Victarion felt a chill run through him as he waved for two Ironborn to carry the horns forward.
One was enormous, pitch-black from end to end, inlaid with fiery red-gold runes that seemed to flow like molten lava. It was the dragon horn known as Dragonbinder.
The other was slightly smaller but no less ancient, fashioned from a material that looked like ivory and ice at once, set with icy-blue runes. This was the Horn of Winter, taken from the Citadel.
Both horns were placed before Lord Leyton and Malora.
Lord Leyton stared at the two horns steeped in ill omen, and the last shreds of his sanity filled him with overwhelming terror. Struggling violently, he screamed, "Euron, what are you trying to do?! These are magical artifacts, cursed objects!"
Euron answered only with a cold sneer. His blood-red raven eye narrowed slightly as it fixed on Leyton.
Lord Leyton's body suddenly went rigid. His eyes turned dull and empty, like a puppet with its strings pulled tight, every trace of resistance wiped away in an instant.
"Force it on them," Euron ordered.
The Ironborn bound the unresisting Lord Leyton to a stone pillar at the top of the tower. Five or six men then lifted the massive, heavy Dragon Horn and roughly jammed its mouthpiece against his lips.
On the other side, Malora picked up the icy-blue Horn of Winter of her own accord. She stroked its frigid runes, her voice filled with obsessive curiosity as she asked, "If I blow it… what will happen? Will I gain power?"
Euron laughed darkly. "Of course, my dear lady. You will gain… power beyond that of mortals."
He sneered inwardly. Having pored over countless forbidden tomes from across the world, he knew the true origins and limitations of both horns.
Their reach was limited, but that was precisely why he had chosen this moment. With the vast magical energy converging atop the High Tower, he would amplify their sound without limit, sending it to every corner of the world. Dragons would be enslaved, and the giants beneath the earth would awaken.
That was why he had no concern for the Easterner and had come to Oldtown first. Once the horns were sounded, the Easterner's Dragon would have no choice but to crawl at his feet.
Under Euron's control, Lord Leyton drew in a deep breath, his chest swelling, then blew with all his strength into the Dragon Horn.
Almost at the same moment, Malora raised the Horn of Winter to her lips, a crazed smile on her face, and sounded it with all her might.
"Woooooo—!!"
"Vmmmm—!!"
Two utterly different yet equally soul-piercing horn calls erupted at once, merging into a single song of ice and fire.
The Dragon Horn released a low, searing roar, like thunder rolling up from the depths of a magma hell. Its red-gold runes writhed like living serpents of lava, blazing with blinding light as the horn itself grew scorching hot.
The Horn of Winter answered with a sharp, piercing wail, like the howl of an ancient polar gale. Its ice-blue runes flashed, exuding a cold that seemed capable of freezing the soul.
The two dreadful sounds did not fade into the air. Instead, they were swallowed up and magnified by the surging crimson torrent of magical energy at the tower's summit.
They shot upward along the pillar of light that pierced heaven and earth, merged into the torn sky, and then spread outward like invisible shockwaves, racing across the entire world.
The Ironborn on the tower were the first to suffer. They clutched their ears in agony as blood seeped from their mouths, noses, and ears. Inside their bodies, it felt as if molten lava boiled while frost crystallized at the same time. They rolled on the ground in torment, wishing for death.
The blowers themselves endured the most direct backlash.
Lord Leyton's body turned crimson at a visible rate. Countless fiery cracks spread across his skin like a drought-split wasteland, glowing as if molten lava flowed beneath them. His clothes instantly carbonized into ash, while scalding steam and black smoke poured from his eyes, nose, and mouth. He looked like a furnace on the verge of exploding.
Malora, meanwhile, was rapidly encased in a thick shell of blue-black ice. Her skin turned a sickly purplish hue, covered in eerie crystalline patterns. Frost coated her hair and brows as her life force drained away, leaving her like a statue frozen to death in an instant.
These two horn calls, laden with terrifying magical power, crossed vast distances and echoed through many corners of Westeros.
…
Somewhere in the Red Mountains.
A feral silver Dragon, ten feet long, was tearing into the carcass of a wild bull.
Suddenly, it snapped its head up. Its pale golden slit pupils shrank violently, filled with searing pain and savage fury.
The sound of the Dragon's horn scorched its mind like a red-hot brand.
With an enraged, agonized roar, it flung its wings wide, abandoning its meal without a second thought, and shot southward in a mad rush toward the source of the horn call.
…
Beyond the Wall, at a wildling encampment.
Mance Rayder, King-Beyond-the-Wall, stood staring anxiously at the towering Wall.
The threat of the Others was closing in by the day, yet the Wall remained an impassable chasm standing in his way.
In his hand was an object believed to be the Horn of Winter, originally meant to threaten Bowen Marsh, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
Just then, the two all-penetrating horn blasts rolled across the land.
"What was that?"
Mance sprang to his feet, his face changing instantly.
"The Night's Watch? Have they launched a full assault and sounded all their horns?"
He turned at once and shouted to Tormund beside him, who looked just as alarmed and uncertain.
"Quick! Gather the men! Prepare—"
Before he could finish, the ground beneath them began to quake violently.
This was no ordinary tremor. It felt as though the entire frozen North was groaning and cracking apart.
Wildlings everywhere lost their footing, crying out as they fell to the ground.
Then they saw a sight they would remember for the rest of their lives.
