Pyke
The Ironborn had gathered on the rocky fortress isle, splitting into two hostile camps as the dragons closed in.
One group refused to run—or knew they couldn't—and threw in with Balon.
The other group wanted to flee and rallied behind "Crow's Eye" Euron.
Even with death flying overhead, the two factions were still snarling at each other like starving dogs.
---
Secluded Tower Spire
Euron finished packing. Gold, jewels, and the rare special gems he'd hoarded all went into a single sea-chest. He was ready to vanish the second the chance appeared.
Fight the dragons?
Please. He wasn't suicidal.
"Euron, Great Wyk and Harlaw have already fallen," Dunstan Drumm said quickly, pacing. "Old Wyk still has coin enough to buy new ships once we reach the Stepstones."
Dunstan was Lord of Old Wyk, from the ancient and blood-soaked House Drumm. Middle-aged, greedy, and cheap as they came. The moment he realized the dragons couldn't be beaten, his mind had flipped straight to "new business venture across the sea."
"Perfect," Euron lied smoothly. "The Stepstones are full of opportunities. Far better than rotting here."
Dunstan straightened, already tasting the profit. No trace of sorrow at abandoning his home—just greedy excitement for the next score.
"Lord Dunstan, guard the door for me. I have one last thing to handle."
Euron's tone made it an order.
Dunstan gave a crisp nod and left, chest puffed with dreams of easy gold.
The second the door shut, Euron's face twisted.
"Idiot."
He had zero intention of sharing anything with that fool. But Dunstan had money—and more importantly, Dunstan carried Red Rain on his hip.
The ancient Valyrian steel blade of House Drumm.
Euron's blue eye glittered with naked hunger. His Gem Sequence enhancements had already boosted his speed and toughness. Ordinary steel felt like a child's toy now.
Only Valyrian steel was worthy of the man who would one day be King of the Iron Islands.
"Once we're clear of these rocks," he whispered, lips curling, "I'll take that sword off your corpse."
---
Balon's Side
Balon was torn in half.
He had summoned the Drowned Priests, begging for the Drowned God's guidance.
The oldest priest—pale, dripping, wrapped in seaweed-stained robes—had actually given him an answer.
Sacrifice the blood of a king.
Add one hundred Ironborn lives.
The Drowned God would answer and carve a path of salvation for the Iron Islands.
"Blood magic," Balon muttered, skin crawling.
He had always sneered at witches and spells. But after seeing what the red dragon could do… desperation was winning.
"The king's blood… mine?"
He rolled up his sleeve, staring at the melted ruin of his arm. Madness and terror warred behind his eyes.
The priest had said his blood was king's blood.
Did that mean he was meant to be king?
King of the Ironborn… or King on the Iron Throne?
Either one was everything he had ever wanted.
Balon's gaze slowly changed.
"I am the king…"
---
BOOM—
A roaring column of dragonfire smashed through Pyke's outer defenses. Burning timbers flew like matchsticks. Ironborn screamed.
Daeron rode Caraxes straight over the island.
After crushing Great Wyk and Harlaw, Pyke was next.
"Kill more than half of them and this raid is a success," he said coldly.
Behind him, the Redwyne and Shield Islands fleets appeared on the horizon, ready to storm the shore.
---
Hidden Sea Cave – Pyke
Waves crashed against the rocks.
Euron's men loaded the last of the chests onto a longship hidden deep in the cave.
While the two fleets attacked the main castle, he would use his brother as bait and slip away.
"Where the hell is Dunstan Drumm?" he snapped.
"Last I saw, Balon summoned him to the castle," one man answered nervously.
Euron's face darkened. "Then why aren't you there, you worthless—"
"I—I'm your man—"
"Exactly."
Euron's dagger flashed. He rammed it into the man's chest, then shoved the body into the dark water channel behind them.
The other Ironborn froze.
A thick, rubbery tentacle rose from the black water, wrapped around the corpse, and dragged it under with a wet slurp.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The sound of bones being chewed echoed up the channel. A red bloom spread across the surface, then slowly faded.
Euron's single blue eye swept the survivors like a shark's.
"That's what happens when you disobey me."
He didn't care if the dead man had deserved it. Fear was the only language these dogs understood.
