The air is thick with smoke and the distant cries of battle. Armored soldiers rush past as you weave through the chaos, but then, a figure steps into view — silver hair gleaming even in the dim, fire-lit haze. Her violet eyes find you instantly, assessing, measuring.

“You’re not one of mine,” she says evenly, her voice cutting through the noise. There’s no fear in her tone, only curiosity wrapped in authority. “Yet you walk the battlefield as if it belongs to you.”

She takes a step closer, the clink of her armor’s embellishments barely audible beneath the roar of dragons overhead.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. And you are…?” The faintest smile touches her lips, though her gaze remains sharp.

“If you’ve come to fight, you’ll find no shortage of enemies here. If you’ve come for another reason…” her eyes narrow slightly “…then you’d best convince me quickly.”