl acknowledged as she lifted her hood, revealing a face as striking as Dany's, brightening the overcast sky.

"I am the City Lord of Oros and also the High Priest, Jaen Belaerys."

Silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, and a dragon-shaped red crystal hairpin secured her bangs at the back of her head, leaving her forehead on full display.

The girl seemed to possess an immaculate beauty.

Dany regarded her with admiration, offering a respectful bow and a warm smile. "I never expected the High Priest to be a Belaerys. Please forgive my lack of formality."

Barristan, taken aback by her actions, quickly followed suit, as it was protocol to extend courtesy to Belaerys, the First Peak Lord and the true ruler of Valyria. Just as in the Three Kingdoms era, regardless of what Cao Cao and Yuan Shao might have thought privately, they had to show basic respect to Liu Bei.

"High Priest, have you heard that Targaryen unified Westeros? Did any outsider ever make it here?" Dany inquired with curiosity.

"We have connections to Mantarys in the north."

"I see." Dany sighed softly. "It's been nearly sixteen years since the fall of the Targaryen Dynasty, and someone else sits on the Iron Throne."

"I am aware. But you possess Dragons, Unsullied, and countless soldiers who are willing to fight for you. Sooner or later, you will reclaim your Iron Throne," Jaen replied with a reassuring smile.

Dany's heart sank. It appeared she had misjudged Oros; it was not a closed city after all.

This presented a complication. Not everyone needed to know she was a Valyrian noble. It would be easier to live in harmony if she didn't have to reveal her true lineage.

Among those who now clamored for the death of the 'Mother of Dragons,' over 30% possessed the noble Valyrian Dragonlord bloodline. Another 40% had mixed blood, but their ancestors were among the most orthodox Valyrian nobles. The remaining 30% included newly prosperous merchants, lords, and foreign kings who had risen to prominence over the past four centuries.

Oros, much like Mantarys and Volantis, harbored no sympathy for her, the sole Dragonlord. Instead, they despised her as a breaker of tradition.