Autumn rain veiled Westeros in a hazy curtain, dark clouds piled thick across the sky.
The farther north one went, the heavier the dampness in the air became, the temperature steadily dropping.
Especially around the Riverlands, the land's natural geography made rainfall in this season exceptionally abundant.
Yet none of this had anything to do with the giant dragon soaring through the heavens.
For the clouds lay beneath it, and the bright moon belonged to its sky alone.
Amid the howling wind, time ticked by second after second, until the man and dragon flying high above finally glimpsed, through gaps in the clouds, a bay dotted with faint lights upon the ground, and a castle towering atop a massive rock.
Only then did Kal press down on Robert's draconic head.
The moment they plunged into the cloud layer, the once gentle scene of clear wind and bright moon transformed into torrential rain, as if they had dived straight into a pond.
Within the rain-laden storm clouds, the air was icy and damp, with positive and negative charges long since amassed.
They shifted ceaselessly with changes in temperature and airflow, generating electricity through friction and forming charged clouds.
As the man and dragon passed through, they became the final straw that broke the balance.
Kal merely let a spark flash between his fingers. A bolt of lightning shaped by magic formed into a cage, enclosing both man and dragon.
The electrical charges that had gathered around him were instantly drawn by that discharge, guided into a thunderbolt that crashed downward.
Thus the man and dragon, wrapped head to toe in a cage of lightning, pierced through the rain, tore apart the clouds, and plunged into human sight, their bodies wreathed in astonishing arcs of electricity.
The heavy rain fell unceasingly through the night.
The sudden peal of thunder made some lift their heads to the sky.
Lightning flashed and vanished in an instant, and darkness once more drew its veil across the world.
Then, bathed in the silver-white glow of lightning, a colossal dragon seemingly drenched in thunder abruptly burst into their view.
Just as people wondered whether their eyes had deceived them, the lingering rumble of thunder from the earlier strike was still rolling when a sudden dragon's roar crushed it outright.
"Roar!"
Unlike the rolling thunder, the dragon's roar was deep and drawn-out, yet carried a piercing edge—a sound lively and brimming with vitality.
More importantly, that roar sent a tingling shiver through the body from head to toe, a purely physical tremor.
"It's Robert!"
"His Majesty Kal's dragon has returned!!!"
The instant the dragon's roar rang out, the guards on duty that night at Casterly Rock were the first to react.
After all, during the previous battle in the bay of Lannisport, the sight of that dragon soaring through the sky had been seared into their minds. The moment this roar sounded, they immediately recognized the returning dragon as Robert.
After all, at present there was only this one dragon in the Seven Kingdoms.
As more and more people saw the dragon in the sky—bathed in lightning and struck again and again by bolts as it descended lower and lower—those who witnessed the scene could not help but cry out in alarm.
Then Robert, amid the torrential rain and wreathed in lightning, circled above Casterly Rock.
Cold rain fell upon his body, yet because of the heat radiating from him, it gradually evaporated, rising into plumes of steam.
This made Robert, who had slowed his flight, appear in the storm like a mysterious and terrifying colossal creature.
He circled in the sky, half his body shrouded in white mist, half exposed.
His head visible, his tail unseen.
Under flashing lightning, a trail of white vapor stretched long across the air, only to be extinguished by the downpour, rising and vanishing without end.
The guards had recognized Robert, yet Robert did not descend. Instead, he continued circling, and then let out another roar, this one sounding like an impatient urging.
Tyrion, long asleep, was jolted awake by the sudden crash of thunder. Still lying warmly beneath his covers, he muttered a few words instinctively, only to hear the cry of a dragon immediately afterward.
His mismatched eyes flew open at once.
The dwarf sat up from the soft goose-feather bed, confusion flickering in his gaze.
"A dragon?" Tyrion looked toward the window instinctively.
But ever since Robert had gone to Highgarden last time, he had remained at Kal's side. Even when Kal later went to Oldtown, Robert had followed him.
Why had he suddenly appeared here now?
A question rose unbidden in Tyrion's mind.
Yet the question was hardly beyond the wit of clever Tyrion. He had merely just woken and was still groggy, not witless.
So almost the moment the doubt surfaced, he immediately recalled the battle report from the North that had arrived earlier that day.
He realized something.
Without another word, Tyrion hurried to his feet and began fumbling about atop the bed in a flustered search.