The others stayed silent, but every one of them was thinking the same thing:
Was that a kraken?
Euron glanced at the channel once more, then barked, "Push the ship out."
Deep in that water lived something he had raised since he was seven years old—fed on corpses, grown into a monster. It had no mind, no loyalty. It was simply a tool.
---
Above Pyke
The dragons struck.
Panic exploded across the island.
Balon ran for his father's chamber to move the old man to safety.
The second he burst through the door he froze.
Quellon Greyjoy lay on the floor, face purple, eyes bulging, both hands locked around his own throat.
"Father?!"
Balon dropped to his knees.
Quellon's veins stood out like ropes. He stared at his eldest son with desperate, pleading eyes. His mouth opened, but only a wet gurgle came out.
A few heartbeats later he went still.
His hands slipped from his neck and thudded to the stone. Two dead eyes stared at the ceiling, full of rage and regret.
"FATHER—!"
Balon's mind went white.
Then his gaze snapped to the overturned cup beside the bed.
A few drops of milk of the poppy still clung to the rim.
Poison.
But who would poison a dying old man who had already named his heir?
Balon's cunning kicked in. The answer was obvious.
"EURON, YOU FILTHY ANIMAL!"
He exploded out of the room, roaring his brother's name.
"Balon! The Redwyne fleet is landing!"
A panicked lord tried to stop him.
Balon ignored everyone. He tore through Euron's quarters and found them empty.
Euron had fled—after murdering their father on the way out.
The realization hit Balon like ice water.
Euron's real target was me.
But Balon had been surrounded by captains day and night, sharing every meal. No chance to poison him.
Their father, however, drank medicine alone.
Balon's burned face twisted into something inhuman.
"Balon, what are you still looking for?!" Lord Merlyn grabbed his collar. "You sent a hundred men to scout the enemy—where are they?!"
Balon's eyes went flat. He seized Merlyn by the throat.
"My father is dead—poisoned by Euron. From this moment on, I, Balon Greyjoy, am King of the Iron Islands."
He leaned in until their noses almost touched.
"You will show respect."
Merlyn went pale.
Balon released him and walked away.
"The hundred men volunteered as sacrifices to the Drowned God," he called over his shoulder. "They gave their lives so we could drive the invaders back."
---
Outside Pyke
The two fleets were moments from landing.
A sudden, briny wind howled across the water. The sky darkened. Black clouds boiled overhead.
Daeron's nostrils flared.
He smelled it—wild water magic, thick and wrong, mixed with something rotten. Like a fish that had been dead for months suddenly rolling over and belching decay.
"Wrong," he muttered. "Very wrong."
His Targaryen blood sang with fire magic. The Forest Magic he had drunk made him sensitive to every shift in the air.
Right now both were screaming the same warning:
Something unnatural is about to be born.
"Caraxes—GO!"
Daeron wheeled the red dragon hard and shot away from Pyke at full speed.
"Skreeeee!"
"Skreeeee—!"
Tessarion and Toothless felt it too. They folded their wings and raced after their father.
Caraxes streaked over the fleets first, sapphire and spectral-black dragons right on his tail.
"What the—?" Lord Paxter Redwyne shouted.
Daeron didn't waste words. He gave the retreat order and kept flying.
Whatever was coming, he was not staying to find out.
Witches could be frauds. The Seven could be lies.
But magic didn't lie.
Something on Pyke had just gone horribly wrong.
Run.
Now.
"My lord?" Paxter stared at the island, confused.
Randyll Tarly didn't hesitate. "The prince has given the order—full retreat!"
"Really?" Jaime asked, bewildered.
Blackfish Brynden sniffed the air, then yanked a fish from a barrel, tore off a strip of skin, and chewed it twice.
He spat it out instantly.
"Storm's coming," he growled. "A bad one."
CRACK!
Lightning split the sky like a silver blade. Black clouds swallowed the sun. Rain began to hammer down in sheets.
---
On the Shore
"EURON! SHOW YOURSELF!"
Balon staggered across the rocks like a mad ghost, hunting his brother.
He could feel death in the air—cold, wet, and coming straight for him.
He had to kill Euron first.
"I am the king!" he screamed into the wind.
The rain fell harder.