(Silverhill: 4/28/299) Jun IV
"She's safe! She's alive! She has to be!" Jun continually repeated to herself in almost trance-like repetitions, as the thundering charge of nearly a thousand horses pounded against the earth like a tempest's drumbeat, in a desperate race towards the imposing fortress of Silverhill. "She couldn't have been ambushed! She would've seen it coming, and even if she was," she reasoned, "she defeated them and mounted their heads on spikes! Yes! That's what she would do! The Red Stranger! She would scare them away! Show the monsters the cost of marching against Dragonstone and the Fire Nation!" Jun's heart pounded in her chest, matching the rhythm of the galloping horses. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the fear and hope intertwining as they closed the distance to where they were and where they desperately needed to be.
"Lord of Light, protect her. Please let this be enough," Jun prayed. A prayer to a god that she had only recently come to remember from moments long passed. Her fists clenched into a tight ball over Whisper's reins, afraid the request would be denied in such a fashion that only gods can do. Her eyes scanned the riders charging along with her with razor-sharp focus.
A disparate group though it was, she knew they were unified by a singular purpose: to safeguard their Princess at any cost. Robb Stark, Jon Snow, Ser Justin Massey, the Hellhound, Lord Hubard Rambton, and other stalwart companions rode alongside her. On their flanks, the cavalry formed a formidable array, with Lord Bolton and his heavy horse anchoring the left, while a mixture of Sunglass and Rambton riders held steadfast on the right. Leading the charge at the forefront were the Flameguard of Dragonstone, under the command of their resolute General, their black armor gleaming in the light and their fiery banners billowing in the wind like avatars of war. Together, they formed a determined cavalry, a living wall of resolve.
Far behind them, the remainder of the army had been entrusted to the command of Lord Karstark, with strict orders to follow as soon as they were able. But there was no time for hesitation or respite, for urgency drove them forward, their steeds straining against the unforgiving terrain of the Silverstream's treacherous embrace.
As they neared Silverhill, the fortress loomed larger, its ancient stone walls stark against the sky. Once their party came to the foot of the incline, leading to the main gate of the Serret fortress, the sight before them was harrowing. Bodies, broken, melted, or twisted into unrecognizable deformity, littered the path to the castle. Knights, their armor rent and torn, lay amidst the scattered remains of smallfolk nestled beneath the rocky outcroppings the lined the great shadow of the monolith comprised of silver and stone. The ground was stained with blood, the metallic scent mingling with the stench of decay.
"What form of slaughter is this?" Robb's voice cut through the stunned silence, his men close behind him, followed by the Lord of the Dreadfort. The cold paleness of the Bolton's eyes seemed to shimmer with the slightest hint of uncertainty, making Jun shiver at the mere thought of Roose Bolton taking pause.
"Not one of man's make," the general replied, nearing the Northern lord, her scarred face twisted into a grimace.
"Aye," the Hellhound added with a worried grunt, his bulk riding guardedly at the General's side. "Even my brother was not this brutal."
Jun rode warily up the path where Greywind and Ghost had scouted. As she rounded a large rock, she stumbled upon a small, melted form, causing bile to rise in her throat. She vomited over the side of her mount, her disgust shared by those around her as they made the turn. None dared laugh at the spectacle.
"Jun!" Jon's voice broke through the sounds of whinnying horses and retching men, as he approached, concern evident in his grey eyes. He gently righted her, his touch comforting.
"I'm fine, my love," Jun replied, placing her smaller hand upon his own, attempting to mask her disgust. But the image of the child's digested corpse had already been burned into her mind, haunting her even as she tried to push it aside. Spitting out the last bits of bile from her mouth, she raised her arm and used her sleeve to wipe away whatever remained at her lips. "This didn't happen to her. Didn't happen to Brienne," her self-reassurance sounded more and more fevered in her mind.
"Cadet?!" the general barked, trotting up along her right side as Jon had been on her left. "Now is not the time for weakness," she placed a surprisingly comforting hand upon her shoulder, mirroring Jon's own. Her words presenting more of understanding tone than the harshness of a direct command.
