Copyright Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, other than my own the original character(s) in this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so don't expect anything worthy of GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions/questions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but I have no real schedule. Please review as I'd love useful thoughts :) feedback helps encourage my writing.

Chapter 53: The Twilight Prince
"Truth my shield, courage my sword."
– Prince Zihao Tamashī

The Twilight Jungle was a creature unto itself – the subject of many tales, true or otherwise – its great winding trees were twisted, the vines were claws reaching across the very land; its people whispering of how the trees moved as if to walk on feet of wood and branch with fingers of vine and skin of bark. He'd witnessed a great deal in his years that most men dismissed as fables or madness… though he'd yet to see the trees walk… he had seen all too well the eyes and heard their voices just as clearly.

Zihao Tamashī knew better than to be ruled by fear, or ignorant of harsh truths; for to struggle against things you couldn't change was the height of madness.

His destiny was to reclaim his birthright. That was his truth, and his greatest fear – for if he should fail then more precious things than his life would be lost.

There were many paths through the jungle, unnatural as they were, it was not by the hand of man that they'd come about; with many leading to nought but bad ends and early graves – infested with foul things and dreadful dangers. Zihao knew the right paths from the wrong ones as well as he knew his own name. No horse would carry them through this depth of the jungle. The beasts would buck and wail and turn at the mere suggestion of any rider fool enough to lead them here, as if the horses knew better.

It was a primal need to turn tail and flee this place. Horses were, in this at least, smarter than men.

The safe path was still a dangerous path however, crooked and lonely and long as the night was dark.

Nights in the jungles heart were comfortless and cold. No man dare sing around their low fires or talk too loudly, for the echoes were haunting amidst the trees and the low mist that clung to the jungle. The silence seemed to almost take a dislike to being broken – except by the sound of water dripping above their heads and the wail of wind.

It was worse of late. As a child Zihao had been raised here, alongside his father, the jungle had felt more welcoming so long ago…

"I was just a child," he'd tell himself with a frown.

Doubtless, it was that innocence that put him at ease as a boy, ignorant to the dangers.

The jungle was not their own. It belonged to a people who were driven here eons ago by his own kind, ironically, they were driven here too in the end.

"In twilight lay by night and day, branches groan, the jungle sways," Zihao recalled an old poem his father taught him as a boy. "All movement in the jungle ceased, shrill and harsh, the clash of teeth. The branches hissed, the fingers bent, come the dawn the twilight went. There in black and dark it laid, a vow and dept to soon be paid. "

The path was narrow and wound in and out among the trunks of the twilights great twisted trees where not a ray of sunlight reached the jungle floor. If it was day or not this far in the heart was any man's guess; though few if any man dared to dwell this far in the jungle… and if they did, such men did not live long…

Silence had been their companion for what felt like hours by now, the trees seemed to lean over them and listen to the sound of their breathing.

There were small furry creatures in the trees swinging from vine to vine in the canopy far above their heads.

On the ground lizards scurried here and there through the endless thick places on the jungle floor, making their queer noises; grunts and scuffling's as they hurried to and from the undergrowth and piles of leaves or fallen branches. And then there were the cobwebs: vast dense things that stretched from tree to tree or tangled in the lower branches on either side of them. None stretched across the path ahead, as if some unseen force kept the weavers at a distance.

To those unused to the jungle, it seemed an endless hopeless place; doomed to act as any mortal fool's grave.

It wouldn't take long for any outsider to develop a deep-rooted hatred for the twilight. The further one travelled to the jungles heart, the less rays of sun shun through the canopy; until none broke through at all – leaving a man's eyes to adjust so very poorly to the dim and the dark.

They held torches not out of want, but necessity; though not all in Zihao's party required such things.

Tora was one such. She led from the front beside the prince, with blood-red hair, ebony dark skin and eyes focused like a cat on the hunt – fiery orange and slit down the middle – she was one of few who could claim to truly call the jungle home and not be named outsider. Her people had called the jungle home since the beginning.

In the darkness off the path gleamed eyes, yellow or red or green, staring at them with some curious intent; be they friend or food.

"Weavers," Tora's people called them.

Spiders, in essence, though these were the size of lions.

They weren't – despite the look of them – so full of malice as to seek their deaths.

"Leave the weavers be and they'll leave you be," Tora once told him with an uncaring shrug.

It was the fire of their torches that lured the weaver's watchful eyes from the dark. Them, and things far worse.

By the hour they grew thirsty and would halt at a stream or delve into their supplies once when new sources could not be found – as the journey had taken longer than expected, the path having changed, the jungle ever shifting and twisting on its own whim. Most who ventured here never returned.

"How much further?" Zihao whispered, one hand holding his burning torch and the other swatting away flies and bloodsuckers.

Tora sniffed the air for her answer.

"Close," she said, never taking her eyes off the path.

Ahead it grew wider – as good a sign as any they'd had for hours – quickly to turn foul.

Vermilion was the first to notice. The basilisk raised its crimson head and sniffed diligently at the air, red tail flicking beside Zihao, its coat was ebony, with hair across its back like spikes of obsidian, the size of a lion; with snarling rows of razor teeth and venom on its tongue. Something was close now… something dangerous…

Few creatures in the jungle willingly risked conflict with a basilisk. Few were fool enough, or strong enough, that left few options.

Their party halted at the raised hand of their prince.

"Boy," Zihao glanced to Vermilion's eyes. "What is it?"

It was hard to see in the darkness, with mist drifting like a light rain past the foliage. They kept a distance from the trees and the undergrowth, wary of whatever lurked within. The world was shades of black and dark grey. Zihao's eyes strained to see, though not all had such issues.

Tora was the first to pull her curved bronze blades from their sheaths, her feet shifting into a preferred stance.

A snarl echoed in the shadows of the jungle and Vermilion answered with a hiss of his own.

It was six feet tall, powerfully built, its legs and tail hidden by the foliage. Zihao could see only the muscular upper torso, the two forearms held tightly alongside the body, the claws dangling. He could see the iridescent stripped pattern on the creatures back. It was alert; as it came forward, it looked from side to side, moving its head with abrupt, bird-like jerks. The head bobbed up and down as it walked, and the long straight tail dipped and swayed as it stepped forward curiously.

Gigantic and silent, it smelled musty amidst the clinging heat of the jungle.

