Valyria's smoke and ash had lingered for a thousand years.
As King Ghidorah's vast, pale-gold shadow swept once more over the twisted black mountains buried in volcanic ash, over rivers of hardened lava and shattered buildings, through the sulfur and death that filled the air year-round, a trace of cold indifference stirred in Aegon's heart.
Once, this place had been his hell.
The mercenaries' betrayal, Euron's cruelty, Corlyon's blood sacrifice-every step had fallen on a knife's edge, every breath risked drawing in lethal, cursed dust.
He had struggled to survive here, exhausting his cunning and courage to win a sliver of hope.
Now he had returned, and his state of mind was entirely different.
King Ghidorah spread its wings, its six molten-gold slit pupils gazing coldly down at the cursed land below.
To Aegon now, this deathtrap, which had left countless explorers without even bones to bury, was merely a private garden from which he could take whatever he pleased.
King Ghidorah's very existence was the strongest protection and the finest tool for exploration.
It needed no guidance from Aegon. Its ancient, powerful instincts could easily sense the surviving creatures deep within the ruins that gave off fluctuations of energy.
Those were its prey.
Over the past few days, they had ventured deep into the Smoking Sea and the ruins.
King Ghidorah had devoured several twisted monsters.
A warped, tentacled monster lurking in the Smoking Sea, a black-scaled predator hiding deep within a rift, and even a flying monster that resembled a dragon but possessed little intelligence and knew only slaughter.
But King Ghidorah's feedback had come through clearly: junk food. Scant energy, poor taste, hideous appearance.
It was like asking a king accustomed to the finest steaks to gnaw on moldy black bread.
It needed better fuel.
At that