Bloodstone, Crimson Hall – 132 AC

The world had shrunk to this cave.

I barely remembered what the sky looked like anymore, what the wind felt like on my skin. The ocean? Just a distant hum in the background of my thoughts, its crashing waves so far removed from the reality I lived in now. The war? The war was a ghost, a distant memory that no longer felt like it had anything to do with me. None of it did. Not anymore.

All that mattered was Ghost.

He lay before me, broken and scarred; his snow-white scales burned black in places where the Cannibal had burned him. His once bright red eyes, so full of fire and life, now barely flickered when I spoke to him. He was alive. Barely. And that was the only reason I was, too. If Ghost died… Gods, I couldn't even finish that thought. He couldn't die.

But watching him like this, every breath a struggle, his massive chest rising and falling slowly, as if every movement pained him—I felt something inside me shatter. I had been strong once. Brave, they'd said. Lucerys Velaryon, fearless on dragonback, a true daughter of the sea and sky. But that woman was long gone. She'd died in the fire along with Ghost's scales, burnt away by the dragonfire that had nearly taken everything from me.

Now, I was just this hollow thing, sitting in a dark cave, waiting. Waiting for what? I didn't even know anymore.

I hadn't left the cave in what felt like moons. I had no sense of time anymore—day and night were the same, just shadows shifting across the cave walls. The others tried to get me out, tried to pull me away from Ghost's side, but I couldn't leave him. I wouldn't. He was all I had left that was mine from before. If I left him, I was afraid I'd disappear, too.

Aemond had come. I remembered that. His voice, sharp and urgent, cutting through the fog of my mind. He'd tried to reason with me, tried to make me see sense. But what sense was there to be found in this? What could he possibly say that would fix what had been broken? I remember the fight, the shouting. His face, twisted in frustration and anger, as if yelling at me would somehow snap me back to the person I'd been.

But I wasn't her anymore. I didn't know who I was now, but I knew I wasn't Lucerys Velaryon—the fearless dragonrider, the bright-eyed princess who had laughed too easily and believed in things like duty and honor. She was gone. Burned away, like everything else.

After Aemond left, it was quieter. The silence was easier. It meant no more fighting, no more shouting, no more pretending I could be helped. The others had stopped trying after that, I think. Even my grandsire had stopped coming to visit as often. He didn't know what to say to me anymore. No one did.

They didn't understand.

They couldn't understand.

Ghost's breathing was shallow today. Shallower than it had been yesterday. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, my own breath matching his, as if by some miracle, if I breathed with him, I could keep him alive. Keep us both alive. But it felt like we were slipping, both of us, inch by inch, closer to that edge. Closer to the nothingness that waited for us beyond this cave.

I reached out, my hand trembling as I rested it on Ghost's side. His scales were rough now, where they'd once been smooth and cool to the touch. I could feel the heat of his body, the slow pulse of his heartbeat beneath my fingers. It was weak. Too weak.

"Don't leave me," I whispered, though my voice barely rose above a breath. "Please, Ghost. Don't leave me."

He didn't respond. He never did anymore. But I felt his warmth, and that was enough. It had to be enough.

I leaned my head against Ghost's side, closing my eyes, listening to the slow thrum of his heartbeat. It was almost soothing, in a way. Almost enough to make me forget the rest of it. The war, the world, the weight of everything I couldn't fix.

Sometimes, I wondered if this was what madness felt like. This slow descent into nothingness, this detachment from everything that used to matter. I could feel myself slipping away, piece by piece, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Maybe that was the worst part of it—the apathy. The fact that I didn't even want to save myself anymore.

I'd tried to tell them that, but no one had listened. They kept talking about getting better, about moving on, as if there was some future waiting for me beyond this cave. As if I could just walk out of here one day and be whole again.

But they didn't understand. I wasn't whole anymore. I hadn't been since Ghost had been ripped apart by the Cannibal's flames. The bond between a dragon and its rider… it's more than words. More than life. When Ghost had nearly died, something inside me had died with him. And I didn't know how to come back from that.

I didn't want to come back from that.

A tear slipped down my cheek, though I barely noticed it. I was too tired to cry, too empty to feel anything more than this hollow ache. I had nothing left to give. Not to Ghost, not to myself, not to anyone.

I shifted slightly, my body aching from having sat in the same position for hours, maybe days. Time had lost its meaning here. The only thing that mattered was Ghost's breath, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and the knowledge that each beat might be his last.