It yawned, throwing back its long snout, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Then it stared forward, jerking its head from side to side. Its eyes swivelled in bony sockets.

Zihao had never seen one of them up close before – he'd never had the pleasure, nor wanted to – but now he could see the small twitches in the muscles of its flanks. He could see the crusted blood on its claws. He could see the fine pattern of striations within the stripped pattern, and the folds of skin in the neck below its jaw.

The creature sniffed. It jerked its head and looked right at him as if to acknowledge his presence.

As if to say 'I see you' or 'look at me' the giant lizard eyed them all with unknown intent.

Its leathery green hide seemed to change like a chameleon, as if to blend with the jungle.

Tora's foot shifted backwards slowly, and Zihao moved to draw his sword as Vermilion hissed…

They made no sound, attacking in-between a heartbeat, out from the foliage to the left and right.

One creature become two that became three. They sprung and leapt from the shadows, claws raised, one crashed onto a Tamashī guardsman and ripped away at leather and chainmail like it was butter against cold steel; slashing open the man with its claws and ripping out the throat with lightning speed.

The screams and snarls echoed into the darkness of the jungle's vast undergrowth as beast and man clashed.

Vermilion had one pinned, ripping with serrated teeth; its venom paralyzed and stopped the heart.

Another of the lizards leapt through the air, its jaws open, as Zihao desperately raised his silvery sword to defend.

A blur of black-and-orange slammed into the lizard before it could reach him, sinking fangs deep into leathery flesh and tearing out a chuck that caused the creature to screech and flail about wildly. The great tiger was cut and nicked by its prey's razor talons, fur now silky with blood, it ripped at the lizard's neck.

With its head near ripped from its body the great lizard flailed briefly on the ground, legs kicking in the air, tail flopping until it halted dead.

The creatures fanned out, one staying in the centre, as the other two moved to each side. Coordinated. Smooth.

Zihao turned in a full circle, desperately trying to keep track of the threats.

And then he felt a sharp pain, sudden, then a flash of white-hot pain.

Teeth. Teeth had sunk straight through the gauntlet on his left hand.

"Arghh!" He screamed and drove his sword towards the creature's head.

It darted back, away from the steel and releasing his arm. Zihao's blade struck air.

"Cleaver girl," he cursed at the creature – for some reason assuming its feminine gender.

Vermilion had darted to his master's side and hissed protectively.

The tiger was pacing alongside the basilisk, guarding the wounded prince.

Blood ran freely from his left gauntlet like a river, crimson red; he pushed the pain aside.

They were surrounded – damn it all – the giant lizards were circling them, but warily now all the same.

One silenced the groaning of a Tamashī guardsman by pressing on his chest with its foreleg, with dagger-like claws digging into the flesh of the man's chest before the lizard looked down – tilted its head curiously – then darted its jaws around the man's neck to end him with a swift jerk of razors across flesh.

Zihao growled back at them, pushing the burning in his left hand aside; his knuckles were white against the handle of his steel.

The tiger – and especially the basilisk – gave the pack pause.

Blood was trickling greedily down from their claws and razor teeth.

One snarled and jumped. With frighting speed, it lunged, only to bite down on Zihao's raised sword.

The sword was dawnforged – an art of the Tamashī – said to be forged from fallen stars, gifts from the Lion of Dawn sent to his chosen few. Once forged, the blades were as pale as milkglass and held an unnaturally sharp edge. Zihao's blade was named Twilight and it held firm under the great lizard's jaws.

Vermillion bit into its hindleg, venom forcing it to the floor as the tiger leapt with teeth and claws for its neck.

Its packmates snarled and flashed their claws in anger at the sight as Vermillion turned to face them with a snarl and a hiss.

A basilisk's venom was enough to drive men inside even deluded. In its purest form, straight from the source?

These giant lizards were smart. Too smart truly. To have attacked a basilisk meant they were desperate…

In a dash, one of them lunged forward; not at them – but at its fallen packmate – sinking teeth into the paralysed half-dead lizard only to drag it back to the rest of the pack, who leapt onto the kill and happily began ripped at the flesh of their fallen companion. Meat was meat, it seemed, no matter the source.

One of the creature's head darted up suddenly and yipped at the air, high pitched and loud.

At that, the others rose to attention then darted back into the jungle; taking the dead with them.

Vermilion darted ahead of the path after a sniff of the air, tail flicking this way and that, he leapt two bounds before one basilisk become two, then three and four; all nipping and moving circles around each other while the biggest circled – ever alert – while Vermilion and the others seemed to almost play.

"Dawn," Zihao muttered, then waved with his good hand for sword and spear to be lowered by what remained of his guard.

One of his guardsmen rushed over, taking off the prince's gauntlet and tending to his wounded hand; that looked worse than it was.

At the backs of the basilisk pack came another party on two legs each at six or seven feet tall; with a posture slightly hunched – they wore no armour – with claws on the end of green-scaled arms and mouths with rows of thin yet sharp teeth. Among their number only half carried spears, cruel, serrated, cruel in appearance.

Those spears were for throwing, tipped with an array of basilisk teeth still coated in a potent and dreadful mix of blood and venom.

The newcomer spoke "Isssh" that Zihao knew to mean his name – or that of his house at least.

"Lead," the Prince smiled as best he could, the pain in his hastily bandaged hand burning like a sun.

It muttered a hiss and a snarl, turning its back; some torn red cloth wrapped around its scaly green neck.

Half of the new arrivals went about gathering the bodies of the few slain lizards, hauling them over their backs with inhuman strength – they would be used for the leathery hide, the teeth and claws for weapons or tools, then the meat carved from bone to be eaten raw. The bones they gave to their basilisks, to gnaw on like a toy.

"He is happy to see you," Tora offered, wiping away the blood from her lips. The great tiger was gone, and she stood in its place; with as array of fresh red cuts.

Her people ruled this jungle since before the Dawn, her father had taught his own father long ago; known to the Empire's people as Seishin – like so many things they were the subject of children's stories, the shapeshifting spirits of the Twilight. It was said that the first Tamashī Emperor married a Princess of the Twilight and how his descendants inherited the Princesses gifts. Those old stories turned to legend then turned to myth and then to even less… but Tora's people had endured…

That said if it was true then Zihao had failed to inherit such powers from the ancient Princesses blood – as had his father, and his own father before him.

