The crescent moon hung in the heavens like a silver hook, thin and merciless. Above it burned the red comet — a crimson smear across the night sky, like a war banner soaked in flame. It watched in silence as men bled and screamed below, indifferent to the cruelty of mortal ambition.
The Twins — known to some in the Riverlands as Luanhe City — had become a battlefield of chaos and iron.
The West River gates, the high curtain walls, the stone squares, and the long arched bridge were now the fiercest points of contention. What had once been a symbol of passage and trade had become a slaughter ground.
Steel clashed against steel.
Warhorses screamed in terror.
Men shouted battle cries or wailed their last prayers.
The air was thick with smoke, blood, and the bitter scent of burning oil.
The high ground of the West River fortress had already fallen. Seaguard soldiers and knights of the Vale had seized the battlements. Most of the Frey archers stationed in the arrow slits had surrendered once surrounded; those who refused were either cut down where they stood or hurled from the walls to the moat below.
Torches were relit along the parapets, their flames casting a red glow across faces smeared with soot and blood. The banners of Seaguard and the Vale snapped in the rising wind.
Ser Michel of the Vale stood with the heir of House Grafton, longswords drawn, ensuring no Frey resistance remained atop the walls.
Below them, the great oak gates of the West River keep groaned as they were thrown fully open. The drawbridge crashed down across the moat with a heavy thud.
Then came the tide.
"Long live the storm!"
"Long live the storm!"
"For Seaguard!"
"Surrender or die!"
Gold Cloaks, Seaguard cavalry, Vale knights, and Bluebeard's hardened sellswords surged forward in a roaring wave of steel and fury.
Inside the courtyard, Frey loyalists fought desperately.
"For House Frey!"
"For the Twins!"
But their cries were swallowed by the overwhelming assault.
"It's the dragon-stag banner!"
"No — Seaguard's eagle is here too!"
"And the falcon of the Vale!"
"It's that black-hearted bastard…"
Recognition spread among the Frey ranks like frost.
At the head of the vanguard rode Gendry.
Clad in black scale armor, a golden cloak streaming behind him, and crowned by a great helm adorned with forked stag antlers entwined with three dragons, he seemed less a man and more a figure torn from legend.
The breached West Fortress was collapsing from within.
Cavalry thundered through the square, splitting into disciplined formations. Some seized stairwells and high towers. Others secured gatehouses and key intersections. The remainder carved a path toward the inner arched bridge that connected to the eastern keep.
The fighting was methodical — brutal, but controlled.
Near the gate of the West River keep, Hosdton Frey dropped to his knees in the mud.
"Mercy!" he wailed.
Around him lay the broken bodies of Frey soldiers, twisted and torn apart. Some had been cleaved in two. Others lay with shattered skulls or crushed armor.
The twin-tower banner of House Frey had fallen into the dirt, its proud blue stained dark with blood.
Gendry stepped forward, his Valyrian steel arakh lowered but still gleaming, despite the crimson streaks along its edge.
Hosdton's surrender meant the western half of the Twins was secured.
The blade in Gendry's hand shimmered coldly, untouched by corrosion, hungry still.
The surrendering Frey soldiers dared not meet his gaze.
Then a shout pierced the square.
"Black Walder is here!"
The remaining Frey men stirred. A ripple of grim resolve passed through them.
From the shadows of a side corridor emerged Black Walder Frey — lean, strong, and broad-shouldered. His beard was thick and dark, his eyes sharp with fury. The smell of wine clung to him, but whatever drunken haze he had carried earlier was now burned away by rage.
Behind him marched a dozen of the Frey family's elite — hardened men in blue steel ring mail, wielding long-handled heavy axes. More followed with long spears and shields.
Black Walder was feared among his kin.
Quick-tempered. Brutal. Ambitious.
"Run, Black Walder!" Hosdton cried hoarsely, scrambling to his feet. "Take the Marquess and flee to the East Keep! Don't come here!"
Though the Freys were infamous for their internal rivalries, blood was blood.
