The salty sea breeze drifted in through the window overlooking the coast. Three small dragons of different colors hissed softly, wisps of gray smoke puffing from their nostrils.
As the dragons grew larger, their smoke became longer and hotter, and their Dragonflame grew increasingly powerful, making it a useful weapon for surprise attacks.
When dragons were young, they could still be injured by their own Dragonflame. As they grew larger, their natural defenses improved. However, once they reached a certain size, they would inevitably lose some of their flexibility.
"Alright, Balerion. Don't tear up my book."
Gendry tugged gently on the black dragon's horn before tossing several strips of cooked meat into the air.
The three little dragons immediately leaped after the meat, chasing it through the air.
Gendry then turned his attention back to the book Qyburn had bound in brown calfskin. Its subject was the Wights.
He opened the first page.
«"Some truths about the world: bloodline and faith, magic and power."»
"This book contains everything I know about the supernatural forces of this world," Qyburn explained. "It covers common forms of magic, ancient heroes and gods, and places where magical activity is particularly strong."
"Elemental control was once one of the most widespread forms of magic. This included the Fire Magic and blood magic of the Valyrian Dragonlords, the Water Magic of the Rhoynar, and the Storm God's and God of Light's abilities to control wind and summon storms and rain."
"Prophecy and divination were also widespread. Red Priests practiced them through flames, forest witches used various methods, sorceresses on the eastern continent possessed their own techniques, and the Targaryens were even known for experiencing dragon dreams."
"Finally, there is resurrection, necromancy, and illusion."
"As for Skinchanging, those who possess the blood of the First Men and believe in the Old Gods are more likely to manifest this ability."
Qyburn paused when he reached necromancy.
This was his own field of study, but unfortunately, the requirements for suitable experimental subjects were far too strict.
These days, his primary role had become Gendry's chief advisor.
Gendry closed the book for a moment.
With the arrival of the magic tide, he had personally witnessed several different forms of magic throughout the known world. He had even awakened the Blood of the Storm and Fire Magic buffs himself.
Among the people he knew, Qyburn had used necromancy to transform the Mountain, while the followers of R'hllor possessed the ability to resurrect the dead.
The Red Priestess was perhaps the most versatile of them all. She could see prophecies in flames, alter her appearance through illusion, and even create shadow creatures capable of taking lives.
Beyond the Wall, numerous Skinchangers existed, while the power of the Old Gods continued to envelop the North.
"Skinchanging is more common among the descendants of the First Men," Qyburn continued. "House Stark, House Blackwood, and House Royce are all descendants of the First Men."
"Some maesters even believe that the Targaryens controlled dragons through a similar ability, but there is no convincing evidence to support that theory."
"Of course, it might not necessarily be Skinchanging."
Qyburn paused before continuing.
"Magic is closely connected to both blood and faith. Fire Magic and Water Magic are examples of this. Only those with the blood of the Dragonlords or the Rhoynar can wield certain forms of magic."
The old and steadfast Ser Barristan remained silent, his white cloak spotless.
Although he disliked magic and other supernatural forces, if Wights and the Long Night truly existed, then perhaps magic was indeed necessary to save humanity's future.
Knights were straightforward by nature. They trained day after day, relying on their swords, shields, and physical strength.
To them, magic was as unwelcome as thieves, poison, and assassins.
Gendry turned to the chapter concerning the North.
It contained the history of House Stark and detailed descriptions of direwolves.
However, Qyburn probably wouldn't have believed that the current generation of House Stark would produce such an astonishing number of talented direwolf companions, with almost every child possessing one.
There were even individuals who had been chosen by the powers of the Old Gods and had the potential to become Greenseers.
Perhaps this was another indication of just how severe the coming crisis would be.
"I've also thought of a few interesting possibilities," Qyburn said.
"Garth the Greenhand and the Grey King, as well as the curse of the First Men King, seem to represent three opposing forces."
"Prosperity and decay. Laughter and weeping. Life and death."
"Garth the Greenhand represents fertility and abundance. His influence extends beyond the land itself and even includes fertility among women."
"The Drowned God and the Grey King, on the other hand, represent desolation, destruction, and brutal slaughter."
"That is reflected in the Iron Islands themselves. The land is barren and rocky, making agriculture extremely difficult."
"As for the curse of the First Men King of the North, it is said that anyone who dares to compare themselves to him will eventually become like a corpse—weak, frail, and lifeless."
"That theory isn't quite right," Ser Barristan corrected.
"The Grey King had more than a hundred sons."
"It's merely a discussion. I also believe it is only a conjecture, Old Knight," Qyburn replied with a smile.
"I was inspired by the downfall of House Hoare, the Kings of the Riverlands and the Iron Islands who built Harrenhal."
"Harrenhal is a place surrounded by magical curses, and it lies close to the Isle of Faces."
"Unlike many other Ironborn, House Hoare did not strictly follow the old ways. Instead, they may have been obsessed with the Old Gods."
Gendry looked toward Harrenhal.
"The conflict between the Storm and the Ironborn isn't over yet."