Tora's great clan were called the Po'Tun in their tongue, though few knew or cared to know that. To the empire they were merely fables. Seishin. Spirits.

The lizard-men were named Shuraiku, or Shryke in the Islanders old tongue; they spoke with clicks and hisses and barely formed the most basic of what would pass for any civilized language, but theirs was an ancient race – rulers of the Empire before it was ever an Empire – the Tamashī came and drove away all things strange.

Men oft mistook difference for weakness, but there was charm to even the Shuraiku's people in their own strange ways.

It was they who saved him from a pack of Ryōshi when he was only a child. If not for their kindness, he would have died that day.

There was no word for them in the Islanders old tongue – the Ryōshi – those that had killed half his men just moments ago, tall with a cunning that bordered on sentience; no creature was more feared in the jungle besides the basilisks who the Shuraiku had befriended over generations to guard against the dangers of the jungle.

What remained of his guard were wary of them. The Shuraiku were reptilian and the strangest of folk, but there was an intelligence behind their eyes.

They were all but immune to the basilisk venom they wielded, being venomous themselves, they were immune to near all diseases that would doom men.

It was said – from what little Zihao had learnt – that the Shuraiku were first among a race known in their tongue as Naga, a tall, black-scaled snake-like race of creatures that no longer lived as far as anyone knew. What remained of that ancient race had evolved and once thrived, until his ancestors came.

In the jungles of Twilight after exile they found what was only named 'The Mist' and the Shuraiku had taken to worshiping it as their god.

The Mist was a god – if it truly was one – of dirt and earth, of bog and water, of wind and sky; the mother of the jungle and all nature. Zihao knew about as much as the next man about their strange religion: that was to say he knew nothing, though they seemed to hold the trees in high regard.

He did wonder, more than once, if there was once some small grain truth to the tales of great walking trees… once upon a time…

The trees from what Tora had taught were intelligent – however the dawns sake that might have worked – they believed wholly that the trees were conscious beings and even fed their young sap from the twisted branches, to give the hatching their souls. And when they died, those souls returned to the jungle to repeat the cycle.

All of this coupled with their reptilian appearance and Zihao could hardly blame his men for doubting his faith in the Shuraiku.

The path ahead had grown damp now as they walked behind the escort, the trees were further apart, the ground grew boggier and the mists thicker.

S'lesh laid ahead of them – palisade walls surrounded by bogs filled with lizard-lions – it was the closest thing the Shuraiku had to a city. Once their race had ruled from the twin capitals of R'lesh and K'Dath, but one had become the Silver City and the other was swallowed by sand; never to be seen again – its inhabitants scattered to the grey wastes of the west – while the descendants of R'lesh fled east into the Twilight Jungle to found S'lesh. It was a poor substitute for past glory.

As they passed by the wooden gateway of S'lesh the villages prominent feature was its centre, a great twisted tree that blossomed luminescent flowers of red right at the heart of the Shuraiku village; with makeshift streets of dirt and huts of wood and straw and leaves littered about – some high up in the trees – the inhabitants watched them curious as they passed. The women Shuraiku were a rare sight – notably slimmer than the males – their duty was to guard the nests, as far as Zihao was taught.

The hatchlings were almost cute in an odd way, without teeth in their jaws; they were small and scurried about on all four limbs.

Shuraiku could do that at will, he knew, though most adults stood upright – they could cover great distances quickly while closer to the dirt.

"Isssh," their lead spoke with a hiss and a click on his forked lounge.

"My Prince," one of his guards whispered. "Are you certain we can trust these beasts?"

Their guides eyes blinked at the guard.

"Osss," he hissed the curse. "Ssaa…"

"W-" the guardsmen faltered. "What did he say?"

Tora smirked and shook her head, taking a step forward.

"We'll be fine," Zihao reassured his men. "Simply… behaviour yourselves…"

"Y- Yes my Prince…"

Their guide hissed "Isssh bsska" and moved on.

"Bsska," Zihao put great emphasis on the S's and followed.

It meant friend, or ally, according to what Tora's people had taught him.

The great blossomed tree was hollow within the trunk, its tree separated before them; revealing a door for entry.

"Isssh, Posst," their escort halted by the tree."

Tora bowed her head and spoke "Bsska" as she passed.

Inside the 'room' of sorts was lighted by the dim glow of the red flowers.

Three shuraiku stood awaiting them around a circle wooden table of sorts, connected to the very ground by roots.

"Naheesh," Tora began for him.

"Ossel," one of Shuraiku replied with a snarl.

The one beside him hissed and clicked, seeming to silence some disagreement.

"Raj-lesh," Zihao named one of them – the eldest – leader of the S'lesh clan, largest among the Twilight by a great margin and once upon a time his own saviour as luck would have it. The Twilight Prince dug deep and recalled his lessons. "S'lesh bsska nah-eesh kaal-ka usith…"

In essence he'd named himself friend to S'lesh. Assuming he hadn't fucked up the words too badly…

One of them by the name of Nah-eesh hissed then and appeared to smirk, flashing their row of razor teeth.

Raj-lesh was the eldest, their leader. Another was Nah-eesh and the third was named Kaal-ka… the most disagreeable…

The word Usith simply meant Nest or Home as near as any translation could make out. Zihao cautiously awaited their reply.

Unlike most of the Shuraiku these three wore some degree of clothing. Raj-lesh was the descendant of some ancient brood and thus led, wearing more than the others; his garb was dark mossy green leathers. Nah-eesh wore torn cloth around his waist that hung down his legs while Kaal-ka wore plain leathers and a single rusty iron pauldron.

"Bsska," Raj-lesh named him friend. "Reel-ka, bssk…"

At that the one named Nah-eesh picked up from the table a small wooden bowl.

He held it out and Tora nudged for Zihao forward with a hum and a nod, as if to say things were safe.

Taking the bowl from Nah-eesh's claws, he could see its contests were a sticky golden colour – sap from the jungle's trees – he'd been warned by Tora's father than such a thing may be offered. He'd also been warned of the consequences should he refuse. The sap was said to not only tie one's soul, but to also give great visions to some.

There would be no greater insult he could give them now than to refuse this…

He brought the bowl up to his lips and caught the smell of bark and damp moss.

"Bsska," Zihao steeled himself and let the sap run down his throat, thick and sticky as it was – like a cold porridge.

