Garth's head throbbed painfully as he slowly regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the fading light of dusk. He found himself within a makeshift enclosure.

Memories of the Dothraki raid flashed through his mind, Jason trying to fight them off, being captured.

A distinct voice, notably not of Lhazar but instead carrying the familiar tones of home, called out from his side.

"You're finally awake," said a man with a thick Northern accent. Garth turned to see a sturdy figure, unmistakably a Northman, observing him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"It'll be good to have someone to talk with until... well, you know," the Northman said, his tone grim.

Garth's throat felt parched as he attempted to speak. "How long have I been…?" he managed to croak.

"About a day now," the Northman replied. He then nodded toward a Lhazareen woman who was attentively caring for another captive.

"She's the one you should thank. She's been tending to your wounds ever since you were brought here."

Garth's eyes followed the direction indicated, landing on the godswife.

"Their healing skills are renowned," the Northman commented, admiration in his voice.

"What's a Westerosi doing so far from home?" he added looking at Garth.

Garth struggled to sit up, his body protesting with aches and pains from the ordeal.

"I'm... I'm a maester," Garth managed to say, his voice weak.

"A maester, huh? That's a rare sight out here. You're a long way from The Citadel," the Northman said.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Garth acknowledged, his thoughts still somewhat muddled. "And you? What brings a Northman so far from home?"

The Northman's demeanor hardened slightly as he recounted his tale. "I've been here guarding merchant caravans for about ten years without issue. Then this cunt of a khal came along and decided to mess everything up."

Introducing himself, Garth extended his hand as best as he could, given their confinement. "I'm Garth."

"Cregan," the man returned the introduction.

"Don't fret too much, Maester. You, the girl, and I, we're valuable. I might end up in the fighting pits, she could fetch a good price for her knowledge of healing, and you—a trained maester from The Citadel—you'll be quite the prize once they recognize what you are," Cregan said, offering a grim piece of reassurance.

"We might not even make it to the auction block," he said with a hint of a smile.

Cregan looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "And why's that?" he asked, skepticism evident in his voice.

Garth leaned in, lowering his voice despite the unlikely chance of being overheard in their confined space. "My friend, he's out there. He'll come for us."

Cregan's response was a booming laugh. "One man will come and save us?" he continued laughing. "The gods must have sent me a jesting maester to keep spirits high in these grim times."

"He's more than just a man," Garth insisted, his tone earnest. "He has...abilities. Things you wouldn't believe even if I told you."

This elicited another round of laughter from Cregan, who shook his head in amusement. "I’ll play along, Maester. And what makes this friend of yours so special?" he asked.

Garth remained unfazed, meeting Cregan's gaze. "He has abilities, magic… He's not just a man; he's something more."

"I've heard some tall tales in my time, but this one might just take the prize."

Garth, undeterred, pressed on. "I know how it sounds, but it's the truth."

"You truly believe he's going to march into a Dothraki camp, filled with hundreds of warriors, just to save us? And with what? This magic you claim he possesses? I'm starting to think you are truly mad."

"He will come for us; then you’ll see," Garth said as he leaned on the wooden bars of the cage they were in. He knew Jason would not abandon him. He could easily handle the Dothraki with his powers; he just hoped he survived the raid.

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Jason's journey to the Dothraki camp where Garth had been taken was long, marked by intervals of rest as his leg, broken in the earlier skirmish, gradually mended itself, allowing him to ride longer stretches without the gnawing pain that had initially plagued him.

He arrived at the city of Kosrak, having seen it besieged in the memories extracted from the Dothraki warrior. The sight that greeted him was one of desolation and sorrow.

Jason reined in his horse, surveying the aftermath of the Dothraki raid. The city, once full of life, now lay in ruins, its buildings reduced to smoldering rubble, and its streets eerily silent. He dismounted, his gaze scanning the devastated landscape for any sign of life.

To his relief, amidst the destruction, there were survivors—haggard, frightened souls who had somehow managed to escape the Dothraki's wrath.

Knowing the camp was near, he decided to ask them if they knew where it was.He approached the survivors, they were wary of him, but he managed to get the location of the camp from one of them.

