The camp lay deathly still.
Warhorses hung their heads, war elephants crouched low, and the Golden Company's ten thousand men held their breath beneath the Dragon Aura.
Anyone who had glimpsed that pale golden shadow of destruction or felt its presence crush their soul had succumbed to primal terror. Teeth chattered, and weapons slipped from trembling hands.
Amid the deathly silence, Jon Connington forced down his churning stomach and the weakness in his legs, hurrying after the black-clad figure striding toward the edge of the scorched ground.
Boot soles crunched softly over searing shards of glass.
They reached the soldiers, who stood frozen like stone statues.
Jon's sharp gaze swept over them and settled on a familiar face.
"Captain Marlos."
Marlos shuddered at the sound of his name. His eyes focused, then darted fearfully toward the expressionless Aegon standing in front of Jon.
"Listen carefully."
Jon stepped closer, his voice hoarse but every word hard as iron. "The Blackfyre rebels have been executed. The man beside me is the true Prince Aegon Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne."
He paused, giving Marlos time to absorb the staggering revelation.
"Now, in His Highness's name, I order you to summon every officer from every camp. Everyone still holding a rank of sergeant or above is to assemble on the eastern side of the drill ground immediately."
"This is an order, and their only chance to live. Go yourself."
All color drained from Marlos's face. His gaze darted wildly before his instinct to survive and his lingering obedience to Jon's authority finally overcame everything else.
He nodded hard, with all the strength he could muster, squeezed a broken "Yes" from his throat, then turned and stumbled deeper into the camp.
The faint light of dawn slowly washed across the horizon, diluting the