"Understood, General," she tried to sound unshaken, and failed miserably. "The…Princess," she said with a catch of dread upon her throat.
"Yes, let us pray she is unharmed." The general's voice, though steady, betrayed a hint of fear and concern for their Princess' safety as they surveyed the carnage. The General, her face set in grim determination, barked orders to the Flameguard. "Form up! We advance on the gate. Be ready for anything."
The cavalry moved with purpose, their formation tightening as they approached the fortress. The eerie silence was broken only by the clatter of hooves and the rustle of armor. As they reached the gate, Jun's eyes scanned the battlements, searching for any sign of life. There was none. Neither upon the battlements, nor the imposing gates below. Gates which stood blackened with blood and soot and radiated an almost sickening presence from its marred surface. The faintest of whispers she could hear, fading before truly turning into words, but lasting long enough for Jun to realize it was from some ancient tongue. The remains of fallen creatures littered the ground, hinting at an ambush and the ensuing fierce response. The direwolves at the sides of the Stark half-brothers snarled at the silent keep.
"Gods above," she heard the elderly Lord Rambton whisper, his voice barely audible amidst the solemn silence that had descended upon their group. "What madness has befallen this place?"
Two Dragonstone mounts, the pride of Dragonstone, diligently trained to be fearless before fire, now lay disemboweled and lifeless, the flies already buzzing about their corpses like unwanted visitors.
Nearby, the decapitated forms of two fishmen lay strewn about, their heads severed from their bodies in a brutal manner. The stench of blood and decay hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of burnt flesh.
"One of them appears to have been crushed," Robb observed, his voice barely above a whisper as he pointed to the scorched marks on the ground where its head should have been. The sheer force of the blast had left behind a small crater, evidence of the ferocity of the attack.
As she took in the grisly sight, a chill ran down her spine. The remains of another ten fishmen littered the area, their inhuman bodies cut to pieces like fish at the market.
"The Princess and her retinue appear absent from the corpses," the Palelord noted coolly after a quick observation, his tone betraying none of the dread that Jun felt. His eyes scanned the scene with a detached curiosity, as if analyzing the aftermath of a battle was nothing more than a mundane task.
Jun felt a surge of anger rise within her at his callousness, cut short only by the hope that the lack of her friends' bodies, and even that of the Dragonseed, had hinted at their continued survival somewhere within the castle-fortress.
"We must press on," the General declared, her voice firm and resolute. "The safety of the Princess is paramount, and it is our duty to find her."
The group advanced cautiously through the gates of Silverhill, their senses heightened and weapons at the ready. The once grand fortress now seemed more like a haunted crypt, the stench of death lingering in the air and casting a shadow over their every step.
Inside, the scene was no less ominous, for no bodies could be seen. Only the odd marks of smeared blood and a handful of overturned crates and barrels, nothing close to resembling the slaughter that had greeted them when they had come up the path into Silverhill. Nothing to indicate the castle had even been sacked, let alone its occupants having apparently been butchered to the last man, woman, and child. She had seen more damage done after healthy celebrations at the Academy.
"General!" the Hellhound pointed out towards the stables.
There, standing beneath the shade of the stable roof, were six Dragonstone mounts, one of which she immediately identified as 'Proudhoof,' Ursa's mount. Their black coats had rendered them near invisible in the shadows, just as they had done with the black armor of the sole Flameguard that stood in soundless watch.
"You there! What happened here?" Lord Rambton demanded, the order falling upon deaf ears and still tongue. His question greeted by silence, Hubard Rambton turned to the General. "Does the man not speak?"
"They are sworn to silence, Lord Hubard," the General clarified, "and the only commands they follow are those of the Fire Lord and her family."
"He does not need to, for the Princess yet lives," Clegane's hard voice cut in, seemingly brooking no argument with his statement. "No Flameguard would leave her to die, just to guard some horses. She must still be within the castle, General," the scarred man added.
