"Nothing?" Rhaenyra heaved as she paced around the Painted Table, her hands clenching tightly behind her back. "Not a single word from King's Landing? Not even from Gerardys?"
Disbelief seeped into her every word.
It had been days since Dragonstone had last received any raven from the capital.
Days.
And with each passing sunrise, the silence surrounding King's Landing only grew heavier, taut enough to suffocate her.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Nearby, Rhaenys stood with a deeply furrowed expression, one hand resting against the edge of the table.
Though the Queen Who Never Was maintained her usual regal composure, unease had long since seeped into her countenance.
After all, Corlys remained in the capital.
Alongside Gerardys, Lord Beesbury and...Viserys.
Alongside the vipers surrounding them.
Still, Rhaenys attempted to offer reason in whatever capacity she could.
"Perhaps matters within the city have simply distracted them," she said carefully. "Viserys grows weaker by the day. It would not surprise me if Corlys and the others simply neglected to send word amidst the chaos."
The moment the words left her lips, the weakness within them became obvious to everyone present.
Distracted? Truly?
Three of the most influential men in the Seven Kingdoms simply forgetting to send word for days on end?
It was absurd.
And somehow, that absurdity only made the truth of the matter feel all the more unsettling.
Clearly realising the same, Rhaenys pursed her lips briefly before speaking once more.
"I think it would be prudent for both me and Meleys to head to King's Landing ourselves," she proposed. "At the very least, we may discover what has transpired."
A sharp scoff answered her.
"Have your years at Driftmark eroded even the most basic semblance of thought from you?" Daemon drawled coldly from across the Painted Table. "Pray tell of your sagacious plan should Vhagar await you there. You would simply be flying into a trap, an all too obvious one at that."
Though his voice remained snarky and full of arrogance, Rhaenyra noticed Daemon's hands had curled tightly against the edge of the table.
He was by no means calm.
Fear.
Or perhaps dread lingered in him.
After all, they all knew what the likely reason for the anomalies of King's Landing.
Viserys. Or rather, his death.
And, for all his arrogance and cruelty, Daemon had loved his brother in his own twisted manner.
Viserys had frustrated him beyond reason, denied him countless times, exiled him more than once…yet still remained the only man Daemon had never truly abandoned.
"Then what?" Rhaenys snapped back. "What would you have me do? Sit upon this dreary rock and waste away as you have all these years?"
"Yes," Daemon scoffed. "A dreary rock indeed."
A mocking smile tugged at his lips. "Yet your sorry c*nt dragged itself here regardless."
Rhaenys' expression darkened instantly, the older woman taking a step forward as fury flashed across her features.
Rhaenyra, meanwhile, pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaustion rapidly overtaking her patience as the pair descended into yet another venomous exchange.
Gods, they truly were insufferable together.
"Silence!" Rhaenyra shouted as the hall fell quiet once more.
Only the distant crash of waves against Dragonstone's cliffs rang through the heavy silence that followed.
Rhaenyra exhaled slowly before turning toward Daemon properly.
For all his arrogance and cruelty, she knew well that few understood the political rot festering within King's Landing better than he did.
"Should our assumptions prove true…" she began carefully, "…what would be the wisest course of action in your opinion?"
"I say we send ravens tonight…" Daemon planted his hands atop the Painted Table. "To the Vale. To the North. To every lord still loyal to your claim."
His gaze hardened. "And we prepare for war before the Hightowers prepare it for us."
Rhaenyra looked toward the painted depiction of King's Landing beneath Daemon's hands.
"To rally our banners now…" she murmured. "Would that not all but announce open suspicion?"
Daemon let out a chuckle.
"Suspicion?" His violet eyes lifted toward her. "If the Hightowers have seized the capital, then suspicion is the least of our concerns."
Rhaenys crossed her arms tightly beneath her still heaving chest.
"And if you are wrong?" She pressed. "If Viserys lives…then gathering armies would only make us appear the aggressors."
"He is dying," Daemon snapped back immediately. "We all know it. Whether it happened yesterday or a moon from now changes little."
The Rogue Prince straightened slowly. "The capital does not fall silent for days without reason. Not with Otto Hightower skulking through its halls."
His jaw tightened further. "I know that snake too well."
Rhaenyra remained silent for several moments.
Part of her wished to reject Daemon's fears outright, to dismiss them as paranoia.
Yet another part of her…the part clawing at her chest each night whenever another raven failed to arrive…could not.
The same part that held almost morbid glee at the thought of waging war on the Greens…a chance to avenge Jacaerys…
Even the great hearth nearby failed to drive away the unease creeping through the room as it flickered on the throes of death.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
The sound rang through the chamber as all three turned toward the door at once.
"You may enter."
