Chapter 481

“The Q&A session hasn’t started yet, dear Child of Prophecy,” R’hllor said with a satisfied look at Aegor’s growing belief and pressing curiosity. Yet she shook her head, refusing to answer his questions. “Let me finish my story; the answers lie within.” She wasted no time dwelling on the small interruption of exposing Aegor’s identity as a transmigrator and instead continued her tale without pause.

“When my mother arrived—more precisely, when she was exiled to this world—it was already occupied by another native sovereign who claimed it as their personal domain. My mother’s sudden appearance was deemed an intrusion, and she quickly received a ‘request’ from the original master: leave as soon as possible.”

“To be fair, the request was reasonable, but it was based on a flawed premise: my mother wasn’t what the local deity thought—a mere passing traveler hopping between worlds. She lacked the ability to traverse worlds at will. Though she deeply regretted the disturbance caused to another’s domain, my mother had no choice but to explain her plight and plead for shelter—a minimal space to survive.”

“You can guess what happened next. The native god wasn’t blessed with the virtue of generosity. The only reason they didn’t attack immediately was that they sensed my mother wasn’t an easy opponent. But when my mother refused to leave and even demanded the other relinquish the Valyrian Peninsula—though it wasn’t called that at the time—as her territory, a clash became inevitable.” R’hllor paused briefly but didn’t bother teasing Aegor by making him ask what came next. “A war between a world’s master and an interloper from another realm—one can imagine it must have been an earth-shattering battle. Unfortunately, I can’t describe the fight itself, as it took place while I was still in my mother’s womb—before even my egg had formed. But the outcome is clear: despite not being among the strongest of true dragons, fresh from an unplanned journey across worlds, and carrying an unborn child, my mother emerged victorious. The stingy and temperamental native deity, who had tried to defend a small peninsula, ended up losing the entire world—its body destroyed by my mother, nearly wiped out entirely.”

“Nearly?” Aegor seized the chance to interject.

“Nearly,” R’hllor nodded. “As the world’s former master, it had some tricks to save itself. My mother didn’t annihilate it. As a lawful-good dragon of high standing, she couldn’t justify exterminating someone after trespassing into their home, beating them to a pulp, and kicking them out. Pursuing and killing them after gaining so much was beyond her moral limits. Besides, there was another critical factor—she was injured. The battle’s intensity triggered a premature birth, leaving her with no capacity to hunt down her foe.”

...

Dragons are oviparous, Aegor thought. How does a dragon have a ‘premature birth’? Was it a miscarriage in human form? The curiosity lingered, but he chose not to ask such an inappropriate question aloud. The silver-haired woman didn’t seem inclined to explain anyway. Instead, she hovered silently in the void, surrounded by the remnants of the shattered dream. The chaos—half-formed from Aegor’s failed attempts to reshape the dream—began swirling and transforming before his eyes, as if the video had been put on fast-forward. Countless shimmering particles streamed in from infinite distances, colliding and coalescing into a solid mass that rapidly grew into a molten sphere, glowing red and spinning furiously.

Aegor instantly recognized it: a newborn planet.

R’hllor and he floated in its orbit, watching its surface evolve from molten chaos to solid crust. Liquid water pooled into seas, barren lands transformed into lush landscapes, and within half a minute, the planet’s frenetic transformation slowed. It finally stabilized, its surface now a vivid mosaic of blue and green. A long, narrow landmass appeared, bracketed by two vast oceans—perfectly aligned beneath their omniscient vantage point.

That was Westeros.

Aegor quickly identified the land by its shape, spotting the Wall at the northernmost edge, a stark white line dividing the gray of the North from the snow-covered lands beyond.

How is she more in control of my dream than I am? he muttered internally. Then the realization struck: like a virgin unable to conjure realistic intimacy in dreams, even skilled lucid dreamers couldn’t manifest what they had never seen or comprehended. Aegor’s imagination had limits—he couldn’t dream up the sensation of wielding godlike power.

The woman floated beside him, gazing down at Westeros. She pointed northwest of the Wall. “My mother banished her enemy to the Lands of Always Winter—a desolate, ice-bound region perpetually frozen in eternal winter. She allowed him to remain there under a one-sided agreement: as long as he didn’t step beyond those bounds, she wouldn’t pursue or destroy him.”

So that’s how the story connects to reality, Aegor realized, stunned. The so-called “Cold God” was this world’s original master, exiled by another otherworldly intruder.

His awe lasted only a moment before he questioned the logic. “So the foe we struggle against—the one threatening humanity—is merely a defeated remnant of your mother’s old enemy? Why, then, do you or your mother not punish it for breaking the agreement, invading human lands? Instead, you tell us not to approach or destroy it?”

R’hllor regarded him with amusement, her gaze sharp with interest. “You’re quick-witted even in a dream. Good. The story has a long second half, and time is short before you wake. Let’s pick up the pace.” With that explanation, she continued, her voice calm but swift.

“My mother was a true dragon. In a typical world—one with moderate or high magic—she could have lived a long, natural life even if she didn’t achieve the next level of transformation. But in this world, where magic is scarce and unstable, she was like a whale stranded on a beach—constrained at every turn. Her injuries from the great battle never healed. A mere hundred years after my birth, she succumbed to her wounds and old age.”

Aegor frowned. So the dragon died. Wouldn’t the Cold God have tried to reclaim the world instead of remaining confined to its icy prison?

“When my mother died, the Cold God indeed tried to regain control. At first, it made significant progress while I was distracted. But it quickly learned that I, its enemy’s daughter, had grown far stronger than my mother in just a century. After a brief clash—what your people call the Battle for the Dawn—it retreated, yielding once again and hiding in its icy lair.”

“I considered finishing it off, but I found it bothersome and unnecessary. Besides, I was preoccupied with something else—until unforeseen events occurred.”

R’hllor paused, meeting Aegor’s gaze. “You should ask me why I call myself the Daughter of the True Dragon.”

I’d rather ask about the ‘unforeseen events,’ Aegor thought, rolling his eyes. But there was no turning back now. “Fine. Why?”

“Because my mother was a true dragon, but I am not. I only carry half her blood.”

“Huh?” Aegor’s shock was plain on his face. “Half-dragon? Does that mean—”

“My father was human.”