Three Months Later - Outside Astapor
Marcos stood on a hill overlooking Astapor, watching the sun rise over the red brick pyramids that dominated the city's skyline.
Behind him, five thousand soldiers waited in organized formations. The Army of Astoria had grown significantly—trained, equipped, and more importantly, motivated. These weren't mercenaries fighting for gold. They were citizens fighting for something they believed in.
Beside him, Daenerys sat astride Syrax.
The dragon had grown. A lot.
Syrax was now the size of a small house, with wings that could blot out the sun when fully extended. Her cream-gold scales shimmered in the morning light, and her eyes held an intelligence that was both beautiful and terrifying.
Morningstar and Vaemon flanked her, both slightly smaller but no less impressive.
"Last chance to turn back," Marcos said, though he didn't mean it.
"We're not turning back," Daenerys replied, her voice steady. She wore armor now—not ornamental, but functional. Reinforced leather with Valyrian steel plates that Marcos had painstakingly created. She looked every inch the warrior queen.
"Good. Because I already sent the ultimatum." Marcos checked his communication device—a modified Redstone contraption that allowed instant messaging with his commanders. "Garrett's forces are in position at the north gate. Mero has the south. Our naval blockade is holding in the bay."
"And the slaves inside?"
"Word reached them. Our agents have been preparing them for weeks." Marcos smiled grimly. "When we attack, they'll rise. The masters won't know which threat to face first."
A horn sounded from Astapor's walls.
A single rider emerged, carrying a white flag.
"Their response to your ultimatum," Daenerys observed.
"Let's hear what they have to say."
The rider approached, stopping at a respectful distance. He was young, nervous, clearly not a warrior but a messenger.
"Great Master Kraznys mo Nakloz sends his reply to your... demands," the boy said, voice shaking.
"And?" Marcos prompted.
The boy unrolled a scroll and read: "The Good Masters of Astapor do not negotiate with foreign barbarians and their pets. Your dragons are abominations. Your army is insignificant. Leave now, or we will add your skulls to our pyramid walls. We have eight thousand Unsullied. You have nothing we fear."
Marcos sighed. "I really hoped they'd be smarter than this."
"You knew they wouldn't be," Daenerys said. "Men like that never are."
"True." Marcos looked at the messenger. "Boy, what's your name?"
"J-Joro, my lord."
"Joro, when you deliver my response, I want you to run. Don't walk. Run back inside those walls and hide in the deepest basement you can find. Understand?"
"I... yes?"
"Good. Here's my response: We gave you a choice. You chose wrong. What happens next is on you."
Marcos raised his hand.
Three dragons roared in unison.
The sound shook the very air, echoing off the red pyramids.
Joro didn't wait for dismissal. He turned his horse and galloped back to the city as fast as the animal could run.
"Signal the attack?" Daenerys asked.
"Signal the attack," Marcos confirmed.
Daenerys spoke in High Valyrian—a command that had taken weeks to perfect.
The dragons took flight.
And the Liberation of Slaver's Bay began.
The Battle of Astapor - Opening Moves
Kraznys mo Nakloz stood on the highest pyramid, watching the approaching army with contempt.
"Five thousand. Pathetic." He turned to his fellow masters. "We have eight thousand Unsullied. This will be over by midday."
"And the dragons?" one asked nervously.
"Large lizards. Nothing more." Kraznys waved dismissively. "Arrows will bring them down. Signal the Unsullied to—"
He never finished the sentence.
Syrax dove from the clouds, moving faster than anything her size should be able to move.
She breathed fire.
Not the small flames of a baby dragon. This was a torrent of white-hot fire that melted stone and turned sand to glass.
The entire eastern gate exploded.
The wall—thick red brick that had stood for centuries—crumbled like sand.
"IMPOSSIBLE!" Kraznys screamed.
Morningstar and Vaemon followed, targeting the other gates with surgical precision.
Within minutes, all three main entrances to Astapor were open, burning ruins.
And through those openings, Astoria's army charged.
But something else happened that the Good Masters hadn't anticipated.