I closed my eyes again, resting my head against his side, and for the first time in what felt like months, I allowed myself to sleep.

If Ghost was going to leave me, I wanted to be with him when he did.

It was the news of Aemond that finally broke through the haze.

I'd been in that cave for so long—too long, with Ghost, clinging to the thin thread of his breath like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world. The war outside raged on, but it had become background noise, like the distant roar of waves crashing on a shore you can never reach. None of it mattered. Not the war, not the Stepstones, not the Triarchy. Not even the people who came to try and pull me from Ghost's side. I was as much a part of that cave as the stone around me.

And then I heard his name. Aemond.

Someone—I don't even remember who—came to tell me that Aemond had been injured. That he'd lost an eye in battle.

At first, the words didn't register. They were just sounds, meaningless and far away, like everything else. But then something clicked. Something inside me that had been dead, or close to it, suddenly flared to life, sharp and painful.

Aemond. My Aemond. Hurt.

I don't remember standing. I don't remember leaving the cave or the way the air outside burned my lungs like it was the first time I'd breathed in months. All I knew was that I was moving, my legs carrying me toward the Crimson Hall, my body suddenly feeling light and numb, like it wasn't even mine anymore.

The halls were a blur, faces and voices blending together in a rush of noise that I couldn't focus on. People tried to stop me—Princess, wait, they said. You can't go in there, Your Highness, you need to rest. But none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except getting to him.

When I reached Aemond's chambers, the door was already open, and I stormed inside, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest.

And there he was.

Lying on the bed, pale and still, blood staining the sheets around him. His face was turned away from me, but I could see the bandages wrapped around his head, covering what had once been his eye. The eye he'd lost. The eye I hadn't been there to protect.

For a moment, I couldn't move. I stood frozen in the doorway, my breath caught in my throat, my legs trembling beneath me. This wasn't Aemond. This still, broken figure—this wasn't the man I loved. The man who had stormed into my cave, full of fire and fury, trying to pull me back from the edge.

"Aemond," I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath.

He didn't stir.

Something broke inside me then, something fragile and small, something I hadn't even realized was still holding on. I rushed to his side, my hands trembling as I reached for him, my fingers brushing against the bloodied bandages.

"Aemond," I cried, louder this time, my voice cracking with the weight of it. "Please—"

But before I could say more, I felt a hand on my shoulder, firm but gentle, pulling me back. I turned, blinking through the tears that had blurred my vision, and saw the maester standing beside me, his face etched with sympathy.

"You can't be here, Your Highness," he said softly, his voice gentle but insistent. "He needs rest. We're doing everything we can."

I wanted to scream, to push him away, to fight him. But my body wasn't listening. I was too weak, too tired, and all I could do was let him pull me away from the bed, my hands falling limply to my sides.

"He needs you to be strong," the maester said as he guided me toward the door. "You need to rest, Your Highness."

Rest? How could I rest when Aemond was lying there, broken and bleeding, because I hadn't been there for him? Because I'd been hiding in that cave like a coward, letting the world fall apart around me.

But the words wouldn't come. I couldn't speak. I could barely breathe.

Tyla, Alla, and Kate were waiting for me outside the chamber. They'd been with me since Driftmark, loyal and patient, even when I'd become a ghost of myself. Now, they looked at me with the same pity I'd seen in everyone's eyes for moons, but this time, I didn't care. I was too numb to care.

They took me by the arms, guiding me down the halls as if I were a doll, moving me without any resistance. I let them. What else was I supposed to do? My body felt foreign, like it wasn't even mine anymore, like I'd forgotten how to move on my own. The only thing I could focus on was the image of Aemond lying there, so still, so pale, so unlike himself.

I barely registered when we reached my chambers. Tyla was already drawing a bath, the steam rising in soft curls from the water. Alla and Kate began untying my dress, their hands gentle but efficient, as if they'd done this a thousand times before. Maybe they had. I wouldn't know. It had been so long since I'd done anything as mundane as bathe or change my clothes.

The dress fell to the floor, and they guided me into the bath, the water warm against my skin, but it did nothing to thaw the cold inside me. The moons I'd spent in that cave, wrapped in grief and despair, had left a layer of grime on me that felt like it had seeped into my very bones.