The taste turned from bitter and bark to sweet like honey on his tongue. Vermilion looked up at him from his side with curiosity.

Nothing happened…

He didn't know what he was ex-

Fire. In his stomach, in his heart, in his veins…

It burnt hot like the sun, sending the prince to his knees.

He heard the bowl shatter, but he could not see – the tree was gone with everyone and everything else too…

"T- Tora!? TORA!?"

Only an echo answered.

He groaned, up from his feet slowly as the darkness spun.

A light broke through then – forcing his hand up least it blind him – in a heartbeat he stood on a field surrounded by faceless nameless men.

The sun was rising over great white walls that he knew to be the Silver City. An army stood at his back and five wraiths approached him from the walls, each illuminated by light – one a radiant gold, another ebony black, the others a cold silver – as they approached the gold flickered and faded and the silver began to circle the others.

"Who are-"

A flash of white darted by him from behind with a roar.

It was a tiger, white and black stripped, it leapt towards the wraiths.

Looking back to them now, the ebony light had shifted and twisted into a serpentine dragon and lunged for him wildly; only for the white tiger to interfere.

The two creatures roared and ripped and clawed at each other while the silver wraiths circled around and around, watching curiously, Zihao's eye's widened as the white tiger was flung to the ground with a thud at his own feet; wounded and bleeding as the oily black dragon loomed ahead and seemed to blot out the rising sun.

In a flash, the silver wraiths suddenly leapt at the dragon from all sides; causing the monstrosity to wail in anger.

The tiger was back on its feet now – good as new – it roared and took one paw forward in its own defiance.

Zihao felt wet blood run from his ears when the black dragon roared, but then it turned and fled into the west.

The tiger gave chase, leaping over the walls of the Silver City and then over the western mountains too – gone from view.

Only the silver wraiths remained. They looked at him now briefly before fading and being blown away with a gust of wind.

A great pain stabbed at his skull, as if glass was being funnelled into his ears; he screamed and saw brief flashes before his eyes – of a great black city rising from the sands and a vast army fighting amidst five giant oily black castles – then then battle faded and nought but a lion remained, all white, with a silver mane and emerald eyes.

For whatever reason, the sight of the lion near brought him to tears; until that joy faded and nothing but the darkness remained.

His heart leapt in his chest as he grasped in the waking world, hand shooting out to catch only the air…

"Zi," her voice smoothed him somewhat.

Not dead then. Not yet at least… thank the dawn…

"Tora," he turned to her. She was laid beside him on the floor on what seemed to be a makeshift bed of giant leaves; for the Shuraiku had no use for pillows of feathered beds. The walls were wood, bark, tree while the air still smelled like a damn bog… so they were still in the village…

"Awake," Tora smiled at him, gently moving his head from side to side to check his ears. "You bled…"

He'd fled the blood in his visions but hadn't been certain it was true.

"Is that normal?"

She shook her head at that.

"No," her voice was harsh – the Imperial tongue didn't suit her too well, though she'd learnt it quickly.

"Where are we… is it still-"

"S'lesh," she confirmed. "What did you see?"

"I-" Zihao frowned at the memories, fuzzy and blurred.

He told her of the army, of the battle and of the dragon and the tiger, then the silver lion too…

She merely hummed in reply. Zihao looked at her – not for the first time – laid beside him, she wore her usual furs though her few iron pads and leather bracers were discarded across the room. In her furs alone her thighs were bare, with little else left to the imagination. Her people were not a modest bunch by any stretch at all.

She leaned in to close the distance and kissed his lips suddenly.

He'd been starring. It was his fault, truly, not hers.

Her hands wandered and-

"No," he stopped her, grabbing her arm.

"Why?" Tora asked with a disappointed look.

"We can't…"

"We have," she argued easily.

It wouldn't have been the first time.

"I'm engaged, Tora…"

At that she scowled, flashing her teeth.

"Witch," she named his new-found wife.

Zihao couldn't even argue with her on that.

"I need her," he decided instead. The witch part may as well be true.

"You need me," Tora deflected and kissed his neck. "You lie Zi…"

Dawn knew he did… but not for the same reasons…

"Her army," he frowned. "I need her army…"

Tora's head tilted, her dark blood-red hair falling aside.

"Share," she shrugged and looked down at him with a smile.

"That is-" Zihao knew her people's traditions.

They often had multiple mates, but Zihao found it…

"-dishonourable," he argued weakly at the beauty straddling his lap.

She huffed, rolled her cat-like eyes, then slipped her furs off her shoulders

Zihao was only human. He'd scold his own weakness and shame come the dawn.

It had taken a week of traditions and awkward talks with Tora's help to come to terms, but in the end the trip had proven worthwhile. S'lesh would stand with him beyond the twilight and lend their strength to his and Tora's people in the struggle to come. He'd promised them a welcome with open arms, to walk the streets of the Silver City some day soon as equals – with him as their Emperor – he'd vowed the same to Tora's father; along with promises to grand her kin rule over the jungle.

Many would fight him on these promises, he knew, but it was the right thing to do even if it wasn't the easiest. The nobles would fidget and complain until the dawn came and even then, they'd persist, he wasn't a fool to think that he could change the way the world works simply because he deemed it so… but he could try…

Things had to start somewhere, didn't they? His rule would begin to lay the foundation so that the generations to come may build upon it. He hoped.

In the ancient days, men and women truly believed in his family. One such noble house of little renowned had given his ancestors shelter within the Twilight Hall that once rested on the very edge of the jungle. These days, long before his birth, the jungle had moved to reclaim the hall with vine and root; taking what it pleased.

Here they had endured with the help of Tora's people, who believed the Tamashī were blessed by virtue of their old blood from a nameless Princess.

Twilight Hall was more a palace than anything. Its ground were vast – even overtaken by the jungle – mossy walls stood ten feet tall surrounding the property, some crumbled and rebuild; beyond the walls were tents outside of a great building of faded white stone near half covered in vines and branches. One great twisted tree had grown up and through the crumbled roof of the halls upper left side; exposing the house somewhat to the elements of the jungle.

The sun beamed through the canopy above, unlike the heart of the jungle, here the light of morning fought against shadow.

"Your Majesty," one man greeted them before the others.