The slaves revolted.
Inside Astapor - The Slave Uprising
The messages had been clear: When the dragons come, rise.
And rise they did.
In the brick pits where Unsullied were trained, the slave handlers found their charges refusing orders.
In the pyramids, house slaves turned on their masters with knives, bricks, bare hands—whatever they could find.
In the streets, thousands upon thousands of slaves poured out, overwhelming the city guard.
The Unsullied, standing in formation, received their orders to attack the invading army.
And for the first time in their existence, they refused.
Not all of them. Some, too broken by training, followed orders mechanically.
But many—hundreds—simply lowered their spears and stood still.
Waiting.
Marcos had promised them something no one else ever had: a choice.
And they were choosing.
Marcos's Advance
Marcos rode at the head of his army, Morningstar flying overhead.
They encountered resistance at the central plaza—a formation of about two thousand Unsullied who hadn't refused orders.
"Shield wall!" Garrett commanded.
The army responded instantly, creating an impenetrable wall of shields.
The Unsullied advanced with mechanical precision.
Marcos raised his hand, and Morningstar landed beside him with a ground-shaking thud.
"UNSULLIED OF ASTAPOR!" Marcos's voice was amplified by magic, carrying across the plaza. "I am Marcos Vidal, leader of the Empire of Astoria! You were told to fight us! But I offer you another choice!"
The Unsullied formation didn't break, but Marcos saw hesitation. Small shifts in stance. Heads turning slightly.
"You are the Unsullied! The finest warriors in the world! But you are also SLAVES!" Marcos continued. "Taken from your homes as children! Castrated! Broken! Forced to serve masters who see you as tools!"
"I offer you freedom! Lay down your weapons, and you will be freed! Join us, and you will be paid as soldiers—as equals! Refuse, and I will give you land, money, and the chance to build a life of your own choosing!"
"This is your choice! Not your masters'! YOURS!"
Silence.
The Unsullied looked at each other. A wordless communication passed between them.
Then, one by one, they began to lower their spears.
First a handful. Then dozens. Then hundreds.
Within minutes, the entire formation had surrendered.
Not to conquerors. To liberators.
Marcos let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"Garrett, secure them. Treat them with respect. Get them water, food, medical attention. And for god's sake, make sure everyone knows they're under our protection now."
"Already on it, jefe."
The Plaza of Punishment
Daenerys rode Syrax to the center of Astapor, to a plaza where slaves were traditionally punished.
A dozen Good Masters were gathered there, trying to organize a defense.
Kraznys mo Nakloz was among them, shouting orders that no one was following.
Syrax landed with a crash that shook the ground.
The masters scrambled backward in terror.
Daenerys dismounted with practiced ease, walking toward them with her hand on her sword.
"Good Masters of Astapor," she said in perfect Valyrian. "Your city has fallen. Your Unsullied have surrendered or joined us. Your slaves are free. Your power is broken."
"You... you cannot do this!" Kraznys sputtered. "We are the Good Masters! This is OUR city!"
"Was your city," Daenerys corrected. "Now, I offer you the same choice we gave everyone: Submit and live. Fight and die."
"We will never submit to a foreign whore and her lizard!" Kraznys spat.
Several of the other masters looked at him like he was insane.
"That was the wrong answer," Daenerys said calmly.
"Dracarys," she commanded.
Syrax's jaws opened.
Fire consumed Kraznys mo Nakloz.
He didn't even have time to scream.
Daenerys turned to the other masters, who were now on their knees, begging.
"Anyone else want to call me a whore? No?" She smiled coldly. "Good. You are hereby stripped of all titles, all property, and all power. You will be exiled with enough money to live comfortably but not enough to cause trouble. Try to return, and you'll meet the same fate as your former leader."
"The slaves are free. The Unsullied are free. Astapor is free." Daenerys's voice rang out across the plaza. "And this is just the beginning."
That Evening - Astapor's Main Pyramid
The battle was over.
Total casualties on Astoria's side: 47 dead, 203 wounded.
Enemy casualties: Approximately 500 (mostly city guard who fought to the bitter end).
