After eating the weirwood seed paste, Dany felt the connection between her soul and her three dragons—Green, Gold, and Red.
It reached deep into her soul.
She wanted to strengthen this connection. She wanted to merge her soul with all five dragons.
As that thought took shape, her consciousness shifted immediately.
At the center of her mindscape, a nine-colored vortex erupted like a volcano, spewing a vast amount of bright red soul matter. Along the edge of her mindscape, the second soul ring shattered into countless green prophetic runes.
The green runes became the steel framework, and the bright red soul essence formed the bricks and tiles. In an instant, they constructed "four buildings"—four circular bands surrounding the nine-colored meditative core, forming four separate soul rings.
The outermost ring was based on the light-green Greenseer technique, while the second, third, and fourth rings were empty, pale pink bands.
The nine-colored meditation core resembled a star, with the four outer rings like planetary rings circling around it.
Just like Saturn's rings, they could be divided into multiple layers by color.
At this moment, inside Dany's mindscape—
"Skreee!" Little Green, the third dragon, turned its head left and right.
"Skreee!" Little Gold, the fourth, looked dazed, stretching its neck toward its mother and crying out.
"Skreee!" Little Red, the fifth, imitated its brother, extending its neck like a goose and calling out.
"They're all here," murmured the second, White, who was a bit wiser and seemed to understand what was happening.
The eldest, the Black Dragon, remained calm and steady, exuding the composure and authority of an elder brother.
"Ah, the family's finally reunited."
As she said this, the Dragon Queen completely forgot about that one cheap "son" left behind on the Dothraki Sea.
"Skreee!" The five dragons circled around her, crying out together.
"Come, let's evolve into magical dragons first!"
Having duplicated her meditation core twice before, Dany was already familiar with the process. Starting with Big Black, then White, Green, Gold, and Red, each dragon entered the nine-colored vortex and copied the Dragon Queen 2.0 version of the Grand Sorcerer's meditation foundation.
Indeed, even the nine-colored vortexes of White and Black—the two original magical dragons—were reforged anew.
Every meditation method has the potential to evolve.
However, the Grand Sorcerer's Meditation Technique had developed over eight thousand years, reaching near perfection. Mortal wisdom could no longer improve upon it.
But the Song of Wind had changed that. While listening to the world through the wind, Dany had been slowly, yet resolutely, modifying the Grand Sorcerer's method—
To make it more attuned to the world's current laws.
To break free from Aegon's Song of Fire and truly make it her own foundation of power—the Meditation of Fire, belonging solely to the Fire Sorceress Dany!
Simply put, the world was changing, and Dany upgraded the Valyrian Grand Sorcerer's Meditation accordingly.
Even Aegon himself wasn't the same. His meditative core had evolved too—not only from eight thousand years ago, but even from the version Dany had first obtained at Oros.
Aegon was never a fool. He evolved as well.
Once all five dragons had forged their newest nine-colored magical cores, Dany dismissed them one by one, ending the state of the Fivefold Dragon Spirit.
The Fivefold Dragon Spirit was marvelous, immensely powerful—it even made her want to fire a soul-shattering strike at the Three-Eyed Raven. But now wasn't the time to study dragon souls.
She had eaten the weirwood seed paste, and there were new talents waiting to be discovered.
"The trees teach the Greenseers. Trees remember everything."
Brynden and Leaf had both said that. It was one of the abilities of the Greenseers.
Perhaps Dany had never drunk from the Weirwood's "Green Spring"—though in truth, she had stolen its essence from the Old Gods' followers through spiritual enchantment—but the Greenseer Meditation within her mindscape was genuine.
In theory, she was a Greenseer too.
But she couldn't roam the timeline, couldn't twist others' wills silently, nor could she read memories from the trees.
Yet after consuming the weirwood seed paste, Dany felt her second Greenseer soul had become far lighter—more agile.
It was akin to a martial artist achieving mastery over every inch of their skin, every muscle and bone.
She could divide her second soul at will, and just as easily fuse its fragments back together.
She even sensed that she could split off another fragment from the second soul—just like the Three-Eyed Raven—and enter the trees or possess animal companions.
And so, ending the Fivefold Dragon Spirit, she eagerly began to experiment.
Dany closed her eyes. Darkness surged toward her like a tide.
She left her body and merged into the roots. This time, it was different.
The weirwood was no longer just a conduit—it became a part of her.
She didn't simply enter the roots. She became them.
She saw the cave shrouded in darkness. She saw Belwas chewing blood-red sourgrass leaves, his small gleaming eyes darting cautiously around, while Jorah and the others slept in their armor.
Belwas was keeping watch, guarding his queen.
She heard the roaring river below, felt the profound darkness and chill of the deep earth—and yet, she felt no fear. Like a tree rooted in the ground, her roots embraced the earth, using the darkness as a shield, drawing strength from it.
Yes, though she had once been uneasy even in the dim tunnels of the refuge, Dany now revelled in this deeper, colder abyss of the earth.
She had become the roots.
It felt like becoming a tree spirit.
Wargs bond with direwolves as their animal companions, forming "wolf spirits." Dany, bound with her Valyrian sorcery, was a "dragon spirit."
Then could a Greenseer's bond with the weirwood, beyond faith alone, be called a tree spirit?
Dany roamed through the roots—and then, she returned to the cave.