"Let us pray she does, Major," the General replied with a subtly hopeful tone.
As if in response to their conversation, the solitary Flameguard silently pointed towards the entrance to the main hall of Silverhill. His golden-trimmed black gauntlet caught the light momentarily before it retreated into the shadows, resting upon the pommel of his blade.
"Well, there you have it, Clegane," Robb Stark said, dismounting, followed shortly by the others.
"Ser Justin, see to it the horses are stabled," the General commanded of the young knight and a handful of others from Dragonstone. "Lord Hubard, secure the courtyard and search the buildings! Major," the former instructor turned her head sharply to the Hellhound, "you and a dozen of the men with me!"
Reacting instantly, the Clegane barked out his orders, and gathered the required number of men mere moments after the General had issued her commands. "And Stark!?" the General turned, "Assume command of the other Flameguard, until my return. Be cautious," she added, softening her gaze as she shared a look with the future lord of Winterfell.
"I will, my lady. Greywind will ensure it," Robb nodded as he scratched the direwolf's large furry neck. After the moment had passed, Jun saw his blue eyes steel themselves before turning to address their combined host. "Lord Bolton! Take your men and have them secure the battlements," he ordered, his voice low and commanding. "We know not what we may yet find within this place. Flameguard! Assist Lord Bolton!"
With a sense of purpose renewed, the Flameguard fell into step either behind their general or the commands of the Heir to Winterfell, their black armor gleaming ominously in the light. The Hellhound and the dozen men the general had chosen marched with speed over the cracked stones of the pathway leading to the ruined entrance of the main hall of Silverhill. Jun inhaled a steady breath, balanced her Ki, and fortified her determination. Small as she knew she was, she would remain unyielding as she followed the general forward.
At their backs, she had heard Lord Bolton's flat voice echo within the courtyard as he divided his men into two groups. After the commands had been issued, both bands of Bolton men and remaining Flameguard had swiftly ascended the battlements, their boots and sabatons echoing against the stone steps as they took up strategic positions along the fortress walls. From their vantage points, they would no doubt be able to survey the surrounding landscape, and spot signs of imminent danger.
The Rambton-Sunglass contingent, under the command of Lord Hubard, moved with precision and purpose. Dividing into three squads, they set out to do as commanded. The largest group settled in to secure the courtyard, while the other two set of soldiers fanned out to search the nearby towers and buildings. They moved with caution, their swords drawn and senses alert for any sign of danger lurking in the shadows.
As they reached the entrance to the main hall, the general raised her hand, signaling for the group to halt. The once grand doors now lay shattered, splintered, and burnt. Beyond them, darkness loomed like a hungry beast, swallowing all traces of light. She motioned for Jon and Jun to flank her as they prepared to pass beneath the archway of the broken door. The rest of the Flameguard formed behind the Hellhound, their weapons drawn, their minds sharp.
Even as she formed up alongside the General, Jun could not shake the feeling of foreboding that clung to the fortress like a shroud. The whispers at the gates, while having fallen silent in the courtyard, had remerged as she passed through the threshold. Looking to her sides, she saw no one else reacting to them, and for a fleeting moment she thought herself mad. The air within the hall was heavy with the scent of blood and burnt wood, its stone walls marred by soot and bloodstains. Tattered banners hung limply from the walls, their colors faded and torn, while the stone floor was slick with a mixture of blood and grime.
"What in the seven-hells," she heard a Flameguard mutter, earning him a sharp hiss of silence from the Major.
Jun could not blame him, for she gasped as well, when she saw the stonework at the rear of the great hall. Nearly all of the interior had been scorched black save a strange and near monstrously shaped patch of clean wall. The guttural voice in her mind seemed to grow angry, before falling silent once more.
"What is that?" she whispered to Jon, shaking away the ugly mutterings in her mind, and pointing to the shape upon the wall. Jun's heart pounded in her chest, her senses on high alert. She couldn't shake the feeling of dread that clung to the air like a suffocating blanket, nor the chill that seemed to seep into her bones.