In his plated armour he looked prepare for battle, every inch a fighter; with war on the horizon – his eyes widened at the bandages.

"You're injured," he moved to yelled orders in an instant.

"Peace," Zihao calmed him with a wave. "It's nothing Lord Joon, fret not…"

"I-" The lord hummed, bowing his head quickly. "As you say of course, my Prince…"

He was an old man, fresh to their cause, his loyalty untested – but the loss of his beloved daughter had driven him into their arms… or more accurately the arms of Zihao's bride-to-be who had promised the lord justice against her own foul brother. Lord Joon could at least be counted on to strive for that justice…

Zihao had been all too happy to adopt the promise as his own. Lu Lóng was a man for who justice had long sought after but never found.

Just then a shout of "Brother!" rang out and a blur of silver slammed into his chest.

She hugged him tight enough to crush his ribs if she had more muscle on her bones, with the same ashen-silver hair and emerald eyes as their parents Yuanji Tamashī was the spitting image of their late mother. "Yui," Zihao called her with a beaming smile. "You've been behaving I expect?"

"Yep," she nodded in reply, popping her P's for effect like a child half her age. She was woman now, in truth, at nearly nine-and-ten now – though that hadn't stopped her acting as she liked without a care. It had been years and Zihao still hadn't the heart to crush her spirits by trying to make her grow up.

"Let her be happy," he'd always thought. The world wasn't kind – especially to their family – so he'd spared her that.

"Shin gave me another present," Yuanji told her brother happily.

"Is that so..."

"Mhmm," she nodded, eyes drifted to his side.

Tora smiled down at the Princess, towering over her.

"It's white," Yuanji looked back to her brother. "Want to see?"

"Could I even refuse you, my sweet sister?"

She shook her head, smirking with a "Nope" and popping the P once more before grabbing his good hand.

"Husband," came another voice from the hall, as sweet as honey. Yuanji's grip tightened.

"Not quite yet Princess," Zihao countered immediately without so much as trying to hide his frown.

She giggled – as fake as he'd ever heard a person – flashing her eyes and wearing near as revealing clothing as Tora's people; though her skin was Imperial, olive and tanned from the dawn's sun. "Why the struggle my Emperor?" She stalked towards him, hips swaying, calling him 'My Emperor' as if she owned him already.

"I'm not Emperor yet, Lóng…"

"Soon enough," Princess Nuwa's smirk turned cunning.

"Not yet," Zihao insisted. "Not while your brother sits the throne…"

She didn't seem concerned by the idea in the slightest, this woman years his elder, who came to him with lofty ideals acting as if she hadn't been as desperate as she was; pretending she hadn't taken Lord Joon to bed as a sprinkling of sugar atop her honied promises of justice.

"My house stands with you Emperor," Lord Joon was quick to her side.

Zihao merely hummed. Joon wasn't a bad man, not truly, but he was her creature.

He had no desire to marry such a woman. None at all… and yet… with her backing, they had the numbers…

She was beautiful – that wasn't the issue – though on her insides he expected one would find a blackened heart; if any heart at all.

"I have missed my sister greatly," he declared with a faked smile for his wife-to-be. "Please, excuse us; she wished to show me something."

"Indeed," Yuanji narrowed her eyes at the woman, glared daggers, and then practically dragged him away to the safety of their near ruinous hall.

The doors of Twilight Hall creaked open for them as they approached and entered to the familiar sight of a long stairways and walls covered in ancient books – dusty or lost to damp and mould – their way was up the stairs, second room on the left past guardsmen dressed in the white-and-black of their family.

"Over here," his sister darted the moment the doors closed behind them.

In a flash she'd reached a container at the foot of her bed. In her hands was a ball of white scales.

"His name is Egg," Yuanji gently touched its scales, and the snake poked out its head.

Its eyes were a pale blue against scales white as milk.

"How cute," Zihao smirked for his sister's sake. She'd always had a love for animals.

The girl even loved spiders, to his own surprise – he found the creatures frighteningly ugly.

"He's handsome," she rolled her eyes. "It's a boy – dear brother, remember?"

Zihao muttered "how foolish of me" and knew better than to argue with her on the beauty of small beasts.

She huffed at him and sat on her feathered bed, happily keeping the snake in her hands.

"Something's wrong…"

"Isn't," she denied too quickly.

"Is too," Zihao huffed now. "Yui…"

She mumbled something, eyes locked on the snake, too low and quiet to make out.

"The witch," she scowled when pried.

Zihao couldn't help the smirk at that word.

This was Tora's fault, he knew, his sister must've heard her curse the Lóng woman.

"Ah," he decided with a chuckle. "Her…"

"Her," his sister scowled. "I don't like her – she's a poohead…"

Honor demanded he defend his betrothed… but then, was it honourable to lie?

"A what?" That was a new one…

"You heard me," Yuanji pouted like a child half her age.

He took a seat beside her on the bed, watching as she managed to calm the baby snake in her palm so that it would summon the courage to retreat from its protective ball; looking up at him now to measure the threat he posed. "It'll change nothing," he promised her, ignoring the snakes gaze. "You know that…"

"I know," she scowled, allowing the snake to slowly explore about her hands to its hearts content.

"We need her support," Zihao didn't know if he was trying to convince her or himself anymore.

"We're happy here though…"

Those words had been quiet as a wraith.

"I know," once more Zihao glanced at the snake.

"You're going to fight…"

He merely hummed. She wasn't a fool.

"I-" she steeled herself. "I'm coming with you…"

At that, he held a scowl of his own. She couldn't do that.

"That's brave, but dangerous – you cannot-"

"We're tigers, aren't we?" Yuanji looked at him. "It's on our banners, isn't it?"

It was. A silver-and-black tiger had ever been the sigil of the Tamashī since the days of the Princess.

"In battle," Zihao answered, pausing a moment.

"Yes?" She pried, with a steely serious look in her eyes.

"In battle we're not bolts of cloth, Yui… people die in war…"

"All the more reason for me to be there," she persisted. "To protect you…"

"I have Tora for that," he smiled at her then. "Shin too – and Lord Joon and the oth-"

"Joon is hers," Yuanji denied him that. She wasn't wrong.

"Tora and Shin then," he countered easily. "Tora's people too, her father, and the Shuraiku too…"

"I can help," still she insisted despite it all.

"Your duty is here Yui, to be safe; least I worry for you every moment."