"The Dothraki camp," the man began, his voice trembling, "is to the east, not far from here. They've set up near the banks of the Skahazadhan, where the land dips into a shallow valley."

Jason nodded, committing the details to memory. "Thank you," he said.

"Wait, you're not thinking of going there, are you?" the man asked.

Jason met the man's gaze. "I am."

The man looked at him with a mixture of awe and concern. "You're either brave... or mad," he muttered.

"More mad than brave, I guess," Jason replied before jumping on his horse and riding to where the camp was.

As dusk painted the sky in shades of orange and purple, Jason arrived at the camp. The encampment was vast, a sea of tents stretching across the open plain, illuminated by the flickering lights of numerous large fires. Their glow cast long shadows on the ground.

He dismounted, his injured leg protesting slightly at the action, but he ignored the discomfort. Stealth was essential, and he needed to understand the layout of the camp and the position of its guards before making any moves.

Jason moved with caution, using the tall grass and occasional outcrops of rock as cover. His eyes darted from one point to another, taking in the locations of the tents.

The large and ornate one was likely the abode of the Khal and the ones near it must belong to his inner circle.

"What did Garth call them again?" Jason wondered.

"Yes, Bloodriders," he remembered.

The camp was arranged in such a way that the largest tent was in the middle, with the rest made in a circular formation around it.

The captives' pens caught his attention, located on the far side of the camp, away from the central commotion of the Dothraki's evening activities. He could make out figures, some standing, some sitting, all confined within a makeshift enclosure guarded by a handful of Dothraki warriors.

With night rapidly approaching, Jason knew the cover of darkness would provide an advantage, but it would also bring its own challenges. He retreated to the shadows, formulating a plan to infiltrate the camp under the veil of night.

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Qotho was a seasoned warrior of the Dothraki, priding himself on his vigilance and often assigned to guard the camp’s perimeter. His keen senses were attuned to the night, yet tonight, a puzzling unease crept into his heart.

As he patrolled the edge of the camp, every rustle of the grass, every shift of the wind, seemed amplified, as though the night itself whispered warnings. Qotho shook off the feeling, chiding himself for allowing such thoughts to take hold. He was Dothraki; he feared nothing.

Then, without warning, a sharp, searing pain exploded at the base of his skull. Before he could react, before he could even utter a sound, unseen forces gripped him, dragging him into the darkness.

The world around him faded, the sounds of the camp, the crackle of fires, and the distant laughter of his brothers-in-arms disappearing as if swallowed by the earth itself. He was alone, utterly alone, in a darkness so complete it threatened to consume him. And then, there was nothing. Qotho's consciousness slowly slipped away.

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Haggo, ever vigilant in his duties, stood guard near the pens. It was a normal night until he heard a sound inside the nearby tent.

Curiosity piqued, Haggo moved towards the source of the disturbance, his hand on the hilt of his arakh, ready for any threat. Yet, as he approached, the air around him grew inexplicably cold, a chill that seeped into his bones.

Then, there was a sensation, a feeling of being watched by unseen eyes, a presence lurking just beyond reach. Haggo spun around, his warrior instincts on high alert, but found nothing but the empty night staring back at him.

Before he could shout, before he could even raise his arakh in defense, he was propelled backward with terrifying force. Haggo's world became a whirlwind of motion as he was hurled into the darkness of the tent.

The fabric of the tent enveloped him like a shroud, twisting and tightening around his body in an unyielding grip. Haggo fought, his screams muffled by the thick cloth that seemed to come alive, wrapping around him tighter and tighter, suffocating him in its embrace.

Panic surged through his veins as he clawed at his fabric prison, but to no avail. The more he struggled, the more the tent seemed to consume him, dragging him deeper into its folds. After a while, he stopped fighting and gave in to the approaching darkness.

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Zollo, tasked with the solemn duty of guarding the pens holding the captives, felt an unease he couldn't shake. The night was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of the camp muffled, as if the land itself held its breath.