Harrenhal was located in the true heartland of the continent, but the area around it carried the lingering stench of ancient witchcraft.
It was much like the mysterious House Hoare itself.
The Red Priestess had once told him that the magical fluctuations around Harrenhal were extraordinary.
"If someone wanted to surpass the Drowned God, the Grey King, and even the Storm God—someone who wanted to gain enough power to become a god himself—then he would have to kill countless people and bring ruin and darkness upon the world."
Gendry's expression became serious.
"In theory, yes," Qyburn replied, glancing at him.
"But that would be completely insane. How many people would have to die to satisfy the Drowned God and the Storm God?"
"It's crazy," Gendry said, "but we may actually encounter such a madman."
"Balon's second brother."
"A man even more dangerous than Balon."
"My network is spreading throughout the known world," Qyburn said confidently. "I believe we'll eventually find this sea monster."
Gendry nodded before asking another question.
"Has that little girl been found yet?"
"Arya Stark. Lord Eddard's youngest daughter."
As he spoke, Gendry continued scattering strips of meat with his slender fingers, allowing the little dragons to chase them through the air.
Everyone was putting considerable effort into searching for the girl.
If Arya had managed to escape Harrenhal, she would most likely have fallen into the hands of the Brotherhood Without Banners.
Perhaps they would have an answer soon.
"No," Qyburn replied.
"Roose Bolton passed through Harrenhal with his army when he marched south, but he found no trace of the She-Wolf."
"Never mind."
Gendry waved his hand.
"That little girl is mischievous and clever. She'll find her way home."
Perhaps Arya had already been in Harrenhal but had deliberately concealed her identity from Bolton.
Roose was a cruel and dangerous man, and Arya was wary enough to avoid attracting his attention.
Otherwise, she wouldn't have managed such a successful escape.
"I still remember that girl," Ser Barristan said after thinking for a moment.
"That child should survive. She's very much a Stark—long face, gray eyes, and brown hair."
"As for her sister, she's more like a Tully. A beautiful girl with red hair and blue eyes."
---
In the Riverlands, Stony Sept was the largest town Arya Stark had encountered since escaping King's Landing.
Of course, it was nothing compared to the massive Harrenhal.
Arya had been on the run since leaving King's Landing. She eventually reached Harrenhal, which was controlled by Lannister forces and mercenaries.
When the situation there became dangerous, Arya escaped once again.
Of the friends who had fled King's Landing with her, Hot Pie had remained behind at an inn to continue making bread.
Arya was once again alone.
She had told Halwin some details about her journey, including how she had escaped King's Landing and encountered the Brotherhood's ravens.
Of course, she kept certain things to herself.
She didn't mention killing anyone or meeting Jaqen H'ghar.
"You're right not to trust Bolton," Halwin said.
"He's a cold-blooded man."
"But I thought Bolton was very devoted to the Lannisters, like the King's dog."
"He's good at reading the wind," Halwin snorted.
"At first, he hoped his son would marry your sister. Now, however, he has a new master."
"Is that person the Storm?" Arya asked.
"The Lannisters called him a demon who kills without mercy."
"It's the Storm. He cut off the Kingslayer's hand, nearly turning him into a headless lion."
"Originally, he still had a chance of becoming your brother-in-law, but now that's probably impossible."
"Good," Arya replied.
"My lady, you must behave more like a proper lady when we enter the town."
"I've always been ladylike."
Arya glanced down at her feet.
"I can do needlework."
Halwin looked at her but didn't expose the little girl's obvious lie.
"You really do resemble Lady Lyanna when she's on horseback."
"Your father once won a great victory here."
Halwin had been sent by Eddard to the Riverlands to hunt down the Mountain, and he had eventually joined the Brotherhood Without Banners to fight a guerrilla war throughout the region.
"Back then, the Mad King's forces were pursuing Robert, trying to capture him before he could meet your father."
"The young Lord of Storm's End was wounded and taken in by some local friends."
"Meanwhile, Lord Connington, the Hand of the King, personally led a large army here to capture the town. They began searching every house."
"Before they could find Robert, however, Lord Eddard and your grandfather, Lord Hoster, arrived in time."
"They broke through the city's defenses and engaged Connington's forces in fierce street fighting."
Arya nodded before lowering her head sadly.
"My father is dead."
"King Robert is dead too."
Stony Sept looked badly damaged.
The city gate had been burned down and replaced with a new wooden gate.
However, the guards were in good spirits, and there was a sense of renewed hope throughout the town.
Halwin hurried forward, seemingly familiar with the guards.
The captain recognized him and opened the sally port.
"Good news, girl."
Halwin quickly walked toward Arya.
"Good news. Your father isn't dead."
"Joffrey is dead, and King's Landing has been taken."
"What happened?"
Arya was both shocked and delighted as she hurried after him.
"But I saw it!"
"I saw my father being beheaded at the Sept!"
"My lady, all I can say is that it was magic."
Halwin slowly explained everything to her.
"In short, your father escaped, and an unfortunate northern man was killed and made to take his place."
"Your father was hidden by the Spider when King's Landing fell. Later, he was rescued."