"Something appears to have stood in-between the wall and a very powerful firebender. The Princess, perhaps?" her love replied, as they both followed their scarred leader.
"And left neither ash nor corpse…" the General added ominously.
The scene before them elicited a soft growl from Ghost.
Every shadow seemed to move of its own accord, and with each step, the tension grew palpable, her nerves stretched taut as bowstrings.
"I do not like this place," the same man from earlier muttered again, quieter than the last, but still audible to someone with sensitive hearing. Jun heard a slight bit of commotion at her rear and turned to see the Hellhound grabbing the man by his gorget.
"Shut the fuck up," the Major growled, his tone hushed, but no less menacing to the ear. Shoving the man away, they continued in silence.
As they cautiously made their way through the hall, their footsteps echoing off the cold stone, they noticed three doors. One leading towards another room to the left, another to the right, and one just behind the raised platform where the lord of the castle would no doubt sit and hold court. The door behind the platform stood slightly ajar, the faintest hint of light filtering through the crack. Suddenly, a monstrous shriek pierced the silence, causing them all to brandish their swords and ready their flames. The sound stopped just as abruptly as it had started, followed by the sound of a female voice that Jun found immediately and intimately unpleasant.
"How interesting," she could hear the bitch's smooth voice somehow carrying out from whatever room she resided.
"Syrah?" she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt the tug of a smile upon her lips, because as much as she loathed the girl, Jun knew that if Syrah lived, then Ursa most assuredly did as well.
"Be ready for anything," the General warned, her voice low and urgent.
With a shared glance, they moved towards the sound, their hands tightening around the hilts of their weapons.
"The Valyrian manuscripts never…" she heard the Dragonseed continue, as the General pushed open the door. The scene that greeted them was both surreal and horrifying.
As soon as she set foot in the room, she realized the space had once been a kitchen, now transformed into something far more ominous, and illuminated by flickering torches and a small soot-covered hearth burning with a fierce golden flame. Dominating the center of the space stood the short but shapely figure of Syrah. Her silvery-white hair cascaded around her like a ghostly halo, shimmering eerily under the flickering golden-white light. Lining the walls behind Syrah, just above her shoulders, were the banners of House Serret—a peacock in his pride on cream. Unlike the banners in the great hall, these had been undamaged, though not unstained. Bloody splotches of varied sizes were dotted all across their surfaces as if they had been mere tourniquets. The lingering scent of old, charred wood mingled with the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood, churned her stomach. As she touched the flames with her mind, she felt a bitter taste rise up from the back of her throat. Syrah's control over the fires within the room were absolute.
Seemingly ignoring her attempts to usurp the flames, Syrah remained bent over one of the fishmen, her delicate-seeming hands stained with blood, engaged in what appeared to be a gruesome vivisection. The creature's wide, glassy eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, its body splayed open with surgical precision, its arms and legs bound down upon the table with blood-soaked leather straps. Syrah's face betrayed no emotion except for intense concentration, her movements precise and methodical. Each incision was executed with practiced ease, revealing a knowledge of anatomy that was both impressive and chilling, especially for one so young.
The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional, wet sound of Syrah's tools at work and the soft, almost inaudible hum of her steady breathing. The body twitched and Jun prayed it did not still live. Shadows danced on the walls, twisted and elongated by the unsteady light, as if celebrating the butchery. The transformation of the once domestic space into a chamber of horror was complete, and the air seemed to thrum with a sinister energy.
"Ah, General! You're later than the Princess expected," Syrah's voice cut through the silence, startling them. She briefly lifted her gaze from her work, displaying palm-over-fist, before setting them back to their meticulous task. "I could smell the rat the moment she entered the hall," she added without looking up, the insult lost amidst the sudden thrashing of the creature.
Jun and Jon jumped back, while the Hellhound the rest of the Flameguard merely recoiled in either disgust or horror. Unable to contain her disbelief, she blurted out, "It's still alive?" Her discomfort grew with each passing moment, as the bile rose higher in her throat.
