Barely setting foot on the rough reefs of Iron Wind Island, Ashara hadn't yet fully recovered from the shock of crossing the sea on a Sea King beast when the shadows beside her moved violently.
A scarlet tongue, long as a flame, shot out without warning. It moved so fast it was a blur, firmly licking across the side of Euron's face, leaving a wet sheen.
Ashara gasped, instinctively gripping Euron's arm tight enough to whiten her fingertips. When she followed the trail and saw the full form of the massive creature in the shadows, her breath caught in her throat.
It was unlike any living thing she knew.
It possessed a majestic head similar to the dragons of legend, but its claws gleamed with the cold light of iron like a giant eagle. Most astonishingly, it wasn't covered in scales, but in layers of brilliant feathers that looked like burning gems. Under the thin moonlight and flickering torches, they refracted a strange, metallic luster.
"A dragon?" Her voice trembled slightly with tension, her grip on Euron tightening.
Euron, looking rather disheveled from the lick, chuckled low and wiped the wetness from his face. "No, not a dragon." He turned to the shaken Ashara, his eyes reassuring and holding a trace of indescribable pride. "Do dragons have feathers like these?" He paused, his gaze returning to the quiet beast, his tone growing distant. "Truth be told, I don't know what category he belongs to. I named him—Halcyon."
As he spoke, the creature named Halcyon extended its head forward. Its lines were surprisingly soft, almost like an elegant swan. Only then did Ashara see it clearly.
It had a smooth, single horn on its forehead, and deep amber eyes that seemed to hold a thousand years of time. Up close, its magnificent plumage was even more breathtaking, flowing with a resilient halo that suggested no ordinary blade could harm it. Long tail feathers trailed behind it, colorful and shimmering with a soft light in the night.
Ashara unconsciously took a small step forward, looking deep into those giant amber pupils. There was no predator's ferocity, no alien detachment. Instead, they were like two bottomless ancient wells, filled with gentleness and compassion. An indescribable sense of peace, like warm water, slowly washed away the last of her fear. Her tense shoulders relaxed, and without realizing it, she let go of Euron's arm.
"Hello..." she said softly, tentatively, but no longer trembling.
Halcyon's massive head tilted slightly, and a low hum vibrated from deep in its throat. The sound wasn't loud but had a strange penetrating power, solemn and distant, as if coming from the depths of time. It had a metallic texture yet was oddly soft, not grating but like a warm ripple gently stroking the listener's soul.
Even more wondrously, Ashara clearly hadn't understood any specific language, yet deep in her heart, she distinctly caught a friendly, welcoming intent—it was responding to her.
---
The hall of Iron Wind Island wasn't as grand as Pyke. Rough stone walls cast flickering shadows under the dancing torchlight, but it held a solid, intimate atmosphere.
Euron naturally took Ashara's hand, leading her toward several figures gathered by the hearth.
"This will be our home from now on, and they are our family," Euron said, his voice low and soothing.
Lysa affectionately linked arms with Ashara, and Dagmer bowed solemnly nearby. These familiar faces eased her mind. Then, Euron's gaze turned to a woman by the fire in deep red robes, radiating an intense aura.
"Red Priestess, Gwendolyn. You met several times at the tourney and in Dorne."
Ashara nodded slightly; she remembered the unquenchable fire in the priestess's eyes. Gwendolyn returned a deep smile, touching her fingertips to her forehead in a unique salute.
Next, Euron guided her attention to a woman in the shadows wearing a dark purple gown and a wooden lacquer mask. Only her emerald eyes were visible, her presence seeming to absorb the light. "This is the Shadowbinder, Evelyn." Evelyn curtsied slightly, silent as an abyss but impossible to ignore.
A man with an unusually pale face and thin frame stood quietly by a bookshelf. "Maester Qyburn," Euron introduced flatly. "He is responsible for the island's knowledge and other necessary affairs." Qyburn looked at Ashara and bowed silently.
Then there was Dagmer's bright-eyed young son, Lloyd, who greeted Ashara with youthful vigor. Behind them stood several silent women—a "Rock Wife" with skin weathered by sea wind and eyes tough as stone, and Dagmer's two Salt Wives, their postures submissive.
When Euron led Ashara to the deepest corner of the hall, a tall figure almost merged with the shadows turned slowly.
Flickering firelight illuminated his face—a visage completely reshaped by war and suffering. Twisted scars crisscrossed nearly his entire face, tearing his original features apart. His lips couldn't fully close due to old wounds, exposing a sliver of white teeth.
He seemed to want to express kindness to the new mistress, trying hard to pull his facial muscles into a smile. However, the effort only made the scars knot more hideously, resulting in an expression uglier than crying. His grey eyes, clear amidst the scars, were cold, seemingly devoid of human warmth.
"This is Lloyd Hutchinson," Euron's calm voice broke the brief stagnation. His introduction was concise and direct, without adornment, as if this terrifying face was ordinary. "He guards the deep places beneath the island for me... those unworthy of seeing the sun."
Hearing his duty mentioned, Lloyd's twisted mouth twitched slightly. He bowed deeply and retreated into the shadows, becoming a silent statue guarding secrets and pain once more.
Euron didn't explain much about each person's background or duties, but the introductions alone let Ashara clearly touch the contours of this small world on Iron Wind Island—it gathered faith, arcane arts, knowledge, loyalty, and secrets, like a miniature kingdom belonging only to Euron.
Euron lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear: "There are secrets on this island that cannot yet be told to outsiders. I will tell you slowly in the future."
Ashara raised her amethyst eyes to meet his. Without hesitation, she blinked gently, long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings, then nodded obediently. "En."
A short, clear response, containing total trust and anticipation.
A smile flitted across Euron's lips. He carefully guided Ashara, still holding Daeron, to a prepared seaside room. The stone walls were rough but dry, the bed covered in thick furs, and the rhythmic sound of waves came from the window. Once they were settled, he lingered a moment to ensure nothing was lacking before turning to leave.
When Euron returned to the hall, the gentle aura around him had quietly vanished. Flickering torches stretched his shadow long against the cold stone walls.
In the center of the hall, two figures stood silently—the scar-faced Lloyd Hutchinson and the pale Maester Qyburn, like statues merged into the shadows. Only when Euron's footsteps echoed in the corridor did they turn simultaneously to focus on their master.
"Let's go," Euron's voice echoed in the hall with undeniable authority. "Let's see how our 'guests' are doing."
He led the way, and the three descended spiraling stone steps deep into the island's belly. The damp air was thick with the scent of salt and rock.
On the night King's Landing fell in flames, five pyromancers and the Spider Varys had been silently spirited away from the chaotic capital to this isolated island by Halcyon.
These pyromancers, who once served the royal family, had long since learned—through Qyburn's intentional "leaks"—of the capital's fall and King Robert's brutal purge of their order: execution or eternal exile. With no retreat, their anger and fear eventually turned into dead resignation.
Now, their only luxury was three meals a day. In exchange, deep in the underground caverns of this island, under Qyburn's strict surveillance and Lloyd's silent intimidation, they had set up their instruments again. They poured all their despair and intellect into their work—not to restore the glory of their old master, but for their new one. In this secluded cave, they began developing a more destructive, stable, and safer-to-use form of wildfire.