Before he could finish dressing, however, two guards pushed open his chamber door and rushed inside.
"Lord Tyrion, His Majesty the King has returned. He is waiting for you outside!"
"Where is he? Did he return on dragonback?"
Tyrion hastily pulled up his trousers and fastened his belt, not even bothering to put on his shoes as he turned to question the guards who had burst in.
At a time like this, Kal returning so suddenly to Casterly Rock—and with such urgency—it could not help but remind him of that matter Kal had once told him in secret.
At the thought, anxiety gripped his heart. He no longer even tried to grope about in the dark for his shoes. Instead, he simply hoisted up his trousers and hurried out barefoot.
"His Majesty is in the Stone Garden. His dragon has landed there."
Holding torches in their hands, the guards quickly led Tyrion outside, explaining as they went.
Not far, Tyrion thought with some relief, and then he glanced at the sky beyond the window.
"What time is it now? How long until dawn?"
"In about three hours the sun should rise. Though whether there will be any sun tomorrow is hard to say."
This hour…
Tyrion's heart sank again.
The Stone Garden of Casterly Rock was in fact its godswood. The weirwoods here grew in twisted, grotesque shapes. Their tangled roots claimed the caves that ought to have given them footing, and at the same time choked out other vegetation.
Thus, aside from the weirwoods, only jagged stone remained.
In the night rain, with lightning flashing from time to time across the sky, the place appeared strangely terrifying and eerie.
Having found the place, Tyrion peered outward through the curtain of rain.
As if sensing his arrival, the golden dragon concealed within the night and rain suddenly lifted its head and breathed a blast of dragonfire into the sky.
More than two months had passed since they had last seen one another. The once orange-yellow flames now carried a faint bluish glow. The scorching wave of heat burned the rain pouring down from above into a surge of steaming vapor that rolled upward.
It illuminated the pitch-dark garden.
And allowed them to see clearly Kal, clad in green dragon armor, seated upon its back.
After exhaling dragonfire for more than twenty seconds, once it was certain the newcomer had seen the man on its back, Robert finally ceased.
The dragonfire gradually died away, and the world returned to darkness.
Yet while the afterimage of that brightness still lingered upon their retinas, in the next instant, a blazing white light flared upon the dragon's back. Then a longsword, as though forged purely from light, floated in midair and served as illumination.
The light, however, was not bright. Thin and pale within the rain curtain, it rose behind Kal and gave him an inexplicable aura.
Like… the radiance carved behind the statues of the Seven within their septs.
The sword of light, which ought to have hovered above Kal's head, appeared instead behind it because of his lofty, downward-looking posture, making it seem to Tyrion and the others below as though it shone from behind his head.
At the sight, Tyrion's throat bobbed as he swallowed.
Unconsciously, he stepped barefoot into the rain, bent forward, and knelt on one knee before Kal.
"I pay my respects to His Majesty Kal El. Tyrion Lannister awaits your command."
Unlike others, who addressed Kal as Kal Baratheon, Tyrion knew that Kal preferred to call himself Kal El. He seemed not to care for the Baratheon name.
Seeing Tyrion's arrival, Kal nodded. He himself paid no heed to how dramatic a display he had caused; he was merely in haste and chose whatever was most convenient.
"Tyrion, you have heard of the matters in the North, I presume?"
Still mounted upon the dragon's back, Kal did not bother to dismount. His purpose in coming here had been only to deliver a message.
As expected, Kal had indeed come for this. Tyrion nodded, though he did not raise his gaze toward him.
He kept his head lowered and replied, "I have heard, Your Majesty. Are you bound for the North?"
Kal nodded.
"Yes. You know the situation in the North. What happened with Robb is too strange. I have some misgivings, so I believe I must go there in person."
"Before I depart for the North, however, I intend to go first to the Iron Islands."
"The purpose of my coming here is to inform you that at first light tomorrow, I will utterly destroy all military forces of the Iron Islands and every longship capable of putting to sea."
"As for what follows, I want you to find a way to send men to suppress them."
"But there is no need to fight. Your task is only to lay complete siege to the Iron Islands—let no one enter and no one leave."
"At the same time, do not engage in any communication with them during this process, until they can no longer endure and declare their surrender to you."
"This is the only path I will leave them."
Kal did not pause, delivering his arrangements for the Iron Islands in one breath.