"What the fuck?! Put that abomination out of its misery!" she heard the Major shout.
The thing on the table writhed in agony, its gurgled cries punctuating the eerie silence of the chamber. Its scales gleamed in the torchlight, its mottled skin slick with sweat and blood, as it struggled against the restraints that held it firmly in place. Jun stared at the Dragonseed as she cut with an undeniable almost royal elegance, a dark grace that made it nearly impossible to look away. Placed upon bloodstained platters at Syrah's side, Jun saw various oozing black things that pulsed with soft purple glows.
"What is the meaning of this, cadet?" the General ordered, demanding an answer and ignoring the creature's writhing form, her voice cutting cleanly thorough the mire of awkwardness and surprise. The General, her love, and Ghost stepped forward with confidence, while her own feet lingered hesitantly before following, the floorboards creaking ominously underfoot. "What is this place? What are you doing?"
"This place," Syrah replied, her tone as clinical as her actions, "is where I am temporarily conducting my studies and acting as lookout should the creatures return. It was the only path leading to the cellars and as good fortune would have it, contained many of the instruments I required. And this," she gestured with a blood-streaked hand, patting the disemboweled fishman's head, "is my subject. Just as those were," the Dragonseed nodded to her left, revealing that within the shadows Jun initially mistook for mere darkness, hung the grotesque forms of two more fishmen, suspended on meat hooks. Their mutilated bodies bared a horrifying void where their organs should have been. Instead of innards, only a glossy black emptiness met Jun's horrified stare, the cavity oozing with viscous black blood—a chilling testament to the depravity that she had always suspected lurked within the Dragonseed's heart, but had not confirmed until now. Syrah's gaze shifted to the creature sprawled upon the table, her smirk widening slightly. "We stumbled upon this one, along with its companions, huddled within the shadows of the armory," she began, her voice laced with satisfaction. "They were wounded and cowering, seeking refuge amidst the carnage of a butchered Silverhill man-at-arms. It appears the men of Silverhill were not as ineffectual as I had initially surmised."
"I was not aware Dragonstone was in possession of yet another skilled physician," the General pressed, her frown sharp, eyes blazing. "Your name is not one I recall seeing on Sanro and Qyburn's list of trainees."
"Self-taught, General. I like to keep busy," Syrah's lips curled into a cold smile, as she answered, before turning to Jun and sending a shiver down her spine.
"Self-taught?!" Jun nearly screeched in disbelief. "You're scarcely a day older than I am, and I haven't even had my moon's blood! How did you even find the time?! And why?!"
The Dragonseed paused, seemingly thinking over her reply, before lifting her burning gaze to meet the Jun's own. The flames reflected in her irises, making them appear as freshly polished golden rings, giving her an almost otherworldly appearance. Her expression was unreadable, a mask of calm detachment. "Unlike you, mouse, I did not waste my youth in childish pursuits. Did you even listen to me when last we spoke? All that matters is position." Leaving no time for retort, Syrah scoffed. "Bah! As to why? Well, knowledge, my dear vermin. Understanding. Power. These creatures, these abominations, hold secrets within their flesh that are begging to be uncovered. If we are to survive, to thrive, we must peel away at those secrets, no matter the cost."
"But it has only been a few hours!" Jun snapped, even as a shiver ran down her spine. "How could you possibly have learned anything of value in such a short time?"
"I work quickly, rodent," Syrah retorted, her smile venomous, before turning back towards the General. "General," the Dragonseed straightened. "The two paths before this one? The ones within the main hall? The one to the left leads to the armory, while the other leads to the vaults. The Princess wished them both secured when you arrived."
At the corner of her eye, she spied the General nod to the Hellhound, before he departed with the dozen men he had brought. Jun swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising tide of nausea, her mind still focused upon the still living being strapped upon the table.