"Duty," she frowned at the word. "I've heard that word my whole life brother – have we both not? Why is not duty any different than yours?"

He could not fathom being able to focus on battle with her by his side, dawn forbid anything might befall her; it was unspeakable no matter her wishes.

"Shall it always be this way brother?"

Dawn willing? Yes. He would shield her from the world as long as he'd the strength.

"I'm a woman," she said bitterly. "I know the way Shin looks at me and-"

"He would never dare-"

"-I'm a little girl anymore."

Zihao frowned at the truth of that.

"You are brave sister," he told her firmly. "I've never doubted that, but bravery can be blindness…"

"I see well enough brother…"

He hugged her suddenly, for he hadn't the words to change her mind.

"You'll squish Egg," she complained meekly.

"Egg and I will be fine," Zihao bid her to look up at him.

In her eyes, she knew he'd never let her fight.

"Promise me you'll come back home, brother?"

"I promise you Yui, with the Dawn as my witness."

Prince Zihao had every intention of keeping his promises.

The roads ahead ran together to meet the coming of the Dawn. The day was waning in the last rays of the sun, their great host casted long pointed shadows that went on before them. Men whispered how the Twilight had crept from the jungle and the Prince of Twilight rode now slowly at the end of the day, taking in the sights. They'd long since left the jungle and rode now into the vast fields of the south-eastern territories. On and on they went. The sun was gone by now, as twilight returned to greet them.

Up from the jungle laid the Empire's true borders, lined with forts and lords; they'd ridden along a stream that ran down from the hills behind, cleaving its narrow way between the hills unto the lands of Lord Joon's family. The old lords castle-fort was a modest thing, resting beside where the stream grew far wider.

It was loud with the sound of hooves and rushing waters, fuming on the stones, down upon green hills and plains.

Joon's castle loomed up above on a jagged peak, stained red by the sunset in the West.

The southern border territories were among the richest in the Empire thanks to their fields and import of food to the Silver City, that while vast and rich from its trade was surrounded by the drier and arid lands of the western territories. The border houses were as a result, rich, though often plagued by conflict.

Zihao was tired, even though they had ridden slowly, peaceful sleep had all but alluded him. They'd ridden with very little rest. Hour after hour for nearly three weary days they'd ridden away from the jungle, over passes, and through long dales, and across many streams. All the while he had taken to riding alongside lords, nobles, supporters of all ranks and races; for what would-be Emperor could hope to rule without the love of those he hoped to rule over some day?

He'd talked to Tora for the most part, she'd never left his side atop her great beast of a mare; no more than Vermillion had either.

Many among their host hid frowns at how close and often the pair rode together: the Twilight Prince on his great white stallion, and the Tiger Princess on her red mare – though he couldn't bring himself to care for their whispers. He spoke to her of his ancestor's home in the Silver City and she spoke of her own home and the doings of her clan whenever she wasn't forced away by lords who felt uncomfortable around their would-be-emperors many strange friends.

One lord had – laughably – suggested that Vermillion should've been left behind in the jungle. Zihao had struggled not to laugh at that.

Tora's father rode not far behind him too, alongside his bravest warriors – some thousand strong – their language was slow and short and crude with so many odd meanings to them that Zihao had struggled to grasp an understanding of their tongue at all as a boy. At times they would sing, near all songs full of sorrow.

It was strange, amidst this great host of men, he'd never been lonelier than he felt in these moments.

"Home at last!" Lord Joon said then. "Our journey is almost at and end my Prince!"

His horse halted. The path ahead narrowed up the practically small cliff that Joon's castle rested atop. Small lights twinkled in the shadows above, promising warmth and safety behind tall strong walls – though his great host would taste neither, as they would set camp beside the stream.

"This stretch of the journey," Zihao countered. "We've far to go yet my Lord…"

"One foot forward at a time my Prince."

As simple an approach as any, he supposed; true enough.

"May I offer my counsel to the Prince?"

Tora eyed him warily from his left, eyeing the lord.

"Speak your mind, friend…"

Lord Joon soaked up flattery like a sponge.

"You should return here," he counselled. "Once the war is won – or should it turn for the worst, you are most welcome…"

An invitation as both guest and hostage was one that he could only grin at.

"A gracious offer my Lord," he didn't fight the smirk on his lips. "I shall consider it."

"Most excellent your Highness. My family will be honoured to host you within out humble halls."

And no doubt the man would parade his remaining daughters out for him to droll over like a puppy, or so he'd hope – ignoring that it was a design of the Lóng Emperors to take multiple wives and not a thing of Tamashī design… it was despite this too good a diplomatic tool to disregard…

The nobility would line up in droves to wed their daughters and sisters to him, like it or not; hate the bootlickers as he did.

In the deepening dusk they came to Joon's holding. Here the stream beside the castle flowed past the western wall, then into a small crystalline lake.

Someone blew a long call on a horn. It echoed in the valley behind them.

Other horns answered it, calling Lord Joon home with his new Prince.

The strength of Joon's banners had already assembled; for all knew of their coming.

"At dawn five days past," Lord Joon revealed. "General Yun came from the West to gladden our hearts, but he also brought word from the capital…"

The old lord's face twisted for but a moment when pressed by his would-be Emperor.

"His forces are a great boom to our cause," Joon continued. "His numbers bolster our-"

"What word from the Capital?"

"I-" Joon frowned. "Yes… well…"

"Speak," Zihao insisted as Vermillion hissed.

"S- Starks," Lord Joon hesitated, eyeing the basilisk warily.

"In the capital?" At that Zihao scowled. The Silver City was a month's ride away from Joon's lands as the fastest horse might carry a man, so how the damn wolves could've known to come now… someone must have warned them… but who? "How many have come?"

"Some few thousand my Emperor," a new voice knelt in Joon's courtyard before Zihao's horse.

"General Yun," Lord Joon introduced the man.

"An honour to serve the Rightful Emperor…"

"Rise now General," Zihao bid him. "What news?"

The man looked conflicted. "They… come for Your Highness…"

"For me?" Zihao frowned.

He'd never seen met a Stark before…

"Forgive me," the General bowed his head. "I thought you would know…"

"Why would I know? I've been exiled in a jungle my whole life, General – please speak your mind..."