Civilian casualties: Minimal, thanks to the surgical precision of the dragon strikes.
But the real victory was in the numbers freed: 170,000 slaves.
One hundred and seventy thousand people who woke up this morning in chains and went to sleep free.
Marcos stood on the pyramid's balcony, looking at the city. Fires still burned in some districts, but order was being restored. His soldiers worked alongside former slaves to distribute food, water, and medical supplies.
Daenerys joined him, still in her armor, though she'd removed her helmet.
"Kraznys?" Marcos asked.
"Dead. The others are being escorted out of the city." Daenerys leaned against the railing. "It's done. Astapor is ours."
"One city down. Two to go."
"Yunkai and Meereen will be harder. They'll have seen what happened here. They'll prepare." Daenerys looked at him. "Are you okay?"
"I should be asking you that. You killed a man today."
"I killed a slaver who called me a whore and refused to free his slaves." Daenerys's voice was steady. "I'm not losing sleep over it. Are you?"
"No," Marcos admitted. "I thought I would. But I'm not. Is that bad?"
"It means we're changing. Adapting." Daenerys took his hand. "We're not the same people who met a year and a half ago. You were a historian playing at empire. I was a frightened girl. Now..."
"Now you're a conqueror who executes slavers with dragons."
"And you're an emperor who freed 170,000 people in a single day." Daenerys smiled. "I'd say we've both grown."
"Into what, though? That's what scares me." Marcos squeezed her hand. "What if we become the tyrants? What if power corrupts us?"
"Then we keep each other honest. Like we promised." Daenerys moved closer. "We're not alone in this. We have each other. And we have people like Garrett, Mero, Mira—people who will call us out if we go too far."
"You're right." Marcos pulled her into a hug. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being you. For being strong when I doubt. For being my anchor."
Daenerys hugged him back. "Always."
They stood there as the sun set over Astapor—a city that had known only slavery and cruelty for centuries, now taking its first steps toward something better.
It wasn't perfect. It wouldn't be easy. There would be challenges, setbacks, resistance.
But it was a start.
And sometimes, a start is all you need.
Meanwhile - Yunkai
The Wise Masters of Yunkai received word of Astapor's fall with appropriate horror.
"Dragons," the Yellow Emperor said flatly. "They have three full-grown dragons."
"Not quite full-grown," another master corrected nervously. "The reports say they're still young. Perhaps three or four years from their full size."
"And they still destroyed Astapor in hours." The Yellow Emperor stood. "We need to prepare. Hire mercenaries. Every company we can afford. The Second Sons, the Stormcrows, the Yunkai'i cavalry. All of them."
"And if the mercenaries fail?"
"Then we negotiate," the Yellow Emperor said grimly. "But not from weakness. We show them that taking Yunkai will cost them dearly. Make them think twice about attacking."
"And if they attack anyway?"
The Yellow Emperor had no answer.
Because deep down, he knew the truth: Astapor had eight thousand Unsullied and fell in a day.
Yunkai had no Unsullied. Only gold and mercenaries.
And neither could stop dragons.
Meereen
In the greatest of the three slaver cities, the Great Masters held council.
"We must unite with Yunkai," one argued. "Pool our resources, our armies—"
"Yunkai is already lost," another interrupted. "They just don't know it yet. This empire of Astoria is unlike anything we've faced. They don't want conquest. They want abolition."
"Then we give them a reason to stop," the eldest master said. "We have 163 slaves from their empire. Captured traders, merchants, diplomats. We crucify them. One on every mile marker from here to Astapor. Show them what happens when they threaten Meereen."
"That's insane!" a younger master protested. "That will ensure they attack us!"
"They're already going to attack us!" the elder roared. "At least this way, we send a message! We show them we're not afraid!"
The vote was close.
But hubris won.
It always did.
163 people who had done nothing wrong would die horribly.
And when Marcos and Daenerys heard about it, the remaining mercy in their hearts would turn to iron.
Because some evils can't be negotiated with.
Some evils can only be destroyed.
[END OF CHAPTER 23]