As Rhaneyra's words fell, a servant entered cautiously, head lowered as though he had already succumbed to the tension hanging in the room.
"My Lords," the man spoke quietly before stepping forward and extending a sealed letter toward Daemon. "A raven arrived from King's Landing…from a Lady Mysaria."
Rhaenyra's gaze darkened at the name as she found Daemon breaking the letter's seal as he read without uttering a word.
"A letter from her?" Rhaenyra's voice cut through the chamber, half-chuckling, half-piercing. "Tell me, Daemon…has your old paramour finally remembered you?"
Rhaenyra felt frustration boil in her.
Too much tension had built within her over these past days. Fear. Frustration. Dread.
And now this…
Part of her just wanted to scream and be done with all of it. Alas, she could not; her duty would not allow her.
"Well?" Rhaenyra pressed, somewhat calmer despite the agitation in her posture as she inched closer.
By this point, the servant had long scurried away, leaving Rhaenyra ample space to circle the table and approach Daemon.
However…
Still nothing.
Daemon simply stared at the parchment in his hand in unbroken silence.
Rhaenyra's anger faltered almost immediately, seeing this.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
The Rogue Prince had gone utterly still, his violet eyes moving silently across the page while one hand slowly tightened around the edge of the letter.
The room itself seemed to grow colder with each passing breath.
Nearby, even Rhaenys' expression shifted as she noticed the change within him.
For once, Daemon Targaryen, The Rogue Prince, looked shaken.
"Daemon…" She spoke more quietly this time.
No response again.
"What…" She hesitated briefly, "…does it say?"
This time, her words provoked a response as Daemon lowered the parchment slightly before folding it shut.
"Send for the maester," he said coldly. "And dispatch ravens to our allies immediately."
Rhaenyra felt her stomach tighten. "Daemon."
At last, his gaze lifted toward them, no longer filled with arrogance and bitterness. No, now it only held…
Only a grim finality.
"The King…"
He paused.
"…is dead."
***
Baelon looked on with rapt attention as the lone flame hovering above them flickered softly within the ashen gloom, its light spilling onto the ancient pages of the Codex spread between him and Helaena.
Around them, the fallen carcass of the monstrous tree creaked faintly in the wind. Its vast branches now lay strewn across the dead island as its roots jutted from the earth like exposed veins.
Even dead, the thing radiated…an uneasy air.
Yet neither turned away from the book.
Not as fresh words slowly bled themselves across the parchment.
The Gods of Valyria were born from wombs of mud, and so to the earth shall they return.
Alas, whilst the Gods may fade, their divinities do not, often manifesting as new Gods, or by binding nearby entities.
Baelon narrowed his eyes slightly.
The quill in his hand scratched quietly against the next page as he hastily etched his response.
Do you mean that this tree was born of Divinity?
The words vanished into the parchment almost immediately.
Then new script slowly emerged in their place, appearing stroke by stroke.
I am certain. Considering the tree's ability to regenerate, I believe it inherited part of Tyrax's Divinity which Balerion had devoured. It would be more than enough for the ritual, allowing you a chance to deceive fate.
The moment the final line appeared, Baelon abruptly snapped the Codex shut.
He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, exhaustion and frustration gnawing at him in equal measure.
Nearby, Helaena remained staring at the shrivelled remains of the colossal tree.
The flickering light danced across her pale features as she spoke quietly. "Are you certain you wish to pursue this?"
Her gaze slowly drifted toward the carcass before them. "Even a God-King failed. Why would he have any hope of succeeding where Balerion himself could not?"
"Balerion failed not because of any flaw in the ritual," Baelon answered after a moment. "He failed because he was too powerful."
He lowered his hand slowly from his brow.
"So powerful, that to deceive fate itself…he required far more than a simple clone."
A humourless chuckle escaped him.
"Us?" He continued bitterly. "We are ants in the grand scheme of things. A lost divinity…or even a mere trace of one…is enough for us to complete the ritual many times over."
Silence followed, save for a lonely gust of wind that whispered through the fallen branches around them.
Helaena exhaled softly.
"But…do you truly trust the ritual?" she asked. "I only ask again because this may very well be the last chance to stop this."
Baelon remained quiet briefly before turning toward her.
"Are you reluctant to do this?"
"Reluctant…?" Helaena shook her head slowly. "No. It is more confusion than reluctance."
Her eyes narrowed faintly toward the Codex resting in Baelon's hands.
"You coincidentally learn of some Divine ritual…then upon arriving here, we end up battling a creature born from a Divinity...coincidentally born from Balerion."
Baelon said nothing as he was by no means unaware of it either.
Everything about this felt wrong.
It was far too convenient, too simple.
And when combined with the possible identity of Kael'thir…the unease only deepened further.
