The slate-grey sea was a churning mess of whitecaps, and the wind up here was absolutely brutal.
Eddard leaned low, patting Viserion's spiky, silver-white head. The dragon was growing at a terrifying rate, but up here in the gusting winds, even a beast of his size had to fight the elements.
Viserion let out a low, vibrating rumble - half-growl, half-shiver and tilted his wings, carving a massive circle through the grey clouds before diving toward the Volantene fleet below.
The air pressure dropped instantly. Eddard squinted against the freezing wind, his eyes scanning the chaotic grid of ships.
Suddenly, a warning tingle flared in his mind. Get out of the way!
With a thought, Eddard yanked the mental reins. Viserion swerved, his tail snapping as a massive steel-tipped bolt, looking more like a telephone pole than an arrow hissed past Eddard's left leg, missing him by inches. It disappeared into the clouds above, leaving a trail of displaced wind in its wake.
Before he could even catch his breath, three more massive bolts screeched through the air, punching through the very space they had occupied a second before.
Holy shit, Eddard thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. These guys have actually been doing their homework.
The Volantenes weren't stupid. They'd clearly heard about what happened to the Yunkish fleet and had built specialized anti-air defenses. Eddard pattered Viserion's neck, calming the dragon's rising fury. The beast was snorting thick, oily black smoke, ready to dive and incinerate the world, but Eddard held him back.
"Chill, buddy," Eddard muttered, his voice lost in the wind. "We aren't committing suicide today."
He used his telescope, scanning the decks below. Every single Volantene warship had a high-angle, windlass-style scorpion mounted on both the bow and the stern. They were massive, steel-armed monsters designed to project incredible power skyward, much like the dragon-hunting ballistas of legend.
A direct, frontal charge into a net of those things would turn Viserion into a giant pincushion, regardless of how tough his scales were. Even with [Magic Armor] active, the sheer kinetic force would shatter Eddard's ribs and send them both into a watery grave.
"Up," Eddard commanded.
Viserion grumbled but obeyed, beating his silver wings to retreat into the safe embrace of the low-hanging rain clouds.
Below, a thunderous cheer rose from the Volantene decks. They actually thought they had scared the dragon off. Eddard watched them through the mist, a cold, predatory smile touching his lips. Enjoy it while it lasts, boys, he thought.
On the deck of the Sunbeam, Admiral Jason Mallister stood gripping the rail, his face set in a grim mask of determination. He'd heard the silver dragon's roar from the clouds and knew the "Winter Wizard" was in position.
"Weigh anchor! All sails to the wind!" Mallister roared, his voice carrying over the sound of the surf. "The King says we hit them now!"
The wind was blowing from the south, not ideal for a direct run, but Salladhor Saan's Lysene fleet was already moving.
Saan's flagship, the Valyrian, led the charge, flanked by a dozen agile, colorful galleys. They used the massive, thick-hulled Ghiscari merchant ships they'd captured earlier as floating shields, absorbing the first wave of Volantene scorpion fire. It was a classic naval flanking maneuver, designed to close the distance before the enemy's superior artillery could chew them to pieces.
The clash of the two fleets was instantaneous and violent.
Fire-pitch barrels from the Valyrian's trebuchets rained down on the Volantene vanguard, turning several warships into floating bonfires. The scent of burning wood, boiling tar, and charred flesh rose from the water.
But the Volantenes didn't panic. They swiveled their scorpions, firing heavy, iron-headed bolts that tore through the Lysene cogs. Planks shattered, sails went up in smoke, and men were pinned to the decks by the sheer force of the projectiles.
It was a meat grinder. The water was turning black with pitch and red with blood.
From the clouds, Eddard watched the battle reach a fever pitch. He knew he had to act. He let Viserion dive, using the thick black smoke of the burning ships as a natural screen.
They emerged like a silver ghost.
Viserion opened his maw, and a stream of white-gold fire washed over the deck of a Volantene heavy cruiser. The wood literally vaporized under the heat. Sailors screamed, leaping into the water, but the dragonfire followed them, boiling the very sea around them.
Eddard didn't linger. He kept Viserion moving, weaving through the rigging of the confused enemy ships. He roasted another three galleys before the scorpions could track him, then used the smoke of his own destruction to disappear back into the grey sky.
But on the water, the pressure was mounting.
Jason Mallister's flagship, the Sunbeam, was in deep shit. A massive Volantene warship, three times its size had slammed into their side, crushing their oars and sending a wave of armored boarders onto their deck.
"Hold the line!" Mallister screamed, his white beard splattered with red as he swung his sword with one hand, his other clinging to a crutch.
Beside him, Jorah Mormont was a whirlwind of raw, northern violence. He was supposed to be a simple sailor doing penance, but when the steel started clashing, "The Great Bear" didn't know how to half-ass a fight. He hacked his way through two Volantene guards, his face a mask of sweat and blood.
"Need a hand, old man?" Jorah grunted, parrying a spear thrust aimed at Mallister's ribs.
"I can still take three of these southern softies, Mormont!" Mallister laughed, though he was visibly flagging.
The enemy was pouring over the rails, their numbers overwhelming. Just as the defense was about to buckle, a shadow fell over the deck.
A stream of golden-and-silver flame washed over the attacking Volantene ship. The heat was so intense it singed the hair on Jorah's arms even from twenty yards away. The Volantene ship's own pitch barrels ignited, and the vessel literally exploded in a shower of burning timber and steel.
Viserion soared past, his silver wings brushing the mast of the Sunbeam before ascending back into the clouds.
"That's our cue!" Jorah yelled, driving his sword through a dazed boarder's neck. "Push them back!"
The loss of their heavy assault ship and the terrifying realization that the dragon could strike from the smoke without warning broke the Volantene resolve.
The retreat horn blared from the enemy flagship.
The Volantene fleet began to turn, their oars working frantically to carry them away from the "Scylla" of the sea and the "Charybdis" of the sky.
Eddard pulled Viserion back, refusing to chase them into the open ocean. His head was pounding, a brutal, throbbing ache behind his eyes. The mental exhaustion of warging during a chaotic, high-speed dogfight was no joke. He needed to rest, and so did his dragon.
He landed on the deck of the Sunbeam, his silver plate blackened with soot, his face pale behind his mask.
"Status report," Eddard rasped.
Mallister leaned heavily on his crutch, his face grim. "We won, My Lord. But it was a costly victory. We lost forty-five ships to their scorpions and the storm. The Volantenes lost nearly a hundred, but they have the depth to replace them. We don't."
Eddard looked at the smoking ruins of the enemy fleet. "It's enough. We held the sea. But we can't dally here. Daenerys's land army is already marching on Yunkai, and if we aren't there to block the port, they'll be besieged from the water."
He looked at Jorah, who was cleaning his blade with a rag, his eyes fixed on the distant shore.
"Get the ships patched up," Eddard commanded. "We sail for Yunkai before the sun sets."
[System Notification: Naval Engagement: The Battle of the Summer Sea - Costly Victory.]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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