The once-bustling harbors of Bloodstone and Grey Gallows had been reduced to blackened wasteland by dragonflame.
When Daemon led the Velaryon soldiers ashore to mop up the remnants, they stepped into a scene straight out of hell.
Charred beams lay twisted and fallen. Blackened stones were smeared with dark blood. Countless enemy corpses lay frozen in their final, agonized poses. The air reeked of burnt flesh and sulfur.
The soldiers swallowed hard, faces pale.
This is the power of dragons. This is why the Cannibal is called the king of wild dragons.
Even Femon and Kendel, hardened veterans of the World Devourers, drew sharp breaths at the sight.
Dragons truly were the ultimate weapon of this age.
With the Cannibal on their side, no force in the Stepstones could stand against them.
Logar paid little attention to the growing awe in his men's eyes.
He had no intention of remaining a loyal servant forever.
Rhaenyra's war for the throne was her concern, not his.
What he wanted was land he could rule without answering to anyone—a true kingdom where his word was law.
The Stepstones, with their perfect position astride the Narrow Sea trade routes, were the ideal foundation.
While Logar stood on the blackened shore, already sketching fortress layouts and toll stations in his mind, a Velaryon soldier came running.
"My lord! We found a dungeon beneath one of the burned buildings!"
They had pulled several half-dead slaves and prisoners from the cells.
One of them was an old acquaintance.
"Lord Sea Burner! Waaah—!"
A plump, middle-aged merchant stumbled forward and dropped to his knees, sobbing dramatically.
"Chaman?"
Logar raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.
The treacherous little weasel was still alive?
It turned out Chaman had been recaptured by the Triarchy remnants shortly after switching sides and thrown into the deepest cell. That was the only reason he had survived the dragonflame.
The moment he saw Logar standing beside the monstrous black dragon, surrounded by victorious troops, Chaman's face lit up with desperate hope. He crawled forward on his knees.
"My lord! You must avenge me! Ever since I pledged myself to you I've been nothing but loyal, yet these bastards dragged me back here and tortured me for days! I nearly died without seeing your face again! Waaah!"
Logar kicked him away before he could clutch his leg.
"Enough. The men who hurt you are already ash."
He rested a hand on the Cannibal's scaled neck, voice calm. "Since you're still breathing, you're useful. Addam is bringing a fleet loaded with supplies and craftsmen from Dragonstone. You know these islands better than anyone. Help my men rebuild them."
"Lord Sea Burner! You can count on me!" Chaman's tears vanished instantly, replaced by an oily, fawning smile. "I, Chaman, will be your most faithful servant! I'll go through fire and water to carry out every command!"
Inside, he was ecstatic. Surviving disaster brings fortune!
With Logar now riding a dragon and planning to turn the Stepstones into his stronghold, this was Chaman's chance to rise high.
Femon and Kendel watched the merchant's shameless boot-licking and could only shake their heads in disgust.
Logar, however, didn't care about the man's theatrics.
As long as Chaman remained useful, he could keep his head.
Besides, Addam's supply fleet was due any day. A merchant with years of experience in Essos was exactly what he needed to handle logistics and trade.
...
Essos — Tyrosh
The island city on the edge of the Disputed Lands never slept.
The towering Tower of Tears rose above the harbor. Sweet wine flowed endlessly from the Fountain of the Gods. Temples lined every street. Merchants and sailors from half the world crowded the boulevards, their colorful silks and feathered hats turning the city into a living carnival of greed and excess.
Deep inside the opulent council chamber, a secret meeting of the highest importance was underway.
The Archon of Tyrosh sat at the head of the table. The magistrates of Myr and Lys flanked him. The three rulers of the Triarchy had gathered in full.
Otto Hightower, the former Hand of the King dismissed by Aegon II, had crossed the Narrow Sea in secret. His face showed the weariness of travel, but his eyes burned with ambition.
He presented lavish gifts, then spoke with grave urgency.
"My lords, Corlys Velaryon has returned to the Blacks. His fleet now blockades Blackwater Bay and prepares to assault King's Landing. This is the perfect moment for the Three Daughters to strike Driftmark."
The Archon of Tyrosh—his hair and beard dyed bright yellow—frowned. "The Sea Snake's fleet is the strongest on the Narrow Sea. The Blacks also have dragons. If we move rashly, we risk drawing their full wrath…"
The magistrates of Myr and Lys nodded in agreement. They feared the Velaryon navy. They feared Targaryen dragonfire even more.
Otto had prepared for this.
"Every Black dragon is currently tied down in Westeros," he said firmly. "Rhaenyra cannot spare them. The Sea Snake's fleet is stretched thin across a long blockade line. Driftmark is undefended."
He played his strongest card.
"Imagine it—seize Driftmark and you control the Narrow Sea's trade arteries. Endless wealth will flow into the Three Daughters. And the Greens give you our solemn promise: after victory, we will recognize your full sovereignty over the Stepstones and exempt your merchants from all taxes in Westeros."
The Archon's eyes gleamed with greed, but he remained cautious. "Words are wind. If you lose, we will face the Blacks' fury alone. Your promises must be worth the risk."
"I swear it on the honor of House Hightower," Otto declared, voice solemn. "The Greens hold King's Landing and the support of House Baratheon and House Lannister. Victory is certain."
He slid the prepared treaty across the table.
"According to our agreement, the fleets of Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh will assemble in the Disputed Lands and strike together. After victory, the spoils and trade routes will be divided equally among the Three Daughters. The Greens ask for nothing."
The three rulers studied the document for a long time, torn between greed and fear.
Finally, the Archon of Tyrosh slammed his hand on the table.
"Tyrosh agrees to the alliance!"
The magistrates of Myr and Lys followed at once.
"The Three Daughters march as one!"
"Wise decision, my lords." Otto allowed himself a small, satisfied breath.
He cared nothing for the Triarchy's future. He only needed their fleet to destroy the Sea Snake's power, cripple the Blacks, and clear the path for his own return to King's Landing and the Hand's chain.
The moment the meeting ended, orders flew across Tyrosh. Warships were readied. Soldiers boarded. A massive joint fleet sailed out of the harbor, heading into the Narrow Sea to deliver a killing blow to the Blacks.