"But…this…this is... barbaric," Jun nearly screeched, her stomach still churning at the sight. "This harkens back to the flesh crafters of…"
"Gogossos. Yes," Syrah's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Managed to do a bit of light reading on the subject, have you, rat? Dragonstone's library is certainly…illuminating if nothing else. Especially if you know what to look for. And this isn't barbaric. Its necessary. Or did you not see the corpses littered upon the path to Silverhill? I doubt those poor wretches down there would have shared in your belief. And I very much doubt these things are inclined to settle things diplomatically, you rodent," she said, her amusement giving way to disdain, before returning her attention to her grisly task. "The Fire Lord demands information. The Princess does so as well, and I will not fail to deliver. The world we live in is not kind. It is harsh and bloody. Like these creatures. Now," she turned back to her work, her tone final, "if you are not here to assist, I suggest you head down to the cellar. That is where the Princess and her three drones have ventured. There is much to be done, and I cannot afford distractions. The Princess would not be pleased."
"Drones?" the General grunted, her scarred face a mask of frustration.
"The…" the Dragonbitch began before her dismissive tone was shattered.
"STAND UP STRAIGHT AND LOOK ME IN THE EYE WHEN YOU ADDRESS ME, CADET!" the General roared, the walls rumbling with her fury.
A look of surprise overcame the normally dispassionate girl, before she smiled and collected herself. Standing straight, the Dragonseed locked eyes with her superior. "The remaining three Flameguard dispatched from Dragonstone," the velvety vile voice clarified.
Jun hesitated for a moment, torn between the urge to flee and the need to ask about Brienne and Kai, of whom Syrah had failed to mention. Finally, her loyalty to her friend, overrode her fear of what she saw within the room. "What of Brienne and Kai?"
"Brienne of Tarth and Cadet Kai were sent to the tower to protect the Serret children we encountered," she replied with an almost straight face, as the corners of her full lips twitched ever so slightly upwards.
"Serret children?" the General pressed, her voice hardening with each passing moment, challenging the Dragonseed's self-importance.
"The spawn of Lord Serret, General! A boy of six and a girl of five," Syrah replied with what Jun suspected was mock fervor. "The Princess ascertained their identities near immediately. She is far more observant than expected for one who does not care much for hangers on. Present company excluded, of course," she added with a tilt of her head, a cold smile playing on her lips as she stole a glance behind them.
"More than you know," Ursa's voice thundered low, resonating with a force that seemed to momentarily still the very atmosphere, and crush the poisonous will controlling the flames within the room. The fires swayed, then stilled, burning again with a steady golden-white flame tinted with wisps of black.
In that instant, Jun witnessed the General's reaction, her posture stiffening at the sudden sound, only to swiftly ease as Ursa's authoritative command reverberated, carrying with it a sense of familiarity and assurance. It was as though the mere utterance of Ursa's voice held the power to quell any unrest, restoring a sense of order and calm within the room. Jun stole a glance between the Dragonseed and the Princess, the golden glow and the blazing inferno. The slightest twitch rose up to Syrah's perfect brow as a shadowed gaze overtook Ursa's own.
"Princess!" the General addressed, turning upon her heel to present palm-over-fist, head bowed. In quick succession, Jun followed suit, with Jon being the odd one out as he beat his left fist over his heart with a nod. To her surprise, even Ghost appeared to lower his head.
"At ease, General," Ursa replied, mirroring the scarred instructor's poise and salute. Her arms appeared slightly larger along with a near imperceptible increase in her overall height.
"I am relieved you yet live, Princess. Lord Reed and Jon Snow returned with one of…" her commander nodded towards the creature strapped to the table, "…their corpses only hours after you had departed. We set out as quickly as we were able, but when we arrived outside Silverhill... I... had thought these creatures had…" Lines of hesitation creased the General's normally stoic composure, "…had ended you."
Ursa's eyes softened momentarily, her stern demeanor giving way to a brief flash of empathy. "Your concern is noted, General. But as you can see, I am very much alive. These creatures may be formidable, but they are not invincible. Surprise and terror are their greatest weapons. Once you get over that, they die easier than peasant levies armed with pitchforks."