Ahead of them, the colossal ice wall that had protected humanity for eight thousand years, the Wall itself, erupted with a thunderous roar in response to the ice-blue horn.
Enormous slabs of ice tore free from its surface, crashing down like a mountain collapse and throwing snow and frost high into the air.
At the same time, vast, hideous fissures spread rapidly across the Wall, deep and bottomless, racing before the naked eye.
Crack… rumble—!!
"The… Wall!"
Tormund's mouth hung open, his beard trembling.
Mance Rayder was the first to break free of his shock. Despair and terror flooded him as he roared with every ounce of strength he had.
"Fall back! The Wall is going to collapse!"
His words had barely left his mouth when, amid earth-shaking thunder and the unending wail of the horns, a massive stretch of the Wall, spanning hundreds of miles, came crashing down.
Endless torrents of ice, snow, and millennia-old frozen stone poured down like a tidal wave, burying everything at the Wall's base.
Gasping for breath, Mance Rayder ran through the Haunted Forest. He glanced back to see the fallen Wall swallowed by a vast shroud of wind-driven snow and fog.
Within that swirling white haze, several enormous shapes seemed to be moving.
As the storm thinned and those gigantic silhouettes grew clearer, his pupils shrank sharply.
...
Redgrass Field.
Davos was about to step forward to ask about the future of the Stormlands when two horn blasts suddenly thundered in from the southwest, hammering against the ears and souls of everyone present. Countless nobles and soldiers clutched their ears in pain, faces twisted in agony.
Even the four dragons under Lo Quen's command grew restless, letting out low, threatening rumbles. The three Jaelena sisters hurried to calm them.
Lo Quen snapped his head toward the southwest, his brow drawn tight.
Luo Wen looked grim.
"Your Grace, that direction is Oldtown!"
Lo Quen's heart dropped.
Euron.
What has he done in Oldtown?!
"Ser Davos…"
Lo Quen asked sharply,
"You came from the Riverlands. What is the situation in the Reach?"
Ser Davos forced himself to endure the discomfort and replied,
"Your Grace, Euron's Ironborn have attacked the Reach. We tried to seek aid from Horn Hill, New Barrel, and Old Oak, but all of them refused."
"Horn Hill?"
Lo Quen seized on the key point at once.
"Has Samwell Tarly returned from the Wall?"
House Tarly should have been wiped out during the Lannister assault, with only Sam remaining.
"Yes, Your Grace," Davos answered.
Lo Quen's expression darkened instantly. He understood everything in that moment.
Samwell had most likely handed over the true Horn of Winter he found Beyond the Wall to the Citadel. And the Citadel was now in Euron's hands.
Combined with the horn calls echoing across the world, Euron's purpose was unmistakable. He meant to control all dragons and the giants.
Lo Quen looked at his own dragons. Though restless, they had not lost control, which eased him slightly. His dragons were different from the traditional Valyrian ones, deeply bound to his bloodline. The dragon horn seemed unable to wrest control from him by force.
Even so, the magical power spreading across the world still sent a chill through him.
"Ser Waymar!"
Lo Quen issued his orders rapidly.
"Find the nearest Maester immediately. Write to Lord Wyman and order him to send men to the Wall at once. If the Wall has collapsed, he is to evacuate all civilians of the North south of Moat Cailin at any cost!"
Waymar Royce stared at him in disbelief.
"Your Grace, the Wall collapsing? That's—"
"No time for explanations. Carry out the order!"
Lo Quen cut him off sharply, his gaze sweeping across the other nobles, who were still reeling.
"All of you are to mobilize your armies at once and march to Moat Cailin. Once there, devote everything to building defenses. Winter has come. If the Wall is breached, the army of the Others will arrive in no time. We must abandon the North and hold Moat Cailin at all costs!"
Abandon the North?
Hold Moat Cailin to the death?
An army of the Others?
The nobles exchanged looks, their faces filled with doubt and disbelief. But Lo Quen's tone, combined with the terrifying horn blasts moments earlier, left them no courage to question him.
Lo Quen then turned to Chai Yiq.
"Chai Yiq, ride Ashshadow back to Conquest Keep immediately. Tell Qyburn to transport everything he was ordered to stockpile to Westeros at once, and have him set up new production lines here as quickly as possible."
He had long since ordered Qyburn to mass-produce wildfire in preparation for a possible war against the Others. He treated the threat with extreme caution. Until the true extent of their power was known, he would prepare for the worst.
Finally, he looked to Jaelena and Janice.
"Jaelena, Janice, split up. One of you will lead troops to clear out the remaining Westerlands forces in the Riverlands. The other will pacify the remnants of Young Aegon's followers in the Stormlands."
Jaelena said anxiously,
"Your Grace, what about you? Oldtown is too dangerous."
Lo Quen vaulted onto Blooddancer's back, his eyes sharp.
"I'm going to Oldtown to meet Euron Greyjoy."
"Your Grace, let us go with you,"
Janice added quickly.
Lo Quen shook his head, a trace of confidence showing on his face.
"Don't worry. Euron has caused quite a stir, but I can handle him alone. One more dragon or one less won't make much difference."
His confidence came naturally from the System. After transforming into a dragon, Lo Quen alone was stronger than all four dragons combined.
He patted Blooddancer's neck.
The red dragon let out a roar that shook the skies, spread its massive wings, and carried its master straight toward Oldtown, leaving behind only a fading silhouette over the Redgrass Field.