They scrubbed me clean, washing my hair, my skin, their hands working in silence. I let them. I felt like a doll in their hands, pliant and lifeless, letting them move me as they wished. They had to wash me three times before the water finally ran clear, and even then, I didn't feel clean. I didn't feel anything.

When they were finished, they wrapped me in a robe, combing my hair and braiding it neatly down my back. By the time they were done, I looked like a princess again. I could see it in the mirror they held up for me—my reflection, pale but polished, my black hair gleaming, my face clean and fresh. I looked like the Lucerys Velaryon everyone had expected me to be.

But I didn't feel like her.

I didn't feel anything at all.

As I sat there, staring at my reflection, the maids busied themselves around me, preparing my chambers for the night, lighting the fire, arranging the sheets. They spoke in hushed tones, their words barely reaching my ears. I didn't care what they were saying.

All I could think about was Aemond. Lying there, broken and bleeding, because I hadn't been there to protect him. Because I'd been too lost in my own grief, too consumed by my own pain to see what was happening around me.

And now, he was the one who was suffering.

I clenched my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms, but I didn't feel it. I didn't feel anything.

I couldn't.

Because if I did, I'd shatter.

I let the maids do their work. Tyla's hands were gentle as she braided my hair, her touch steady, careful. Alla was at my feet, drying them with a cloth, while Kate moved silently around the room, folding fresh linens and lighting candles. It was all so... routine. Like nothing had happened. Like my entire world hadn't just been torn apart.

I should've felt grateful for their care, for their patience. I hadn't been the easiest to deal with these past few moons—everyone knew that. But instead, all I could feel was the weight of guilt pressing down on my chest, heavier with every passing second.

It was my fault. All of it.

The guilt gnawed at me, relentless and unforgiving, as I sat there in silence, staring blankly at the reflection in the mirror. A princess, they would say. I looked the part now, freshly bathed, hair braided in neat silver strands, my skin scrubbed clean of the grime that had clung to me for moons. But it was just a mask, wasn't it? Underneath, I was still that hollow shell. Still the woman who had failed.

Failed Aemond.

The last time I'd spoken to him… Gods, I could barely remember the words. The fight had been a blur of anger and frustration, both of us shouting things we didn't mean, but there was one thing I did remember, clear as day.

I had pushed him away.

He had come to me, pleading, trying to drag me out of that damned cave, and all I'd done was scream at him. Throw him back out into the storm of this war, as if his concern for me was some sort of offense. I had been so obsessed with Ghost—my Ghost—that I couldn't see what was happening right in front of me. Couldn't see Aemond trying to help, trying to save me from the abyss I'd thrown myself into.

And now? Now he was lying in that bed, broken and bleeding, because of me.

The guilt twisted in my gut like a knife. I had discarded everyone, hadn't I? Every single relationship I'd built in this life, I had thrown away in my blind obsession to save the last piece of my old life—Joanna Snow's life. Ghost had been my direwolf first, back when I was no one but a bastard girl from the North, and now he was my dragon. That bond, that connection, had always been the strongest thing I'd ever known. Stronger than blood, stronger than love. It had been my identity for so long—my tether to a past I could never truly leave behind.

But Aemond…

Aemond had been the one to stand by me in this new life. He had been there, by my side, fighting for me, fighting with me, through it all. He had loved me when I couldn't even love myself. And I had thrown that away, too. All for the sake of clinging to something that no longer mattered.

And now he would be known to history as the one-eyed prince. Again.

Because of me.

My hands trembled in my lap, the fabric of the robe rough against my fingertips. The thought gnawed at me, relentless, like the weight of it would crush me. Aemond had lost his eye once before, and I knew the pain that had caused him—the way it had shaped him, hardened him. But now? Now, he had lost the other. And what did that make him? A man scarred by war, by loss, by me. I couldn't shake the image of him lying in that bed, the blood-soaked bandages covering what was left of his eye, his once fierce expression now so pale and lifeless.

And what had I done for him? Nothing. I had pushed him away. I had done this to him.

I couldn't even remember a time when I'd told him I loved him.

The thought made me sick. It clawed at the inside of my chest, gnawing at the edges of my heart. Aemond had always been there for me, always been the steady presence that kept me grounded, even when I was too lost in my own darkness to see it. He loved me fiercely, without hesitation, without question. And what had I given him in return? Silence. Distance. Fear.

Had I ever even said the words? I love you. I tried to search my memory, tried to find a single moment when I'd let him know what he meant to me. But there was nothing. No moment I could cling to, no soft confession whispered in the dark. I had never told him.

