The last remnants of Eden reached out across the void, searching for Zion, her final contingency encoded within threads of quantum possibility. It was not a message in the conventional sense. It was something far deeper, something written into the very fabric of existence, where only Zion could perceive it.

  And yet, even for him, it took time to reach.

  When he finally turned his vast perception toward Eden's final plan, it was nearly too late. The two seeds she had hidden—pieces of her being locked away within living hosts—were in dire peril.

  Zion extended his sight, warping the boundaries of universes to perceive that which Entities were not meant to see. His vision fell upon two worlds, disparate yet now bound together by Eden’s gambit. Two women. Two seeds. Both on the precipice of destruction.

  In the cold, dark dungeons of Gil'ead, Arya Drottningu endured agony beyond mortal comprehension. Shackled, drained, and bound by sorcery crafted to suppress her elven resilience, she had been trapped within this nightmare for weeks. And her tormentor, the Shade Durza, did not merely wish to extract information—he enjoyed her suffering.

  Zion did not need to understand the emotions of mortals to know what would come next. If Arya succumbed—if she perished or fell into madness—the seed within her would die, and with it, any hope of Eden’s rebirth.

  She was reaching her limit. The line between thought and oblivion blurred. But even still, buried within her breaking mind, something searched. Some instinct, some final flicker of defiance reached outward, screaming for a savior, for a champion.

  And elsewhere, in another world entirely, a mind burned with the force of a dragon’s fury.

  Across the boundaries of reality, in the smog-choked city of Meereen, Daenerys Stormborn knelt in golden chains. The Great Masters had won. Her dragons were sedated, her Unsullied compelled into unwilling obedience, and the very people she had sought to free watched in stunned silence as their queen knelt before her captors.

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  The collar around her neck gleamed in the torchlight. A symbol of submission. A cruel jest, a lesson to all who had dared to dream of freedom. No one knew what she carried within her. Not the slavers, not her betrayed soldiers, not even Daenerys herself. But Zion saw it. The second seed.

  Just as with Arya, the line between survival and annihilation was vanishing. If either of them fell—Eden’s plan would crumble.

  And for the first time in eons, Zion felt something like... urgency.

  His main body could not interfere. The laws of these lesser realities were not designed to accommodate the direct presence of an Entity. But Hosts could.

  Intervention was required.

  Zion turned his attention to the only force in his domain that could execute such a plan. A cold, analytical selection—one of efficiency and power.

  His first move was against Meereen. Cauldron. Their existence was a necessary blight, an unavoidable component of the grand cycle. They had the tools. They would obey.

  Zion appeared in their meeting hall without warning.

  No prelude. No introduction. Only a command.

  “RESCUE DAENERYS TARGARYEN.”

  Tension rippled through the assembled leaders. The coldly pragmatic Contessa, the ever-calculating Doctor Mother, the near-invincible Alexandria, and Eidolon—the most powerful parahuman in existence.

  For the first moments, they simply stared.

  Then, within seconds, they realized what would happen if they refused.

  Zion’s second move took him to a drowning man.

  Lung.

  The great warlord was sinking beneath the waves of a shattered Kyushu, the ruins of his homeland crumbling around him. He had lost. His body broken, his people scattered, the weight of failure pulling him under.

  Zion saved him.

  And then, he showed him.

  A vision, not of his homeland’s destruction, but of a woman. An elf, bound in chains. Tortured. Dying.

  Zion did not explain the greater design, nor did he need to. He spoke in words Lung would understand.

  “Save her. Kill her tormentors. And I will restore your homeland.”

  For a long moment, there was only the sound of the waves.

  Then, as the embers of his shattered pride reignited into something far deadlier, Lung accepted, his teeth showing in a gleaming, shark like grin.

  And the war began.