Aegon Reborn: The Last Targaryen

Jon stood over Rhazdar's body, his mind racing. The magister's final words echoed in his head.

"You are not the only Targaryen left."

Was it a lie? A desperate attempt to deceive him? Or was there truth buried in those final breaths?

Ghost growled low, his ears pricked toward the open balcony. The assassin had vanished into the night, but the attack only confirmed one thing—someone didn't want this secret uncovered.

Jon wasted no time. He retrieved the second scroll from the desk and tucked it away with the first. There would be time to decipher their meaning later. Now, he needed to escape before more guards arrived.

Slipping through the shadows, he made his way out of the estate, avoiding patrols with the ease of a man who had spent years navigating dangers far greater than this.

By the time he reached the lower city, the streets had emptied, save for a few wandering drunks and street merchants packing away their wares. The scent of the sea clung to the warm air, mingling with the distant sounds of laughter from taverns still awake at this hour.

Jon kept moving. He had a meeting to keep.

Mylaro's hideout was tucked within the winding alleys of Pentos, far from the prying eyes of magisters and lords. The information broker had chosen his dwelling well—surrounded by narrow passages, impossible to approach unseen.

Jon entered cautiously, his hand resting on Longclaw's hilt.

Mylaro sat at a low table, sipping from a cup of wine. He barely looked up as Jon entered. "You've got blood on your cloak. I assume that means things didn't go smoothly?"

Jon tossed the scroll onto the table. "Rhazdar is dead."

Mylaro's smile faded. "That was not part of the plan."

"Someone killed him before he could speak." Jon sat opposite the man, watching his reaction closely. "But before he died, he told me something."

Mylaro raised an eyebrow. "And what was that?"

Jon's voice was steady. "That I am not the only Targaryen left."

For the first time, Mylaro's mask slipped. It was subtle—a flicker of something in his eyes, a shift in his posture—but Jon saw it.

He knew.

Jon leaned forward. "Tell me what you know."

The merchant sighed, setting his cup down. "You've stepped into something far greater than you realize, Snow."

Jon didn't blink. "Then explain it to me."

Mylaro hesitated, then reached for the scroll. He unrolled it, scanning the words in High Valyrian. A long silence followed before he finally spoke.

"There was a woman. A bastard. Born in secret, hidden away after the fall of the Targaryens."

Jon's breath caught. "Where?"

Mylaro exhaled. "In the Free Cities." He met Jon's gaze. "If she lives, she is your only kin."

Jon's thoughts swirled. A hidden Targaryen, alive somewhere in Essos? If she existed, she was in danger.

Just as he had been.

Jon rose. "Where do I start?"

Mylaro smirked. "There are whispers in Braavos. If you want answers, that's where you'll find them."

Braavos. The city of water, of swords, of faceless men.

Jon clenched his fist.

He had come to Essos searching for knowledge about dragons. Now, he had found something far greater.

His journey was no longer just about Morghalax.

It was about family.

And if there was another Targaryen out there, Jon Snow would find them.