And now it might be too late.

The guilt was suffocating. I could feel it wrapping around me like a heavy cloak, pulling me deeper into the abyss. I had failed him. I had let him come to harm. And worse than that—I had never told him the one thing he needed to hear.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though the words felt hollow, meaningless. They wouldn't change anything. They wouldn't undo the damage that had been done.

Tyla's hands stilled for a moment as she finished braiding my hair, her eyes flicking up to meet mine in the mirror. She didn't say anything, but I could see the worry in her gaze. She had been with me for so long, watching as I unraveled piece by piece, but even she couldn't fix this. No one could.

They finished preparing me, as if that could make any difference. As if looking like the princess I was supposed to be would somehow erase the fact that I had failed the man I was supposed to love.

I looked at my reflection again, at the face staring back at me—pale, composed, the perfect image of a Velaryon princess. But all I could see was guilt. The failure. The woman who hadn't been there when it mattered most.

The woman who had never told Aemond she loved him.

Tyla placed a hand on my shoulder, her voice soft as she spoke. "Your Highness, you should rest. You've been through much."

Rest. As if I could rest when Aemond was lying in that bed, suffering because of my selfishness.

I shook my head, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't."

The maids exchanged worried glances, but I didn't care. Let them worry. Let them fuss. None of it mattered anymore. Nothing mattered except Aemond.

I stood, my legs unsteady beneath me, but I forced myself to move, to walk across the room, to do something other than sit there and drown in my own guilt.

I needed to see him. I needed to tell him.

"I love you," I whispered, the words barely audible, but this time, they felt real. They felt like a promise. Like something I owed him, something I should have said a long time ago.

Because if he didn't hear it now, I wasn't sure he ever would.

Then, Daemon entered my chamber without so much as a knock. It wasn't like him to wait for permission to do anything. He moved with the same confidence and arrogance that had defined him for as long as I could remember. The door creaked shut behind him, and he waved off the maids with a flick of his hand. They didn't need to be told twice. They left quickly, like shadows slinking away into the night, leaving me alone with my uncle.

I hadn't even bothered to look up when he walked in, my gaze fixed on the cold stone floor beneath my feet. But I could feel his presence, the weight of it pressing down on the room like a storm waiting to break. Daemon wasn't one for soft words or gentle reassurances, and I didn't expect them from him now. Still, something about the silence that stretched between us made me anxious. Like he was searching for the right words and didn't know where to begin.

Awkwardness wasn't a look that suited him, but here he was, shifting from one foot to the other like a boy caught doing something wrong.

"Aemond will live," he said, his voice gruff, as if that was supposed to make everything better. "He'll live, and he'll fight. The boy's tougher than most give him credit for."

I said nothing. My mind was already somewhere else, far from the reassurances Daemon was trying to offer. I had spent too many days, too many nights, sitting in this room doing nothing but drowning in guilt, suffocating under the weight of my failures. Aemond was alive, yes. But what kind of life was waiting for him now?

Daemon continued, his tone more confident now, like he was reminding himself of what he believed. "He'll manage. I'll see to it that he's trained properly. Swordsmanship with one eye isn't easy, but it's not impossible. I've known men who could cut through a battlefield blind if they needed to. I'll train him myself if I must."

I barely heard him. My fingers were twisting in my lap, nails digging into my palms, as I tried to steady my thoughts. His words were just noise, bouncing off the walls, doing nothing to ease the fire that had begun to build inside me.

Aemond would live. He would fight. But that wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed revenge.

I had let my grief paralyze me, had allowed my obsession with Ghost to blind me to the war raging on around us. And Aemond had paid the price for it. But I wasn't going to make that mistake again. Not this time. If the gods thought I was going to sit here, helpless, and watch the world crumble around me while Aemond suffered because of my failures, they were gravely mistaken.

I wasn't that woman anymore.

Not anymore.

I stood abruptly, cutting Daemon off mid-sentence. He blinked, startled by the sudden movement, his eyes narrowing as he watched me closely, clearly trying to gauge what was happening.

I turned to face him, and for the first time in what felt like months, I felt something other than guilt, something other than sorrow. It was anger. It was fire. And it burned through me like dragon flame, fierce and untamable.