It was this silence that heightened Zollo's senses. The stillness was abruptly shattered by the sound of metal clanging. Zollo spun towards the noise, his hand reaching for the hilt of his arakh, expecting to face a tangible foe. Instead, his eyes found nothing but the empty air and the shadows cast by the flickering light of the nearby torches.

That's when it struck—an invisible force, cold and oppressive, wrapping around him like the coils of a giant serpent. Panic surged as he felt himself being squeezed, the air forced from his lungs, his struggles futile against the relentless grip.

In a desperate bid for air, Zollo's mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound emerged, the invisible force smothering him in its embrace. As his vision began to blur, the last thing Zollo saw was a dark figure making his way towards him.

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With the last Dothraki taken care of, Jason moved closer to the pens. They were crude enclosures of wood and rope.

Navigating the camp had been a perilous task, fraught with the danger of discovery. Yet, Jason had managed to neutralize the guards one by one, using his telekinetic abilities with precise and silent efficiency.

The bodies were hidden away in the shadows, ensuring no immediate alarm would be raised. It was a grim task, but necessary for what he had come to do.

He approached the pens, his gaze sweeping over the captives until it landed on Garth. The sight of his friend, alive but worn, brought a wave of relief.

"Garth!" Jason called out softly, not wanting to startle the others.

Garth, recognizing Jason's silhouette against the dim light, called out his name, a mixture of disbelief and joy in his voice.

"Jason! By the Seven, you actually came!" Garth exclaimed.

Garth's head shot up, his expression one of disbelief morphing into joy.

"Of course. Did you think I was going to leave you behind?" Jason said.

Jason saw another man staring at him with an expression of disbelief. Seeing this, Garth introduced them.

"This is Cregan," Garth introduced, nodding towards the Northman.

"Nice to meet you, Cregan," Jason said, nodding in acknowledgment.

"I am going to get you out of here," Jason said as his gaze then fell on the crude locking mechanism that held the pen's gate shut.

He concentrated, extending his hand towards the lock. The captives, including Cregan, watched in stunned silence, their disbelief shattered only by Garth's laughter at their astonishment. The rope binding the gate fell away, allowing the gate to swing open freely.

Cregan's eyes widened in amazement, and he took a step back, his earlier skepticism replaced by a mix of fear and wonder. "How did you...?"

he started to ask, but Jason cut him off with a gesture for silence.

"There's no time to explain. We need to move fast," Jason said, his voice low but urgent.

As the gate swung open, Jason stepped aside. Garth approached Jason, attempting an awkward hug despite his restraints.

"Let's remove those," Jason said, effortlessly freeing Garth from his shackles.

The rest of the captives kept their distance from Jason. Cregan and a woman remained close. The woman, a godswife from Kosrak, couldn't tear her eyes away from Jason, it was as if he was the embodiment of every answer she'd ever sought.

Jason turned to Garth, "We need to get these people organized if we're going to make it out."

Cregan, hearing this, approached the godswife who was staring at Jason.

“Godswife, tell these people there’s nothing to fear. This man is here to help us,” Cregan asked, but he received no answer as the woman kept staring at Jason.

Cregan and Garth tried to talk to her, only to be met with silence. However, the godswife remained fixated on Jason, breaking her silence only to question him directly.

"Are you a god?"

Jason, taken aback by her intense gaze, responded half-jokingly in English, "Sure, let's go with that," before switching back to Lhazareen to assure her.

"Yes, I am a god. Tell everyone to stay calm and do the same for the others when I free them."

Motivated by Jason's command, the godswife sprang into action, soothing the captives as Jason proceeded to liberate the rest.

"What now?" Garth inquired. Jason noted that Cregan was now armed with an arakh, likely acquired from one of the dispatched Dothraki.

Jason's eyes were set on the camp's heart. "Wait for my signal. I'm heading to the center," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Garth protested, "Are you mad? We can leave now!"

Jason shook his head. "No, they'll see us. I'm ending this once and for all," he affirmed.

Garth's concern was evident. "You can't mean..."

"Yes," Jason interrupted, firm in his decision.

"But there's too many," Garth argued, the worry clear in his voice.