His voice was steady and calm, yet beneath it lay a piercing cold.
Hearing what Kal required of him, Tyrion was taken aback.
Yet he did not question it. Instead, he nodded solemnly.
"I will carry out your command in full, Your Majesty Kal El."
"Good. That is the only matter for which I have come. As for the rest, await further orders."
"Additionally, once the greater part of the Iron Islands has surrendered and submitted, every member of House Greyjoy is to be drowned. I do not wish to see any of them still alive."
Having pronounced judgment upon the Iron Islands and a sentence of death upon House Greyjoy, Kal lifted a finger. The energy sword hovering above as illumination slowly shifted its direction, then shot into the clouds above like a falling star.
In the next moment, Kal patted Robert's neck. Robert let out another dragon's roar, spread his wings with a powerful beat, and pushed off with force.
After snapping several weirwood roots coiled around the stone walls, Robert glided once and then dove down from the summit of Casterly Rock.
Below, in Lannisport, countless eyes lifted high, watching as the dragon deliberately circled once more above them, breathed another blast of dragonfire, then beat its wings and rose toward the sky, vanishing from sight.
The rain curtain had grown thinner than before.
Yet the cold rain still lashed against Tyrion's face.
He wiped his face hastily and moved to stand.
Only then did he realize that at some point his foot had cramped again. The pain caused him to drop heavily onto the ground.
As he grasped his leg, trying to ease the tightened muscle, he finally noticed that the guards who had led him here, along with those who had arrived earlier, were all kneeling behind him.
Unmindful of the heavy rain pouring from above.
At the sight, a bitter smile appeared on Tyrion's face.
"Someone help me up. I cannot rise."
The poor dwarf could only call out like that. Not only was his leg throbbing painfully, but the warmth from just rising out of bed was now replaced by cold that made him shiver.
Several guards looked up at him and immediately rose to their feet. One of them stepped forward and pulled Tyrion up—he had happened to sit down squarely in a pool of rainwater.
"Lord Tyrion… is His Majesty Kal truly the incarnation of a god?"
The image of that sacred scene in the rain still lingered vividly in the guard's mind. Unable to help himself, he sought confirmation from Tyrion, who was known to be a friend of the King.
Cold and in pain, baring his teeth slightly, Tyrion could not help but recall the sight from moments ago. A complicated look flickered in his eyes.
"What if he is? What if he is not."
"You need only remember that he is the King."
"The King…?"
The guards exchanged glances. A few of them murmured the word under their breath.
But Tyrion had no mind to concern himself with such idle matters. Shivering again from the cold, he quickly gave orders.
"Have someone prepare hot water and clean clothes for me. Then send word to summon Ser Sandor Clegane, Shagga, and Timett—all of them—to Casterly Rock for a council. You saw what just happened. Explain it clearly to them first. Give them warning."
"And gather the captains we have selected during this time as well. There is great business ahead."
The King's command just now had already amounted to a sentence of death upon the Iron Islands.
Given the temperament of those ironborn, either they would submit completely, or they would fight to the bitter end and meet Kal's wrath.
As for House Greyjoy, it could already be said that they were finished.
Either the other nobles of the Iron Islands would betray them, choose a new allegiance, and submit to Kal—or they would be destroyed alongside their former liege.
It could be said that Kal's lightly spoken words had already determined the future and history of the Iron Islands.
With unease in their hearts, the soldiers departed to carry out Tyrion's orders.
Before long, news spread swiftly that King Kal had arrived in the night rain astride his dragon. Along with it traveled word of the judgment passed upon the Iron Islands.
Thus, as all bore complicated thoughts within, the rain gradually ceased, and a red glow rose in the east.
And just as the sun had barely risen, the peaceful and quiet Iron Islands welcomed an uninvited guest.
The island of Pyke lay closest to Casterly Rock among the Iron Islands. At dawn, the sky had already grown bright.
The rain from the night before had covered a wide area, so this morning was clear and fine.
Early-rising fishermen of the Iron Islands and the patrolling warships drifted upon the sea, each occupied with their own tasks.
It was then that someone noticed a black speck appear on the horizon.
And that speck was growing larger.
"What is that?!" someone called out.
People stood and shaded their eyes, peering into the distance.
As the distance closed and the rising sun cast its light upon it, the ever-growing figure seemed to reflect a golden sheen.
"It looks like… a dragon?"
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