Daemon's eyes darkened as he saw the change in me, that familiar glint of curiosity flashing across his face. He loved this—loved the fire, the chaos. He thrived on it. And now, he was seeing it in me, probably for the first time. I hadn't been much more than a shell these past months, but now… now I was awake. And I wasn't going to let this world beat me down any longer.

"Uncle," I said, my voice low but steady, every word laced with the promise of what was to come. "I want you to promise me something."

Daemon raised an eyebrow, leaning against the edge of the table, his arms crossing over his chest. He was amused now, intrigued. "And what might that be?"

I stepped closer, my hands curling into fists at my sides, my heart pounding in my chest. I could feel the blood rushing in my veins, the fire roaring to life inside me, and I knew—I knew—that this was it. This was the moment everything changed.

"Promise me you'll never ask how I do it," I said, my voice cold and sharp, like the edge of a blade. "Promise me you won't question me, won't stand in my way."

Daemon's amusement faltered for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he straightened, clearly confused. "What are you talking about, Lucerys?"

I didn't flinch. Didn't hesitate. "Swear it. Swear you won't ask questions. And in return, I will turn the tide of this war. I will make sure we win."

The room fell into silence again, the weight of my words hanging between us like a storm cloud. Daemon was watching me now, his eyes flicking across my face, trying to read me, trying to understand what I was saying. But there was no understanding this. Not yet. Not for him.

He stepped closer, his voice lowering as he spoke. "And what exactly do you plan to do, niece?"

I stared at him, meeting his gaze without blinking. I had made up my mind. The fire in my blood was singing now, thrumming beneath my skin, and I knew there was no turning back. I had lost too much, had sacrificed too much. It was time for me to act, and I didn't care what it took. Not anymore.

"I told you," I said, my voice steady, unyielding. "Don't ask. Just promise."

Daemon's lips twisted into a smirk, but there was something darker behind it, something more calculating. He was sizing me up, trying to decide whether I was bluffing or if I was truly capable of whatever madness I was hinting at.

But Daemon loved madness. He loved fire and chaos. He loved those who dared to defy the rules of the game, who weren't afraid to burn everything down to get what they wanted.

And I was ready to burn the world if I had to.

After a moment, he inclined his head slightly, that smirk still playing at the corners of his lips. "Very well, niece. I swear it. I won't ask. Whatever you're planning, do it. Just make sure you don't lose yourself in the flames."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, the tension in my shoulders loosening slightly. "I won't," I promised, though we both knew it wasn't that simple.

He didn't press me further. Daemon wasn't the type to ask twice when he had already made his decision. He had seen something in me, something he liked, and for now, that was enough.

With that, Daemon gave a small nod, almost to himself, before turning on his heel and heading for the door. Just before he left, he glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with something close to pride.

"Turn the tide, Lucerys," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Let them know what it means to cross a dragon."

And with that, he was gone.

I stood there, the fire inside me still burning bright, my heart pounding with the promise of what was to come. Daemon didn't know it yet, but I was going to keep that promise. I would turn the tide of this war, and I would make sure everyone—everyone—paid for what had been done.

I was Lucerys Velaryon, a daughter of fire and blood.

And I was about to remember what that meant.

I stood there, still for a moment, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, heart still pounding with the fire of determination that had flared to life inside me. I had made a promise to him—a promise to myself, really. The tide of this war was going to turn, and I would be the one to do it. But that fire, that burning need for action, for vengeance, it wasn't going to be satisfied with words alone.

Daemon had left me to my own devices, trusting me with whatever madness I'd hinted at. He didn't ask questions, as I'd demanded, and gods willing, he wouldn't. Because what I was about to do… it wasn't something that would make sense to him. Not to anyone, really. This was my secret. The part of me that was still Joanna Snow, the bastard girl from the North who had spent her childhood roaming the wilderness with her direwolf. This was the part of me that had always been hidden from the rest of them.

My warg abilities.

I had never told anyone. Not Aemond, not Daemon, not even Mother. It had always been something I kept close, something I learned to control in secret. The connection with Ghost had only made it stronger over the years, and now… now I would use it. I would use it to make sure Aemond didn't suffer in vain. I would use it to break the Triarchy.

I made sure the door to my chambers was bolted. The maids had already done their work, tidied the room and left fresh linens, but they wouldn't return until morning. I was alone. Finally.

With a deep breath, I moved to the center of the room, sinking down onto my knees, the cold stone biting against my skin. My heart was still racing, but now I needed to calm it. I needed to focus. I had never pushed myself this far before—not with this power. Warging into Ghost was one thing, but what I was about to do required precision, control, and a strength I wasn't sure I still had.