"Like wheat to a scythe," she heard the Dragonseed purr at their back.
The General straightened, her relief visible in the subtle easing of her features. "Forgive me, Princess! I should have known better than to doubt the heir of the Fire Lord!"
Ursa nodded, acknowledging her words with a brief, firm nod. "We have much work to do, General. Dragonseed! What have you ascertained from those things?"
"I have discovered much, Princess!" Syrah shouted gleefully.
At the corner of her eye, Jun noticed the Dragonbitch standing much straighter than she had been for the General.
"Their scales are as tough as boiled leather, though that appears to vary slightly between their number," stalking over to the assortment of deformed body parts and unrecognizable offal at her side, her former classmate rummaged around for a moment before revealing a severed finger from one of the creatures. It was sickly thin with a translucent sheen, and at its tip was a sharp and almost pearl-like claw. "As for these?" Syrah waved around the finger, drawing the attention of all those gathered. "They cut through flesh like obsidian. Fortunately, they are useless against anything harder than that. Also of note, is that some of their organs show signs of…shall we say unnatural tampering?" she explained with zeal as an equally unexplainable and unnerving glint shimmered in her eyes.
"Anything of immediate concern?" the Princess questioned bluntly, her voice flat and emotionless.
The Dragonseed hesitated for a moment, tilting her head askew as her golden eyes scanned for something unseen, then down towards the still quivering corpse strapped to the table. "If there is, Princess, is has yet to present itself," she replied at last.
"Good. Let us pray it chooses to remain absent, forever. Because these creatures may not be the only threat we face…"
"Do you mean that large thing that emerged from the Great Hall?" Syrah asked, her silky smooth voice betraying not even the slightest hint of fear or uncertainty.
"No," Ursa replied, her iron voice betraying nothing, unlike her golden eyes. They flared with a mixture of fury and a few drops of hate. The Dragonseed's ears perked up at that simple word, likely seeing what Jun did within their Princess' fiery gaze. "Something else."
Syrah, ever the opportunist, seized the moment to probe further. "What do you mean, Princess? Something more dangerous?"
Ursa's jaw tightened, and her gaze shifted to the shadows dancing on the stone walls, as if searching for unseen enemies. "I may have found something of note within the cellar, General," she said, her voice measured. "But I require your confirmation to be sure. You are one of the few with personal insight into the subject."
"Personal insight?" the General asked, with no minor hint of confusion laced into her words.
Ursa nodded, her expression grave. "I discovered a hole. Cut deep and cut clean. Far too clean for these creatures to have dug with their malformed hands. The sharpness of their claws notwithstanding," She paused, letting the weight of her words settle in the air. Before long, a knowing look passed between her friend and the storied General, whose face twisted into a very hateful sneer.
"Earthbenders…" the words came across as a whisper upon her lips.
The mention of earthbenders sent a chill through the room. The General's normally calm demeanor cracked for a brief moment, revealing a deep-seated anger and fear.
"We need to confirm this immediately," the General said, her voice steady but charged with urgency. "If earthbenders are involved, it changes everything."
"Agreed," Ursa responded. "Syrah, continue your work here. The Fire Lord will expect no less than a detailed report on your discoveries. Since we are unable to transport them to Dragonstone for proper examination, we will rely on you. Do not fail. We need to understand these creatures better. Especially if they have aligned with our most hated of enemies. The rest of you, follow me to the cellar."
As she moved to exit the room and follow the rest, she heard Syrah mutter almost happily to herself. "Hmmm. Earthbenders, here? Interesting…"
"No, it's not, you abrasive snake," Jun hissed, turning away, amazed at the sheer thoughtlessness of the viperous girl from Dragonstone.
"You heard the whispers, didn't you?" she froze the moment the words left Syrah's lips, turning only to see a knowing smirk upon her beautiful face.
"What whispers?" she feigned ignorance, though a cold feeling rose up from the depths of her stomach as she did so.