Ser Barristan Selmy glanced briefly at Hosdton, then ended him with a swift, merciful stroke.
"It's too late," Gendry said quietly.
Black Walder strode forward, eyes burning as they fell upon the carnage.
"So this is your doing?" he growled. "The trout, the falcons — they've never had the wit for this. It's you, Bastard. You and your storm."
His gaze fixed on the antlered helm.
"The Boy Blacksmith."
Gendry did not deny it.
"It was me," he said evenly. "The Freys are traitors to the Riverlands. Those who resist will die."
Black Walder's lip curled.
"I once hunted deer in the forests. Tonight I hunt a stag in my own city. I'll mount your antlers above my hearth. The little king on the Iron Throne will enjoy that gift."
Steel rang out as weapons were drawn.
Then they charged.
Gendry moved first.
His arakh whistled through the air like a hurricane blade. The curved Valyrian steel shimmered with black ripples along its edge — ancient and lethal.
His strikes were direct, merciless, aimed for the throat and head.
Black Walder parried once.
The impact rang like a bell.
Then Gendry pressed forward with overwhelming force.
With a sharp crack, Black Walder's longsword shattered.
The arakh sliced through the gap beneath his raised arm, slipping between plates of armor at the armpit joint.
For a heartbeat, time seemed to pause.
Then Black Walder's sword hand fell.
His torso split diagonally.
His head followed.
His body collapsed in pieces onto the blood-soaked stones.
Silence lasted only a breath.
The Frey elites roared and surged forward, axes raised.
They died just as swiftly.
Ser Barristan's blade flashed with measured precision. Bronze Yohn Royce crushed skulls with hammer blows. Bluebeard's mercenaries pressed the flanks, cutting down those who hesitated.
Gendry became the spearhead of a wedge formation.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and relentless, he carved through the enemy like a storm tide breaking upon rocks.
Heavy axes clanged uselessly against his armor. Spears shattered beneath his reach.
His arakh danced in arcs of silver and shadow, cutting through mail, leather, and bone.
The Frey elite fought like cornered wolves — but they were wolves surrounded by lions.
One by one they fell.
First the axemen.
Then the spearmen.
Then the swordsmen.
They had courage. But courage was not enough.
Before long, Black Walder and his chosen companions lay dead in the square.
"Kill," someone murmured.
But there was no one left to kill.
The inner arched bridge gate was seized soon after. Seaguard banners rose over it.
The western half of the Twins belonged to the storm.
Only the eastern keep remained.
In his bedchamber within the eastern tower, old Lord Walder Frey slept soundly.
In his dreams, he smiled.
"Noble blood… noble status…"
He dreamed of alliances. Of direwolves and falcons begging passage across his bridge. Of his daughters wed into ancient houses. Of Frey sons fostered in royal courts, rising high in influence.
The Freys were already wealthy.
What they lacked was true nobility.
Ancient respect.
He dreamed of Tywin Lannister kneeling before him in regret. Of the lion bowing to the crossing lord he had once dismissed.
"Damn Lannister…" he muttered in his sleep.
House Lannister had never truly respected the Freys. They had burned Frey lands during the war. They had refused to take a Frey ward at court despite endless flattery.
Walder Frey despised them for it.
In his dream, he saw himself triumphant over them all.
Then came the knocking.
Loud.
Urgent.
He stirred, irritated.
"Who dares disturb me?"
But now the sounds of battle were real.
Distant shouts.
Steel striking stone.
The faint tremor of collapse.
His chamber doors opened, and his heir entered — armored, pale-faced, sword in hand.
"Father," he said sharply. "You must rise."
Walder blinked, confused.
"Who dares?" he demanded. "Is it the lion? The wolf? The eagle?"
His son shook his head grimly.
"None of them."
Outside, another crash echoed through the tower.
His heir swallowed.
"It's the storm."
"The storm has come."
And for the first time in many years, Walder Frey felt something colder than age settle into his bones.
Fear.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)