The horn of winter lay quietly on the ground, massive and pitch-black, its ancient runes shimmering with a faint light under the moonlight.
Ghidorah's left dragon head leaned closer, almost touching the horn.
Its molten gold vertical pupils stared intently, nostrils quivering, as a low, eager rumble issued from its throat; the tip of its tail even flicked the ground unconsciously, kicking up fine sand.
It looked just like a big cat that had spotted its favorite snack.
Aegon watched this rather contrasting scene, feeling a bit amused yet thoughtful.
He curled his finger and gently tapped the hard scales near the eye socket of the left head.
"Do you want this?" he asked softly, lifting the horn.
The left head immediately nodded up and down, the movement so large it stirred a gust of wind; the purring grew louder, its gaze fixed firmly on the horn, making no effort to hide its longing.
This commotion "disturbed" the other two heads that were dozing.
The middle head slowly rose, dragon eyes half-open, its majestic gaze sweeping over the horn before looking at Aegon with scrutiny and assessment.
It appeared much more composed, only leaning in slightly to carefully sniff the faint, ancient chill emanating from the horn, letting out a low, steady hum from its throat as if evaluating something.
The right head seemed somewhat impatient; it shook its head irritably, let out a snort scented with sparks, glanced at the horn, and then at the "greedy" look of the left head.
A hoarse sound came from its throat, as if it were disdainful of its companion's lack of dignity, but its gaze also lingered for a few more seconds before it lay back down, though its pricked ears showed it was still paying attention.
Three heads, three reactions.
Aegon's gaze moved between them, finally falling back onto the heavy black horn in his hand.
Mance Rayder had once wanted to use it to wake the giants beneath the earth and sound the horn of war.
It was undoubtedly precious, containing ancient and powerful strength.
But... he looked up at Ghidorah's majestic middle head, then at its mountain-like body, feeling the deep, sea-like power and closeness transmitted through their soul connection.
This dragon, which shared his life and death and was one with him in heart and mind, was the foundation of everything he had—an irreplaceable partner and the source of his power.
No matter how good the horn was, it was ultimately an external object.
If it could benefit Ghidorah even a little, it would be far better than keeping an ancient relic he didn't know how to use correctly.
Once the thought was settled, there was no more hesitation.
"It seems you really want it."
Aegon said to the left head that was waiting with bated breath, his lips curling slightly.
He no longer hesitated, using both hands to push the heavy black horn toward the open dragon mouth with its jagged teeth.
Ghidorah's left head let out a cheerful low cry and leaned forward impatiently, "catching" the horn precisely.
Its movements even carried a hint of caution, as if afraid Aegon would change his mind.
Then, under Aegon's expectant gaze... no magnificent scene of brilliant light or surging energy occurred.
Ghidorah simply held the horn in its mouth, and its massive jaws began to exert force.
Crack... crunch, crunch... a dull, tooth-aching sound, like rock being crushed, came from the dragon's mouth.
That incredibly hard black horn, which had not decayed over long ages, was easily bitten to pieces under Ghidorah's sharp teeth like a specially made, extremely hard biscuit.
The shattered fragments were further crushed and ground in the dragon's mouth, making a crunching sound.
It even chewed quite seriously; the left head tilted slightly, its molten gold vertical pupils half-squinted, showing a satisfied and focused "tasting" expression.
Occasionally, tiny black crumbs with dim runes fell from the corner of its mouth, but they were curled back in by its nimble tongue before they could hit the ground.
Before long, the chewing stopped.
Ghidorah's throat bobbed, making a clear swallowing sound.
The entire horn of winter was thus chewed up and swallowed by it like a snack.
After finishing, it licked the corners of its mouth as if wanting more, and then all three heads let out satisfied, low purrs.
They slowly lowered themselves, resting their heads on their folded wings once more. Their six dragon eyes half-closed comfortably, as if they had enjoyed a nice late-night snack; sleepiness welled up, and they soon returned to that state of lazy dozing.
It seemed... there were no earth-shattering changes?
No.
Aegon felt it clearly.
Through that soul-linked bond, the previous vague state—where power growth seemed to have stalled and there was even a tiny, subtle hint of hunger—had quietly vanished.
In its place was a sense of fullness, stability, and even a slightly warm feeling of satisfaction.
It was like parched soil receiving just the right amount of moisture, or a dying campfire being fed high-quality new wood.
Ghidorah's own aura seemed more solid and restrained, but the more obvious change was the restoration of its state.
Aegon realized that since arriving in this low-magic world, Ghidorah's rapid growth and powerful strength, besides its own divine nature, had likely been continuously consuming the special energy provided by that Dead Dragon.
That energy was not infinite, and the ancient power contained within the horn of winter had just happened to replenish that consumption, possibly even bringing some deeper benefits.
Looking at the three heads that had fallen back into peaceful sleep, the last trace of uncertainty in Aegon's heart dissipated.
It was worth it.
The night breeze brushed through the courtyard, bringing the scent of the sea.
Aegon took one last look at the massive dragon body, which seemed to be plated in silver under the moonlight, and turned to leave.
Returning to his bedroom, the fatigue accumulated over several days finally surged up.
The city had just been settled, everything was waiting to be rebuilt, and there were countless challenges ahead.
But at this moment, feeling the steady and full breathing coming from the other end of his soul, Aegon's heart also settled.
He collapsed onto the bed, and almost the instant his head touched the pillow, his consciousness sank into a sweet, dark dream.
Three days later, when the morning light once again illuminated the Governors Mansion, Luciana brought news from Tyrosh.
As she entered the study, she held a letter sealed with the griffin wax of House Clinton.
Her face bore a faint weariness from staying up all night, but those beautiful pale purple eyes remained clear and sharp.
"Your Highness."
She placed the letter on the desk, the wax seal intact.
An urgent letter from Ser Jon, arrived this morning by fast ship. The messenger is waiting in the side hall.
Aegon picked up the letter; the wax seal was perfect, clearly Luciana had not opened it without permission.
He used a letter opener to slice through the wax and unfolded the parchment.
He looked up at her and asked casually, "How is the situation in Lys?"
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