"You are not a very good liar, mouse," the Dragonseed's golden eyes twinkled with amusement.
"I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't have time for this," she spat, not wishing to engage the pale serpent in any more dialogue than necessary.
"You should make time," Syrah smiled her beautifully unsettling smile as she spoke. "However, since I cannot dissuade you, I would recommend you visit the library of Dragonstone upon our return. It has many texts," she added wistfully. "Some old, others ancient. The scrolls on the Church of the Starry Wisdom are of particular interest. Dusty old things, but illuminating…"
Jun hesitated, then turned without reply. "Church of the Starry Wisdom…" she muttered to herself as she hurried down the corridor, the words echoing in her mind.
As Jun joined the rest of the group, Syrah's suggestion gnawed at her thoughts. She reached deep into her childhood memories, recalling the times she had sat by her father's side as he read esoteric texts in the library of Dragonstone. She remembered mutterings of a cult shrouded in even more mystery than the Red Faith—whispers of dark rituals, forbidden knowledge, and ancient deities older than the recorded history of Westeros. She shuddered involuntarily and bit down on her thumbnail, hearing it splinter audibly in her mouth. The idea that Syrah, a girl of only fourteen years, knew of this cult—and believed it relevant to their situation—was deeply troubling.
They moved quickly through the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Ursa led the way, her posture rigid, her focus unwavering. The atmosphere was tense, the oppressive silence broken only by the distant sounds of dripping water and the occasional creak of ancient timbers. The smell of dampness and decay grew stronger as they descended, adding to the sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air.
As they descended into the cellar, the air grew colder and damper. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows, creating the illusion of movement in the corners of their vision. The narrow staircase seemed to spiral endlessly downward, each step bringing them closer to the unknown. The walls were lined with centuries-old stone, worn smooth by time and moisture, their surfaces slick with a thin layer of slime.
"This way," Ursa directed, leading them to the far end of the cellar where a perfectly round hole was cut into the stone floor. "This is it," Ursa said, her voice barely above a whisper as they stood before the ominous opening. "General, what do you make of it?"
The General, holding a torch which seemed to flicker with anger in the dank air, knelt down to examine the hole closely. "Hmmm. No spoil heaps," Jun heard her mutter. The calloused fingers of her left hand ran along the edges of the opening, tracing the smooth, unnaturally perfect circumference. "Unless a creature of similar ability has eluded us for fifteen-years, Princess," her commander finally said in a dark tone, darker than Jun had ever heard her former instructor sound. The frown chiseled upon Chi-Ha's scarred face as she turned caused Jun to take a step back in fear. "This was made by earthbenders," she spat the word with scorn. "Or at the very least, something of similar nature. Though I find that unlikely. The precision, the smoothness, the size—no natural creature we have thus far encountered could have created this."
"And if it is a creature we have yet to, see?" Ursa asked.
"Then it is older than the recorded history of Westeros, since the Westerosi have never mention such things. The closest being the breaking of the Arm of Dorne by the Children of the Forest, but even that has never truly been proven."
"I think I'd prefer earthbenders…" Jun mumbled; her voice barely audible over the tense silence of the cellar. She had never met an earthbender, but from what she had read in the Fire Nation histories, they seemed more manageable than some ancient horror.
Ursa's expression darkened. "Then we have a bigger problem than we thought. Earthbenders working with these creatures means we are facing a coordinated effort, not just a random attack. The Fire Lord must be informed! Jon! Jun!"
Hearing her name called, she stepped forward on instinct, followed immediately by her beloved.
"Return to the courtyard and enter the grove. Then send message to the Grandmaster," Ursa instructed. "Detail everything, we have discovered so far, especially the possible involvement of earthbenders. This news must reach the Fire Lord without delay! Snow, you will provide her escort back to the surface!"
"As you command, Princess!" Her love replied, before offering her friend a crisp salute.
Jun nodded, swallowing her fear. "Without fail, Princess!"