Yet despite all of it…
He found himself utterly unwilling to let go of this opportunity.
Even now…even after all these years.
Perhaps, he and Helaena had already changed enough things to slowly break away from the path fate had once laid before them. But...it could only do so much.
The mere notion of Daemon continuing to live despite everything he had done made Baelon's blood boil more fiercely than any flame he could conjure.
To see fragments of the future only to remain shackled by it regardless…there was nothing merciful about such a gift.
It was like curing a blind man of his darkness for one moment only to maim him the next.
Certainty brimmed in Baelon as memories of the ritual presented themselves to him in crystal clarity as he spoke. "However doubtful these circumstances may be, I believe this is our chance…to no longer flee frightfully from the grasp of fate and pray it never sets its gaze upon us."
Hearing his words, Helaena merely regarded him for a beat before she nodded slowly, much to Baelon's relief.
***
The dead island had fallen eerily still by now.
No wind stirred the ash carpeting the ground.
No roots writhed beneath the earth any longer.
The Codex lay open before them upon blackened ground as its pages fluttered softly despite the unmoving air, crimson script shifting endlessly across the parchment as though the book itself breathed.
Baelon stared at the instructions one final time before lowering the knife toward his palm once more.
The blade bit deep as blood welled instantly.
Beside him, Helaena mirrored the action in silence.
Then, together, the pair stepped toward the colossal trunk of the fallen tree whose bark loomed over them.
Using hands slick with blood, they began to paint upon the bark.
A circle first.
Then rays stretching outward.
A sun, however ancient and crude it may have looked.
Yet as the blood spread across the bark, the symbol seemed to pulse faintly.
Baelon swallowed hard.
Then the chanting began.
"Hen jelmāzmo sȳrī, ānogrose jelmio…" In his glory we open our eyes…
His voice drifted across the island as Helaena joined moments later, her softer tone intertwining with his.
"Hen ñuha qēlos, hen iā sȳndror…"The Eternal Sun, the One of Shadows…
Their voices gradually rose together.
"Hen jelmio ziry, hen iā sagon se rȳbagon…"The Bringer of Night, the One who devours the heavens…
Ash stirred faintly around them, yet no wind lifted them.
"Balerion, iā dārilaros…"Balerion, the Eternal Flame…
Baelon's heart hammered violently within his chest as the ritual continued.
The process itself was deceptively simple.
They were to use their magic alongside worship and invocation and tether the lingering Divinity once consumed by Balerion to their own will.
Or so the Codex claimed.
Yet standing amidst the corpse of a god-touched abomination whilst chanting forgotten Valyrian rites made the simplicity feel almost laughable.
Alas, as his thoughts reached their zenith so did the ritual…
Then—
Silence.
Utter silence.
The world itself seemed to stare at the island with bated breath.
Baelon felt every hair on his body stand on end, and as he threw a quizzical glance at Helaena, who mirrored his confusion, he knew he was not alone in feeling it.
Thrum!
The bloody sun painted upon the bark suddenly pulsed once.
Then again.
CRAAACK!
A fissure split open across the trunk.
From within erupted something that was neither flame nor smoke.
A reddish-black shadow burst forth violently from the corpse of the tree, pouring upward into the air.
It writhed endlessly as though alive, twisting against itself in spiralling tendrils that swallowed the dim light surrounding them.
The temperature plummeted instantly.
Yet despite the unnatural cold, Baelon felt something else as well.
A connection.
A faint, undeniable connection.
It lingered between himself and the shadow like an invisible tether wrapping itself around his soul.
Beside him, Helaena visibly stiffened, clearly feeling it too.
Without speaking, both raised their hands toward the writhing mass suspended above the tree.
And together, they poured what remained of their magic into the ritual.
Baelon immediately felt exhaustion slam into him as he half-wished to stop here; alas, he was too far gone to merely give up.
Soon, the shadow convulsed violently.
Its shape slowly began to stabilise.
Below them, Vermithor suddenly released an uneasy growl.
The Bronze Fury shifted uneasily where he rested, massive wings twitching restlessly as he slowly backed away from the forming entity.
Nearby, Dreamfyre and Silverwing hissed sharply. Neither dragon approached further as they slowly retreated.
Eventually…
The shadow began to take shape.
Arms.
A torso.
A head.
It was human in shape…barely.
Yet its body remained formed entirely from writhing reddish-black darkness barely forced into human form.
And somehow…it felt familiar.
Baelon's breathing quickened.
His eyes widened with fervent disbelief.
Had they succeeded?
Had they truly…succeeded?
The entity twitched violently. Then again.
Its entire form suddenly convulsed erratically before its head snapped directly toward Baelon.
Then…without warning—
It lunged.