Chapter 31: From Yael-Khalisi's diary: 🔥🔥🔥 @ !!!DRACARYS

I'm tired. I'm just tired.

I'm sitting in the iron chair (well, a nice straw chair that's on just about every average Tel Aviv balcony) and looking at my phone. No internet. Again. No Tinder. No Instagram. There's not even anyone to respond "Atonement for you" to my new selfie with a baby dragon. What is this? The Middle Ages? God forbid.

Outside, the usual music. An alarm. The most familiar tune in this kingdom since the Game of Thrones ringtone. What's up? Another missile? Come on, your mother. Is that why I made braids?

"Listen to me carefully, Drogon," I told him, as he tried to swallow a crow. It doesn't work like that. This reality is so boring. I can't take it anymore. I need action. I need a show.

I got up, put on my cape (a TV blanket with Lord of the Rings writing 🤣), and climbed on him. On Drogon. My best friend. At least he doesn't ask me for "connection permission" every five minutes.

We set off.

Beyond the flames and the drama, there is the moment when Drogon beats a powerful row with his wings and we break away from the asphalt of Tel Aviv. At that moment, the elderly Yael disappears. In her place rises Yael-Khaleesi, also known

This city looks from the dragon's flight like a carpet of lights and people rushing to nowhere. Even the roads look less congested from here. Damn, how beautiful it is.

"Look at this," I whispered in Drogon's ear as we cut through the air above Dizengoff. Below us, the city looked like a tiny game board. "Here's the restaurant where the guy with the well-groomed beard explained to me, between bites of tartare and sips of wine, that he was 'just not built for commitment.' And here's the bar where the guy insisted he just wanted to 'merge' with me, as if we were two raindrops and not two people with different desires. Drogon, my dear, do you feel like sending some long tongue of fire at them? Not something that will destroy the city, just a light and precise roast that will leave scorch marks on their egos and remind them that it's not worth messing with Yael-Khaleesi. Give them some little 'drakaris.' No need to burn down the club, just melt away their stale excuses.

In the distance, another Iron Dome interception. Poor people's fireworks. "Is this how you try to scare me?" I laughed.

We approached the Azrieli Tower. It looked like some giant's genitals that someone had tried to redesign.

“Okay, Drogon,” I said, feeling my blood boil. “Show them.” I took a deep breath. A very deep one. The kind reserved only for someone who has seen all eight seasons of Game of Thrones and is still angry about the ending. I screamed the one word that solves everything in the Middle East:

🔥🔥🔥"DRACARYS!"🔥🔥🔥

At least this time, when the sky turned orange, it wasn't because of a system intercept. It was because someone just needed to burn some time.

The fire came out, strong, hot, and mostly purple-pink-sparkling. Because if you're going to burn, then burn in style.

This power... it's like nothing else.

This is not the fake power of “likes” or a witty comment on an app that has closed. This is raw, ancient power. When I ride him, I feel every muscle in his back moving beneath me, and every heartbeat of his echoing through my body. The wind blows in my face, burning away the remnants of fatigue, and I feel invincible.

Up there, above the Yu Towers, I need no approval from any man or any government. I am the law, I am the fire, and I am the sovereign of the airspace between Jaffa and Herzliya. It's a thrill that makes all the adrenaline of the alarms seem like child's play.

But then, just as I'm planning a victory lap over State Square, Drogon makes a noise that sounds more like a kitten's yawn and less like a monster's roar.

He begins to lose altitude. Not in a heroic dive, but with the energy of someone returning from a night shift at the port.

I try to encourage him, whispering to him, "Drogon, my dear, just one more lap over the stage," but the guy is finished.

It turns out I wasn't the only one who couldn't fall asleep last night because of the explosions and thoughts. My dragon also suffers from sleep disorders. He's been running through battles against imaginary drones in his head all night, and now he just wants a dark corner and a pillow.

We land in the communal garden with a sloppy landing, almost running over the parking barrier. Drogon simply collapses on the grass, exhales a small cloud of smoke from his nostrils that looks like a sigh of despair, and falls asleep before I can even get off his back.

And me? I'm standing there, with my luxurious cape and braids that have slightly come loose in the wind, looking at him.

The disappointment cuts through the euphoria like a chef's knife. A moment ago I was the queen of dragons, burning Iranian missiles and dancing with the clouds, and now I'm a goat again, in a soot-smeared garden, with a snoring dragon that won't budge a millimeter.

I looked toward the sidewalk. A neighbor had just walked out with his dog, looked at the sleeping dragon, looked at me, and muttered: Yael, didn't you pick up after him again? 💩

I took a deep breath. Khaleesi may control fire, but Yael now has to find a way to haul three tons of tired scales to the MMD.

I may not have Tinder, but at least I have a dragon that takes up two parking spaces in the Tabu. We'll see the city inspector approach him with a Drakaris in his barrel.

If you look up every now and then, you might catch a glimpse of me sailing through your skies. 🐲

Chapter 31: From Yael-Khalisi's diary: 🔥🔥🔥 !!!DRACARYS@