"Don't worry. I have a plan. Wait for my signal, then make your move," Jason instructed, turning away to face the tents.

"And what signal will that be?" Garth called after him.

"You'll know when it starts," Jason assured, disappearing into the shadows of the camp, ready to enact his daring plan.

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Jason made his way to the center of the camp, abandoning any pretense of stealth. He moved with purpose through the camp, his presence initially unnoticed amidst the raucous celebrations of victory. However, when discovered by Dothraki warriors, he dispatched them quickly with his powers, leaving no obstacle in his path.

Reaching the center, Jason's gaze locked onto the Khal, seated upon a makeshift throne.

“Hello,” Jason called out in Dothraki.

He was not heard.

“Ah, well, plan B then,” Jason said to himself.

To draw the Khal's attention and that of the entire camp, Jason decided to employ a dramatic display of power. He found a Dothraki man nearby and levitated him directly into the heart of a large fire.

Screams of the Dothraki filled the camp. The spectacle seized the immediate focus of all within the camp, their revelry replaced by stunned silence.

As the shock wore away, Dothraki warriors charged towards him, brandishing their weapons. Jason unleashed a powerful kinetic blast, effortlessly repelling their assault. This display of force instilled a sense of fear among the warriors.

The Khal, his face contorted in a mix of fear and defiance, spat out the word, "Meagi," an accusation and a curse rolled into one.

Jason, unshaken, met the Khal's gaze with a calm smile.

"You think your tricks will save you? Jhoggo will crush you himself and claim whatever sorcery you possess," the Khal retorted, his voice a mix of bravado and desperation.

"Will you now?" Jason's reply was smooth, almost amused.

“It’s time to end this,” Jason said in Dothraki.

The Khal let out a dismissive laugh. “End what? You are what is about to end.”

Before the Khal's mirth could fade, a peculiar, unsettling sound pierced the quiet—a hum, soft yet ominous, that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The Dothraki warriors found themselves glancing around nervously, unease spreading rapidly through their ranks.

With a swift command from the Khal, one of his blood riders, one of the most fearsome among the Khalssar, charged towards Jason. But before the blood rider could reach him, something unforeseen occurred: a spear-like object descended from the sky with deadly precision, impaling the rider and halting his charge abruptly.

A stunned silence fell over the camp. Even the Khal looked stunned.

Then, without warning, the night sky came alive with a barrage of similar spear-like objects. They rained down upon the camp, each strike with pinpoint accuracy, impaling Dothraki warriors with terrifying efficiency. The sounds of screaming Dothraki permeated throughout the camp as every Dothraki except the Khal, who was being held down by Jason, fell dead.

"Cease this madness!" the Khal bellowed, his voice cracking with fear.

Jason, unyielding, met the Khal's plea with a cold reply.

"No," he stated firmly.

A scream escaped the Khal's mouth as Jason broke the bones in his legs and arms.

He left him there alive and walked in the direction of Garth and the others.

Jason was getting tired, so he quickly made his way through the now empty camp; most of the Dothraki were either killed by him or had escaped.

Garth was the first to spot Jason emerging from the darkness, a mixture of relief and awe written across his face. "Jason!" he called out.

"You did it," Garth said, approaching him and pulling him into an embrace.

Jason nodded, his gaze sweeping over the faces of those he had freed. They looked at him with an expression he found difficult to decipher.

"Let's move," Jason commanded, his voice cutting through the silence that had fallen over the group. The Lhazareen, though weary and battered, rallied at his words, finding strength in his presence.

“Where do we go?” Garth asked.

“Kosrak. It’s nearby. We can decide what’s next after that,” Jason said.

The mention of Kosrak sparked a flicker of hope among the Lhazareen.

Cregan, still clutching the arakh, stepped forward. "Lead the way, then. You've earned my trust, and likely that of everyone here."

The godswife came near him, still staring at him. "A god among us," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone in particular.

Understanding the need for leadership, Jason addressed the group. “We move to Kosrak. Stay close and don’t wander off.”

With that, Jason began leading the freed Lhazareen to the city.