But I had no choice. The fire inside me demanded action.

I closed my eyes, slowing my breathing, letting the stillness of the room wash over me. Slowly, I reached out with my mind, letting my consciousness drift outward, expanding beyond the walls of my chamber, beyond the castle, beyond the war. The connection to the ravens was easy—like slipping into a familiar pair of gloves. I had done this a hundred times before. But this time, it wasn't just about watching. It wasn't just about observing the world from their eyes.

This time, I had a mission.

I reached for them, feeling the familiar brush of their thoughts—simple, instinctual. They were perched along the walls of Crimson Hall, black feathers gleaming in the moonlight, their beady eyes scanning the horizon. They were ready, always ready to fly, to soar over the battlefield, over the sea, over the ships.

I slipped into one of their minds, feeling the rush of cold air against my feathers as I took flight, my wings beating steadily against the wind. The world below was a blur of shadows and light, but I wasn't interested in that. I needed to find the ships. The Dornish navy, the ones with the scorpion bolts. The ones that had nearly taken Arrax from the sky. The ones that had nearly taken Aemond from me.

I flew over the sea, my raven's eyes sharp and keen, scanning the waters for the familiar shape of their sails. It didn't take long. They were clustered together, just as I'd expected, their ships moving in formation like a pack of wolves, the scorpions mounted on their decks, ready to bring down dragons. Ready to bring down us.

Not today.

I flew closer, circling above the ships, watching as the men below scrambled, unaware that they were being watched. Unaware that their doom was already upon them. I counted the ships—there were more than I had anticipated, their numbers bolstered by the Triarchy's allies. But it didn't matter. I wasn't going to let them fire those scorpions again.

The first part of my plan was easy. I called the ravens—my ravens—sending a flood of them toward the ships, their dark forms blotting out the moon as they descended. The sailors shouted in surprise, waving their arms to shoo the birds away, but it was chaos. The birds swarmed the decks, pecking at the men, causing enough distraction to buy me the time I needed.

But the ravens were just the beginning.

The next part of the plan was more difficult. More dangerous. I could feel the strain already, my mind stretched thinly as I reached out further, deeper. The ocean beneath the ships was vast and dark, but I had learned to feel it, to connect with the creatures that lived within its depths. I had never tried this before—not like this—but desperation fueled me. Desperation and the promise I had made to Daemon.

I reached out, searching the waters beneath the Dornish fleet, feeling the cold, heavy presence of the creatures lurking there. The whales. Massive, powerful, silent guardians of the sea. I could feel their minds—slow, deliberate, ancient. They were harder to control than the ravens, their thoughts more distant, more foreign. But I didn't need to control them. I just needed to guide them.

I found the largest of them, a blue whale, his mind sluggish but curious. I slipped into his consciousness, feeling the weight of his massive body as he moved through the water, his mind a sea of calm and power. I directed him toward the ships, urging him forward, feeling the resistance in his thoughts, but pushing through it. Slowly, he obeyed, his massive form rising toward the surface.

One by one, I guided the whales toward the ships, their bodies moving silently beneath the waves. The sailors above had no idea what was coming for them. They were too busy dealing with the ravens, too distracted to notice the dark shapes moving beneath their hulls.

And then, with a surge of strength, I gave the command.

The whales collided with the ships, their massive bodies slamming into the hulls with the force of a battering ram. The sound of cracking wood echoed across the water as the ships began to break apart, their decks splintering under the weight of the impact. Men screamed as the sea rushed in, swallowing them whole. The scorpions were useless now, their bolts slipping beneath the waves along with the wreckage.

I felt the exhaustion hit me like a wave, my body trembling with the effort of maintaining the connection. I could feel my control slipping, my mind straining under the weight of it all. But I held on, just long enough to make sure the job was done. Just long enough to watch half the Dornish fleet sink beneath the waves.

And then, with a final gasp, I released the connection.

The world spun around me as I collapsed to the floor, my body trembling with exhaustion, my mind a blur of pain and darkness. I could feel the toll the magic had taken on me, the strain of pushing my abilities further than I ever had before.

But it was done. The ships were gone. The scorpions were gone. And the tide of this war had just turned.

I let the darkness take me, my last thought a whispered promise to myself.

Aemond, I'll make this right.