The man seemed to steel himself. "Cai Lóng is dead," he revealed with a stony mask. "Assassins, it is said; the Starks have named Your Highness as-"

"You dare accuse the Emperor-"

Zihao hushed him with a single raised hand.

"I speak only what I have learned, Your Highness," the General kept his head bowed. "Once the wolves arrived with word of the young girl's demise, her brother vowed vengeance upon the Tamashī and welcomed the Starks into his fold. My family was long loyal to your own… when Lord Joon reached me, I knew my duty…"

"I thank you for it general," Zihao said the words but felt nothing in the moment.

"Your men are most welcome," Lord Joon was all smiles, he patted the general's shoulder eagerly.

A hundred thoughts passed Zihao's head. Assassins? He'd never… well, he had… but for the girl? That was madness…

"Well played Your Highness," Joon leant over to whisper. "With the Lóng girl dead, the wolves have no ties to the dragon."

"Yes," is all he managed to say, frowning, he pushed past the old man.

He hadn't ordered it. Why would he? Such a thing would only force the Stark's into a rage, aimed at Him of all people…

It was at least not all foul news. General Yun's bloodline had long been loyalists, their ancient holdings seized by the Lóngs long ago and given to other families instead – although Yun's host was not so large as others of his rank, his men were well trained and his loyalty certain enough.

Looking out over the fields surrounding Joon's hold, he could not quite guess at their numbers in the gathering gloom, but it looked a great army, so many thousands strong. Night came quickly and with it the stars, but the eastern sky seemed darker than the one above their own heads.

Lord Joon served fresh cut lamb for their dinner with mint and fine wines. In the gloom of it all he'd found himself hungry even as the nobles joined him for the small feast within Joon's modest hall. Princess Nuwa had joined them on the road – much to Yui's argument – he'd been unable to force the Lóng woman to stay behind.

"My fate is tied to yours," she'd told him, smiling and naming him Husband as if they'd already been wedded.

They would have been if she'd had her way no doubt. Zihao had refused, until the Dawn Throne was his by more than mere claim.

There was little talk as they ate and drank for the most part in silence, until at last, plucking up courage, it was the General to ask the question.

"Your Highness," he began dutifully. "Might we speak of your plans?"

Zihao thought to say how he did not trust all those within this room, but that truth helped no one.

"We shall march along the border territories and secure the loyalty of its lords – those who have suffered the most under the Lóngs misrule; left used and ignored all these years – our numbers will swell, then we'll march towards the heart of the Empire. At the Silver City, our destiny will be decided…"

There was some grumblings at that 'plan' such as it was.

"Many may join us," the General agreed. "Some may not… and those who refuse cannot be left behind…"

"They cannot," Zihao agreed with a bite of his lamb.

"Sieges would take time Your Highness. Time for the enemy to prepare…"

"Time has long been my ally General Yun. Our numbers must grow if we are to succeed."

He frowned for a moment but bowed his head in respect for his new Emperor.

Zihao had a plan, but it was his own in truth – these men of shifting loyalties knew only what they needed to know.

Having pulled away the last bite from his leg of lamb, sipping at the offered wine, he offered the remaining bone to Vermillion. The basilisk wagged its tail and took it gently from his hand, crunching the bone into pieces as if it were made of wood – leaving a few stray splinters on the floor for the servants to clean away.

The chapters given to him after dinner was done were second only to Lord Joon's own, or so he claimed at least. Zihao found them perfectly fine enough.

When he woke the sun had yet to rise up over the horizon. In his feathered bed laid the Lóng woman, bare as the day she was born, she had one arm clung across his chest; possessive of him in even her sleep. While she had meekly agreed to wait for marriage, the woman had refused to not share her soon-to-be husband's bed.

If he'd said no, Zihao wagered she'd have found someone else's bed to warm instead… and that wouldn't do…

She was beautiful. He really couldn't argue that in the slightest, with her smooth flawless olive skin and features most men would kill for in a woman, he couldn't doubt any of her assets except for how her eyes lingered too long, her lips lied too often, her heart was too… twisted…

"There are worse fates," he'd tell himself in silence, absently brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.

Up from the bed he found fresh clothes, pulling on his shirt and halting at the window to look outside.

This morning was a dark one. The very air seemed heavier somehow, as if the sun might decide to never rise up over the horizon; instead to leave the world black and grey and shadowed in stillness. No clouds were in the sky as the red gloom began to creep across the fields below him.

His army was camped below, with tents spanning across the fields under the shadow of Joon's castle.

Zihao left his future-wife to her sleep and walked about the castle halls. Joon's guards were standing about, bowing their heads at his passing: all their faces were stoic and grey, hiding their fear over the coming storm well enough. Their new Prince made his way to Joon's great hall.

Tora was there before him, alongside General Yun and Captain Shin; rising to greet him as he entered.

"My Prince," the Captain greeted him warmly enough.

Tora merely smiled at him kindly, even knowing who he spent the night with.

Ahead laid the great struggle of his life, his destiny, too far now to turn back; the Empire would stir and twist this way or that and he would steel himself against the Lóngs and those who follow them, even as he shared a bed with one of their ilk. "A day will come when you shall rule," his own father once sat him down and spoke with a grim look about his aging features. "When that day comes you must be ready – to go out from the twilight and into the dawn – as the defender of the innocent and protector of the weak. You my boy will bring hope to the lost, give your life to the helpless, and in your worth; undo the wicked…"

"Truth my shield, courage my sword," Zihao remembered the words.

General Shun and Lord Joon departed first, off to have the trumpets sounded.

Zihao turned to his friends then. "We're going to war then…"

"Scared my Prince?"

Shin's smile was wide and defiant.

"Yes," the Prince admitted. "Terrified, actually… does that make me a coward Captain?"

Shin only shook his head and uttered "makes you human" before he bowed and departed the hall.

The trumpets rang through Lord Joon's halls and were answered by many others from below his high rise; their voices clear and brave as lions.

Tora was the only left behind with him now, watching him curiously.

"If I asked you to stay behind…"

"No," she replied simply.

"I figured as much," he found a smile for that, however small it was.

Tora smiled back at him, kissing him for good luck and waiting for him to leave.

She'd never abandon him. She'd kill any man or woman who tried to stop her from fighting at his side, even if she were crippled and short her long legs; she'd somehow strap herself to his saddle or hang from his stirrups – anything and anyway to stay by his side – such was the loyalty of her people once given.

