chapter 1
The first thing I registered was pain. A deep, bone-ache throbbing in my ribs, a sharp sting on my lip where it was split, and a raw burning across my back. Dust coated my tongue. I was face down on hard-packed earth, the stink of horse dung, sweat, and smoke thick in the air. Groaning, I pushed myself up onto my elbows. Roughspun rags, filthy and torn, hung off me. My hands were calloused and bruised. Memory slammed into me, jagged and wrong. Not *my* memory. Images flickered: a sterile room, screens, a life utterly alien to this… this stinking, brutal camp. Then, the visceral terror of the last few days – no, weeks? – as this body endured kicks, whippings, and the casual cruelty of men on horseback. Khal Drogo's khalasar. I was property. Less than the horses. Rage, hot and sour, surged up my throat. It wasn't just the immediate pain, though that was bad enough. It was the helplessness, the violation of being trapped in this broken body, in this savage place. I wasn't *this*. I wasn't meant for chains and blows. The anger felt like a physical thing, a pressure behind my eyes, coiling in my gut like a serpent. As the rage peaked, something *shifted*. Not in the camp, but *within*. A deep, resonant vibration, felt more in my bones than heard. And a presence. Immense. Ancient. Utterly alien, yet somehow… tethered. To *me*. My eyes snapped to my own shadow, stretched long and distorted by the low sun. It looked normal. But I *felt* it. A vast, dark space folded impossibly within that flat darkness on the ground. And within that space, something slept. No. Not slept. *Waited*. With a consciousness as vast and cold as the void between stars. *King.* The name surfaced in my mind, not as a sound, but as a concept, heavy with terrifying significance. It wasn't my thought. It was *His*. A ripple of awareness, like a mountain stirring beneath the earth. Three distinct, immense presences focused, just for a nanosecond, on *me*. The rage within me seemed to resonate with a deeper, infinitely more destructive fury slumbering within my shadow. A Dothraki warrior strode past, kicking dust onto me. He didn't even look down. Just another piece of refuse. The casual dismissal fanned the flames of my fury. My hands clenched into fists, the raw knuckles protesting. *Why?* The silent question burned in my skull, directed inward, towards the impossible leviathan bound to my shadow. *Why am I here? Like this?* A wave of images flooded my mind, chaotic and overwhelming: golden scales gleaming like malevolent suns, gravity bending storms, cities crumbling to ash under triple beams of incandescent destruction. And beneath it, a chilling, ancient amusement. Not an answer. A display. A reminder of *what* resided within the dark fold of my own being. The pressure in my head intensified, the coiling serpent of my anger now brushing against the slumbering dragon-god in the abyss of my shadow. It was terrifying. It was… power. Raw, universe-shattering power, lying dormant, accessible only through my fury, my will. My shadow felt unnaturally cold on the sun-baked earth. Nearby, the noise of the camp changed. A buzz of anticipation. Through the throng, I saw them preparing a central area. Furs were being laid, braziers lit. I knew what it was. The wedding. Daenerys Targaryen and Khal Drogo. Tonight. The thought crystallized my rage, gave it a sharp, cold edge. They feasted. They celebrated ownership, power taken and given. While I lay in the dirt, beaten, a slave. The injustice of it, the sheer *wrongness* of my existence here, screamed in my blood. I pushed myself fully upright, ignoring the protests from my battered body. I stared at my shadow, now pooling darkly around my feet as the sun dipped lower. The subspace within it felt vast and humming with potential annihilation. The Ghidorah entity within was silent again, a dormant volcano. But the connection was there. Solid. Unbreakable. A grim, humorless smile touched my split lip. Let them have their wedding. Let them think they ruled this patch of dirt and these horses. They had no idea. No idea what walked among them, cloaked in rags and shadow. The rage didn't subside. It settled. It cooled into something hard and purposeful, like obsidian. It banked, feeding the silent, monstrous presence tied to my very being. I looked at the bustling camp, the fierce warriors, the proud Khal. I saw dust, soon to be ash. *Soon*, I thought, the word echoing in the quiet space where my anger met the King's infinite hunger. *Let them feast tonight.* My shadow deepened, stretching towards the gathering dusk. *Tomorrow… we burn.*