Castle Black's smithy—now surrounded by guards, airtight.
Torren and Jason, with Lynn's most trusted Northern soldiers and Night's Watch rangers, sealed it completely from the outside world.
No one permitted near.
An egg—Tyrion might not report. But hatching a dragon? Different story.
Tyrion would definitely inform the Lannisters.
So beforehand, Jon had lured Tyrion outside. Every Night's Watchman was ordered to hide the dragon's birth from him—penalty: death!
Stakes too high. Lynn's orders.
Inside the smithy—heat waves struck.
The massive central forge burned red-hot throughout.
Roaring flames gushed forth, illuminating the entire space like daylight.
The air—thick with the scorching smell of metal and charcoal mixed.
Lynn held the ice-blue dragon egg, standing before the forge.
The egg pulsed with warm beats in his arms—like an eager heart.
It seemed to sense the surrounding heat, becoming unusually excited.
Maester Aemon stood at Lynn's side.
He'd removed his gray maester's robes, wearing only a thin white shirt.
His aged face—incomparably solemn and calm.
Jeor Mormont guarded the door.
His hand gripped his sword hilt tightly, weathered face written with tension and anticipation.
"Lynn."
Aemon's voice rose above the crackling flames.
"Put the egg in the fire."
Lynn's arm stiffened.
"Maester Aemon, are you certain?"
"Dragons are born from flame." Aemon's tone—unquestionable.
"Whatever dragon this is, only the hottest flames can wake its sleeping bloodline."
Lynn said no more.
He took a deep breath, carefully placing the ice-blue dragon egg into the forge's roaring inferno.
Something eerie happened.
The egg—in flames hot enough to melt steel—didn't melt. Instead, it began radiating increasingly brilliant blue light.
The dragon-scale patterns on the shell seemed to come alive.
Under the flames' caress, they flowed with mysterious luster.
A clearer hum emanated from inside the egg.
A powerful life force spread outward.
"The time has come."
Maester Aemon murmured, pulling an exceptionally sharp silver knife from his robes.
A maester's tool for dissection and bloodletting.
Without hesitation, he dragged the blade deep across his wrist.
"Aemon!" Mormont cried out.
Blood gushed instantly from the wound.
Not ordinary red—but carrying faint silver shimmer, nearly purple-red.
True dragon blood!
Aemon ignored Mormont's cry.
He raised his bleeding wrist, walking step by step toward the red-hot forge, face showing a liberation-like smile.
He chanted ancient incantations in Valyrian, voice solemn and tragic.
"Drakarī pykiros, issa sēos ñgha not ilēdys."
(Dragon in flame, born of blood.)
"Perzys sēbē, zaldrīzes buzdari iks os daor."
(Without fire's flame, dragons know not.)
Then he offered his final vow to the egg in the flames.
"Urne gon brōzi, hēnkiri jēdri!"
(With sage's wisdom, guide the path.)
"Dāri jēs ōzri, līr gūrēni!"
(With king's blood, command authority!)
"Drakaris ōzri, sōvegon aō!"
(With true dragon blood, I wake thee!)
"Nyke, Aemon Targārien, brōz tēglaes ots ōzna ejotyn ot!"
(I, Aemon Targaryen, offer all that I am!)
He extended his wrist—flowing with true dragon blood—toward the egg in the flames.
Purple-red blood dripped onto the scalding shell.
"Sssss—"
The blood didn't evaporate upon contact.
Instead—as if alive—it rapidly seeped into the shell.
Next second.
The ice-blue dragon egg erupted with unprecedented brilliance!
No longer blue—but pure, all-consuming white light!
That light—blinding—made Lynn and Mormont instinctively close their eyes.
Standing at the forefront, Maester Aemon's smile froze.
His white shirt turned to ash in an instant. His withered skin began cracking inch by inch, revealing bone-white skeleton beneath.
But he made no sound. Simply stood.
Using his fading life to bear the primal baptism of a dragon's birth.
"Maester Aemon!"
Under Lynn's gaze, Aemon's body transformed bit by bit into countless light particles.
Nothing remained. No corpse. No ashes.
Completely dissipated into air.
As if he'd never existed.
Only an aged, gratified voice echoed slowly in Lynn's mind.
"Lynn..."
"Go..."
"Go... end this Long Night..."
Lynn knelt on the ground, dazed. Mind blank.
Maester Aemon traded his life for this egg's awakening.
As Lynn drowned in grief and shock—
"Crack."
A crisp sound—eggshell fracturing—rang out abruptly in the gradually quieting smithy.
Lynn's head snapped up.
The forge's flames had died.
The ice-blue dragon egg lay quietly in the cooled furnace.
A crack appeared on the shell.
Then a second. A third...
Cracks spread rapidly, covering the entire shell.
"BANG!"
A dull sound. The shell shattered completely.
A... strange creature emerged.
Not the lizard-like hatchlings from Daenerys's story.
This newborn thing had four thick legs, standing steadily amid broken shell fragments.
And what made Lynn and Mormont's scalps tingle most—
Atop its long neck sat three heads!
The middle one largest. The two flanking slightly smaller.
Three pairs of differently colored eyes gazed curiously at this new world.
Lynn completely froze.
Three heads. Four legs. One pair of wings...
This is a dragon?
This is a hellhound-dragon hybrid, right?
"Gods above..."
Mormont walked to the forge's edge, staring at this deformed creation, voice warping.
"What in seven hells is that?"
He'd lived a lifetime, heard countless dragon legends.
Never heard of this form!
The three heads seemed to hear Mormont's voice, turning in unison toward him, releasing a juvenile yet layered roar.
One voice high-pitched. One deep. One sharp.
Mixed together—indescribably bizarre.
Mormont instinctively stepped back, hand on his sword hilt.
He stared at the little monster, brow furrowed, expression shifting.
Finally, he released a long sigh.
"Seems deformed... but it has a dragon's presence."
"Maester Aemon, what do you th—"
Mormont stopped mid-sentence, suddenly realizing.
Aemon was gone.
He fell silent for a long moment.
"Still a dragon, in the end."
Just then, the three heads turned back in unison.
Six eyes—all focused on Lynn kneeling on the ground.
The middle, largest head cautiously approached.
Using its still-mucus-covered snout, it gently nuzzled Lynn.
A surge of affection and dependence—through some mysterious connection—flooded Lynn's mind.
Lynn froze, then wild joy erupted in his heart!
Success!
But next second, his joy froze.
He tried using this mental connection to give the little one a simple command.
Like "raise your paw."
No response.
That connection—like a one-way door. He could feel its emotions but couldn't transmit his will.
This dragon doesn't obey him!
Lynn's heart sank.
Dragons only recognize ancient Valyrian blood and fire magic.
Its friendliness toward Lynn—only because it sensed familiar aura from him.
"Could it be Ice Magic?"
Lynn recalled secretly infusing the egg with Ice Magic.
"First, I'll have Jon try controlling it."
"If he can't either... I'll just have to use Ice Magic to help it remember properly."
The three-headed dragon finished nuzzling Lynn, then lowered its heads on its own.
The middle head munched contentedly on its broken shell.
The other two heads surveyed surroundings warily.
One even impatiently bared its teeth at those nearby.
This dragon's got quite the temper.
Lynn keenly noted this.
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