"Praised be the Storm."
Tom of Sevenstrings and Lem also entered through the sally port.
"Can we eat well today?"
"We can eat a little better, at least."
"The Old Lion is also said to have been driven away from the Red Fork."
"But the war isn't over. Those cripples and mercenaries keep coming and going. Castles and lands have been ruined, and these people want women, money, and food."
"Fortunately, the grain south of the river wasn't burned. The Mad Huntsman also brought in a flock of sheep, and there is still trade along the Blackwater Rush."
"If only Lord Edmure hadn't made such a foolish decision and sent the Old Lion to purgatory."
"Lord Edmure? But Lord Hoster is dead."
"Soon, I suppose..."
"My lady, I think we'll be returning to King's Landing soon."
"After all this time, there is finally some hope."
Halwin looked relieved.
"If the Storm and Lord Eddard continue raising the Stag banner, we can return to King's Landing and receive our rewards."
"Still, the ones suffering the most are the common people."
Lem sighed.
"I'd really like to set dogs on the Lannisters and kill them. If only the Kingslayer fell into my hands."
Arya heard a man cursing nearby.
"Why does he hate the Lannisters so much?" Lem asked.
"The Westerosi raped his wife, slaughtered his livestock, and killed those they didn't finish eating before throwing their bodies into the well."
"I'd be even more cruel than him," Halwin laughed heartily.
"My lady, there isn't a good place for you to stay here."
"I can only take you somewhere special."
"Once Lord Beric arrives, you can return to Riverrun and see your Tully grandfather."
"What special place?" Arya asked, somewhat confused.
"It's a place with many women," Tom of Sevenstrings explained.
The people around them immediately burst into laughter.
The Sept stood on a hill, looking rather small from a distance.
Nearly one-third of the town had been burned down at some point.
Arya rode through the town with the others, and more and more people greeted them along the way.
"Observe carefully," Arya reminded herself.
She carefully examined the people beyond the bustling crowds.
There were crossbowmen hidden on rooftops, while others concealed themselves among the ruins and shadows.
In the center of Stony Sept's market square stood a fountain shaped like a leaping trout.
Water continuously flowed from the fish's mouth into a shallow basin.
Women gathered around it, drawing water with buckets and pitchers.
"This banner..."
Arya looked at it curiously.
She had seen that banner before.
It was the golden, quartered banner.
The stag.
The dragon.
The wolf pack.
And the liberated slaves with broken shackles.
It was an unforgettable symbol.
"Lord Edmure is a good man too," one woman said.
"He's also a fool, always losing battles along with his soldiers."
"If the Storm hadn't rescued him, he'd probably still be sitting in a cage."
"The Storm's banner! He avenged us."
"They say he received the blessings of warriors and blacksmiths."
Tom of Sevenstrings grinned.
"I even composed a song for the new King. I'll dedicate it to him."
"He's certainly popular," Arya thought bitterly.
"Far more people sing praises of the Storm than of my brother Robb or Uncle Edmure."
A short distance away, a dozen iron cages hung from creaking wooden stakes.
Crow cages.
They were a famous form of execution in Westeros.
Crows gathered outside the cages, flapping against the iron bars while the prisoners remained trapped inside until death.
The soldiers had been stripped of everything—their armor, weapons, money, and equipment.
They had not even been left with their undergarments.
The cages were so cramped that the prisoners couldn't sit down or even turn around properly.
They could only remain inside, exposed to the rain and the sun, waiting for death.
"Just punishment!" a woman declared.
"These people are all Lannister cubs," another woman replied.
"Tywin, that Old Lion, fled far too quickly. Some of his own men were abandoned along the road."
"Actually..."
Arya stared at the prisoners.
"You could just give them a quicker death."
But she didn't say it aloud.
These men weren't her brother's soldiers.
They weren't Northerners.
This was a cruel age, filled with murder, starvation, and even cannibalism.
And among everyone caught in the war, the farmers suffered the most.
The Lannisters had killed countless people, and now the people of the Riverlands were collecting their own form of revenge.
Arya passed the cages, seeing nothing but corpses, death, and the desperate pleas of those still clinging to life.
Crows flew around the cages, feeding on the dead.
Blood and flies covered the ground.
The cages were painfully small, yet people had been crammed inside them.
Some of the dead had dried-out eye sockets, their eyes having been pecked out by birds.
Some of the wounded had red, swollen skin and could only mutter weakly:
"Water..."
"Water..."
Their wounds were exposed to the elements, with maggots crawling through the flesh.
Rapists had their genitals cut off.
Thieves had their hands chopped off.
Valar morghulis.
Arya silently repeated the words in her heart.
"This kid is quite brave," a Riverlands commoner remarked.
Arya was thin and flat-chested, with equally thin hair.
"She's a girl," Halwin corrected.
"Then that's even more remarkable."
"Very good."
Halwin patted Arya on the shoulder approvingly.
"You're just like us Northerners. I thought you would plead for these people."
Arya shook her head.
"When the Lannisters drove away my direwolf, and so many people died because of what happened to my father, I understood that they were our enemies..."
________________________________________
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