Zihao entered the courtyard to the raised swords and Joon's men with cheers on their tongues.

The Prince of Twilight sat atop his white horse, glimmering in the rising light, looking proud and tall in his silver plate with ashen hair blowing slightly in the breeze; he looked every inch a Prince – unbent and unafraid of the battles to come. His host followed the stream until they met the lake, following that too, their path led onward to join with General Yun's fort then onto hold after hold. A single trumpet sounded. The Prince raised his hand, and then silently the host began to move.

At its head went twelve of the Prince's most trusted. Then the Prince himself followed with Tora on his right and Captain Shin to his left, dressed in his silvery plate with a white tiger on the banner he held up; fluttering in the breeze the great cat seemed to run across the sky above their heads, unseen in the Empire for generations.

Zihao spied one soldier when they'd halted briefly by a town, young at a glance, less in height and girth than most. He caught the glint of dark green eyes under that one's helmet; and then he frowned and looked away. This town was sending their sons – more boys than men – off to what may well be their deaths… all for his cause…

More joined as they travelled, strengthening their host at every stop. Most of the border forts greeted them with open gates and open arms. There was little love for the Lóng dynasty so far from the capital, the ruling Emperor's had all but ignored the plight of these folk for far too long and they stood in awe at the sight of the Tamashī Prince atop his white stallion in shining silver armour, accompanied by men and beasts alike; most knelt and swore themselves in a heartbeat.

The Lóng woman made a point to ride by his side, dressed in her finest silks and velvets; with a fine dagger at her hip too – what gates did not open for his name nor fear of his host, soon opened for her honied words. She sung of her brother's cruelty and sweet promises. One by one, the border territories joined them.

"My brother sends assassins to murder my sweet sister," she told one reluctant lord. "I fled, or I too would have met the same fate."

"This is true Tamashī?" the Lord had asked then of the would-be Emperor of Dawn.

The words 'Truth as my Shield' rang against his head, and Zihao hoped his father's ghost could forgive him.

"It is," he lied with a heavy heart. "As the Empress says, these assassins are her brothers work… foul a truth as it is…"

The lord had hummed and easily fooled by the pretty words from Nuwa's ruby lips. She played the victim well, her voice shaking ever so slightly at the mention of her slain little sister. She called upon the not-so-subtle threat of tears at the corner of her black eyes, clinging gently to her Emperor's arm like a lost little girl in need of protection.

These lords and nobles of shifting loyalty turned his stomach something fierce… though the Lóng's had neglected them, such disloyalty was still concerning…

Onward they rode across the Empire. The grassy plains turned poorer and sparce the further they ventured towards the eastern territories, further from the breadbasket of the dawn and closer to the Silver City itself – all the while their host had grown tenfold and was not like to grow as much this close to the capital.

If the late Prince Xun Lóng still drew breathe then doubtless they'd have had trouble by now, but Vermillion's venom had seen to him.

Still, the eastern territories were among the greatest of the Empire's holdings by virtue of their closeness to the capital. They'd find few friends here.

The Prince of Twilight had departed from all he'd ever known, mile by mile the long road grew longer till there was nowhere to go but ahead. The sword was drawn, the bridge crossed, the dawn had come, and the tiger stirred from its slumber. It bared its fangs and roared at the dragon. Come out, little snake; come out and die…

My Note(s): Oh boy where to even start – this wasn't even supposed to be a chapter originally then I started expanding on the 'lore' for the region and the history more than I'd already done – we've Zihao in league with Shrykes and Tiger-Men (both canon 'mythological' things in Martins universe) with the Tiger-Men being old legends in Yi Ti it felt like a proper addition to the Shrykes (who were always planned) and then I just kinda felt like an excuse to add the raptors since I'd already briefly introduced the Twilight Jungle and the setting felt appropriate. I think it played out well, I'm happy with it :) hope it wasn't a boring real at all; lots of 'lore' covered that isn't 'canon' etc.

For reference the name R'lesh is taken from R'lyeh in a similar vein to K'Dath being in relation to Kadath from lovecraft :P linking the ancient Shryke history to whatever dark Cthulhu shit I've got cooking in the present – you'll have to wait and see – but decisive to say Zihao has rallied quite the unique group of allies to fight alongside not to mention having gotten into bed quite literally with Nuwa Lóng for the support she brings to his cause; though Zihao isn't happy about it, he can't afford to refuse really.

In regard to the Shrykes (Shuraiku to the Imps) I took a lot of inspiration from the Argonians/Akaviri only more 'savage' in nature and appearance. We've only seen glances of the K'Dath / Wasteland clan(s) of Shrykes in the past; that differ in culture to those we see in the jungle, but they are the same 'race' regardless… just separate clans… was always the intention to develop them further down the road :) as is the same story with most of the foundations laid in early chapters regarding the Empire.

Without further ado I'll cease my rambling. Next chapter should be that Twilight of Dawn chapter I promised last time, unless I pick a different name… maybe the 'Hour of Twilight' instead; but it'll ultimately a very big chapter with the big Lóng vs Tamashī showdown. I'll start writing it right away to hopefully be done for next Friday…

246vili: Tamashī has been busy indeed, that much is true; making allies of all types to achieve his goal. We'll see how it ends up playing out…

Jay: Tyrion is an interesting character in the books and is ironically the most like his father in many ways, as I do believe his aunt observed at some stage in canon. In this story, wrong place wrong time wrong family; he was screwed the second he stepped foot on Dragonstone. Rodrik Stark isn't even close to a forgiving person.

Hulkbuster97: I enjoy writing the story/lore of the Empire and exploring the lesser-known areas of GRRM's world – even if he likely only ever meant them to be myths in most cases – the more mystical side of Sunset Starks is appealing to me :) was always my intention to follow up on earlier chapters. In regard to the Long Night, it's certainly not going to be covered in any short chapter. As it stands (glancing at all my notes) it spans a Lot of chapters and ends up in a way I've not seen done elsewhere. The Empire plot isn't the focus of the story so it gets less coverage than Westeros, but it's still relevant as will become quite clear later on ;) I've got it all planned out way ahead etc.

It's interesting that you don't like Willam much, I do wonder why exactly, but that's quite already; this isn't just 'Willam's Story' after all. Ty for reviewing :)