"Do you accept this fate?" the skeletal king on the weirwood throne asked with a sigh.
"If I were unwilling, I wouldn't have come here."Beside the tree roots, Joken sat cross-legged, the red torchlight casting a resolute and unyielding glow upon his face.
"This is our destiny," Brynden said, closing his single eye.
Joken rose and left. Meera covered her mouth and wept.
Dany followed Joken into another stone chamber.
He approached a white-haired squirrel-man, rolled up his sleeve, and exposed his wrist.
The white-haired creature drew a small dragonglass dagger from his waist — the standard weapon of the Children of the Forest — and made a swift cut across the marsh boy's wrist.
The squirrel-man began chanting in the Old Tongue, a mysterious hymn of sacrifice. In Joken's crimson blood, a faint green line shimmered before dripping into a wooden bowl.
Dany watched in shock as the boy's face instantly turned pale, as though the color of life itself had drained out through the wound.
If a person were made up of vivid, living colors, then at this moment, Joken's colors vanished completely, leaving only cold shades of black and white.
He had lost something — an essential part of himself.
Dany looked gravely toward the wooden bowl — a weirwood bowl as white as bone.
Inside, the half-filled blood glowed with an eerie green hue.
Leaf appeared, holding a wooden tray with milky-white seeds — the ones Dany recognized at once: weirwood seeds.
She felt a wave of nausea.
The squirrel-men were mixing Joken's blood with weirwood seeds into a thick paste.
Joken, drained like a spent toy, slumped weakly on a stone bench. Meera rushed to hold him, sobbing.
The white-haired squirrel-man gave the siblings a complicated look, then carried the wooden bowl out of the chamber, arriving before Brynden's throne of weirwood roots.
Before Brynden stood a ten-year-old boy.
Brandon Stark.
It was the first time Dany had seen Bran in person.
Seeing him in the flesh filled her with conflicting emotions.
His hair was chestnut and half-length, his eyes a deep blue. His pale, oval face was the size of a palm, handsome yet marked with a few freckles. He sat timidly upon a pile of furs, looking more like a frightened little girl than a prince of Winterfell.
He was truly just a child.
"This… this will make me a greenseer?" Bran asked, holding the bowl, his expression uneasy.
Brynden turned his gaze toward another direction — behind Bran — and met Dany's eyes. His voice was low and distant. "It is your bloodline that makes you a greenseer. This merely awakens the gift, allowing you to merge with the trees."
"I don't want to merge with trees, I want—" Bran began to argue, but the light in his blue eyes dimmed abruptly, as if a lamp's plug had been pulled.
"I don't want to merge with trees," he murmured sadly, "but no one wants to merge with a cripple either."
Then he lifted the spoon and ate the weirwood paste.
At the first bite, he winced, as though it tasted unbearable.
By the second, he began devouring it greedily.
"Mother…" Bran's eyes grew hazy. Tears streamed down his cheeks, one after another.
"What does it taste like?" Brynden asked.
"So sweet," Bran whispered dreamily. "Like the last kiss my mother gave me before she left Winterfell… like Meera's smile…"
"Now change your form," Brynden instructed gently, though his eyes were fixed on Dany. "Enter like you do with Summer. Feel the roots, follow them deep into the earth, then into the trees upon the mountain. Whatever the trees have seen, you shall see. The trees remember everything."
Suddenly, Bran turned his head toward Dany, his expression blank. Then, in a burst of fury, he roared, "You shouldn't be here! This is our kingdom! Our kingdom! Our kingdom!"
At first, only Bran's childish voice echoed through the chamber. Then Brynden's deep, ancient fury joined his. In the next instant, countless voices blended into a single overwhelming chorus—
"Our kingdom! Our kingdom!"
A crushing wave of greenseer will struck Dany, an invisible force slamming into her mind like a divine repulsion, flinging her into endless darkness.
She returned once more to the tree roots — from past to present.
The sheer power of the greenseer's will terrified her.
Before that ancient "crown of inheritance," forged by countless greenseers through millions of years, Dany could barely breathe.
"Leave… leave… this is our kingdom… leave…"
But the will pursued her relentlessly, determined to drive her out.
"I'm not leaving! Come and chase me if you dare!"
After all, she was only a fragment of the second soul of a greenseer. Even if she lost it, it wouldn't matter. Ignoring the danger, Dany plunged back into the roots, choosing a random direction and letting herself be carried along their endless network.
Then, as Brynden had taught Bran, she leapt like a fish breaking through the surface — into the trees above the ground.
She emerged inside a grand and solemn hall.
Beneath a stained glass window depicting the Seven-Pointed Star stood a throne forged of countless swords. Upon it sat a disheveled king, his long hair greasy and tangled, his face twisted and mad.
"Burn them all! Burn them all!"
"Shit! This is…!" Dany gasped in horror. "The Red Keep? The Mad King?"
Though it was her first time seeing him, his identity was unmistakable.
His silver hair was matted with oil, a crown crooked upon his head. His thin, sharp face was alive with suspicion, paranoia, and cruelty, his mouth curved into a crazed smile.
One bony hand clutched the throne's back, veins bulging beneath skin stretched thin. His nails were long and curved like a demon's claws.
But nothing was more distinctive than his frenzied cry — "Burn them all!"
Unique to all of Westeros.
Had she truly traveled back eighteen years, to the day the Mad King met his end?
(End of Chapter)
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