Awareness clawed its way through Baelon's mind like a drowning man breaching cruel tides whilst his thoughts remained frozen upon the final thing he remembered.
The...shadow.
It had lunged toward him and then—
'What is this…?' Baelon attempted to look around instinctively.
Only to realise he could not move.
No. That was not quite right.
He could move.
But the body was not his own to do so.
Power thrummed through limbs that did not quite belong to him, each breath emerging like the groaning of a collapsing mountain.
Then, as his vision finally focused, Baelon's mind nearly blanked.
The world before him was dead. Utterly so.
The heavens lay fractured like shattered glass; the skies split apart by enormous crimson fissures that bled molten light across an endless storm of ash and smoke.
Below…lay corpses.
Countless corpses.
Each one so vast that mountains would have seemed insignificant beside them.
Some still clutched broken weapons large enough to resemble kingdoms.
Others lay half-submerged within oceans of blistering magma, their colossal limbs protruding from the molten depths in spiteful vain.
Meanwhile, the land itself had been scarred into ruin as entire landscapes burned beneath rivers of lava stretching endlessly toward the horizon.
And amidst this apocalypse—
Baelon's breathing caught instantly as his gaze settled on a figure. An all-too familiar figure.
Balerion.
Even now, merely beholding him made Baelon feel crushingly insignificant. He was vast beyond reason, both in stature and in bearing, as the world seemed to scream in his mere presence.
Worse of all, the God-King stood directly opposite him.
Yet despite all that majesty…
There was exhaustion within him. Far too obvious to disregard.
"W-why?! WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS?!"
The voice that erupted from Baelon's throat was not his own. It thundered across the ruined world monstrously, splitting mountains in the distance from sheer force alone.
As if…this voice belonged to a God.
Understanding slowly dawned upon Baelon.
Combined with everything Kael'thir had spoken of before, regarding the source of the divinity from the tree…there was little doubt now.
He was seeing this all through Tyrax's eyes.
"This is the only way…" Balerion's voice answered.
Unlike before, the God-King did not speak with fury or wrath. Instead, his words bore an almost regal calmness to them.
A king standing resolute amidst the death of all things. Yet that calm only made the devastation surrounding them feel even crueller.
"Do you truly believe this is the way?!" Tyrax roared back.
The sheer rage within the voice shook the burning landscape as he surged forward, the land groaning beneath his every step.
BOOOOOOM.
Tyrax's fist smashed upward beneath Balerion's jaw as the God-King's colossal body was launched backwards and crashing through burning landscapes before skidding across molten earth for miles.
Tyrax did not relent.
With another deafening roar, he leapt after the God-King, causing volcanoes below to erupt violently.
Yet just as he descended—
Balerion raised one hand, and a burst of molten lava exploded outward from beneath the God-King.
CRAAAAASH.
Tyrax was hurled backwards violently, his body smashing through the corpses of freshly Gods before crashing into a mountain-sized carcass half-submerged within magma.
The impact split the corpse apart, and soon nothing was left of it other than mangled flesh or something masquerading as such.
For several moments, only the sound of burning ruin echoed across the world.
Then Tyrax slowly rose once more. He groaned deeply, blood dripping from the countless lacerations across his immense form.
"To kill us…" The monstrous being spat the words venomously. "To devour us…"
Hatred practically bled from every syllable. "Do you truly believe it would be enough to escape your fate…"
Tyrax slowly lifted his gaze toward the distant Balerion standing amidst rivers of lava. "…God-King?"
"Your power… the very power that allows you to do this…will only be your chain." Tyrax forced himself upward.
"I can see it already. Your futility. Your hopelessness." Tyrax rasped, blood boiling where it struck the ground. "Do you? DO YOU, BALERION?"
The God of Blood and Wrath roared then, not purely in fury, but in some maddened grief.
And then the fight resumed.
Crimson oceans formed from Tyrax's wounds, forming writhing tides that swept the battlefield, forming rivers of blood that hungrily rushed to Balerion.
But the God-King did not yield as his flame answered blood.
Balerion's flames rose from the earth, carving through the crimson tides and evaporating entire oceans of blood mid-surge.
Where Tyrax bled, Balerion burned. Where Tyrax raged, Balerion annihilated.
And slowly…inexorably…the balance shifted, favouring the God-King.
Tyrax staggered backwards as a wall of magma erupted behind him, forcing him into the open. His movements grew heavier and heavier still.
Each strike he attempted was met with burning resistance that gnawed at his form like some relentless poison.
Still, he fought.
Still, he refused.
Until finally…
Balerion struck one final blow.
Crash!
Tyrax crashed into the broken ground hard enough to create a crater the size of a kingdom. Before Tyrax could rise again, Balerion was upon him.
A single foot descended and pinned Tyrax's skull into the molten earth.
Silence followed for a breathless moment.
Then Balerion spoke.
"Do you understand the futility of your struggle?"
His voice carried only certainty and judgment.
Tyrax coughed, blood spilling freely from his mouth, mixing with the lava beneath him.
Despite everything, despite the crushing weight of the God-King upon his skull, a broken laugh escaped him.
"Futility…" Tyrax rasped, shaking violently beneath the pressure. "It is something you rarely feel, God-King…"
His lips curled faintly, defiant even as he was being crushed.
"…yet I reckon you will find yourself all too familiar with it—"
CRACK.
Balerion pressed down harder.
The sound of Tyrax's skull fracturing echoed across the ruined world like thunder.
From Tyrax's broken form, something dark, something familiar, something blacker than shadow, erupted upward in a baleful surge.
The thing soon shot directly into Balerion's burning maws.
But Baelon had no time to understand it.
No time to even think.
As suddenly as it began…it began to end, not even giving Baelon the chance to settle his doubts.
Why was he here? Why was he seeing these things?
Not a hint of an answer was to be seen as his vision began to darken.
***
Alicent passed by the Great Hall of the Red Keep beneath rows of flickering sconces, her expression tightening further with each echoing laugh that reached her ears.
Until one voice made her pause for a beat.
Aegon's voice.
It was as loud, drunken and boastful as ever.
"—and then the stupid girl starts screaming after I knocked over the bloody candle stand!" Aegon cackled somewhere deeper within the throne room. "Gods, you should've seen her face when the mattress caught fire!"
The Kingsguard around him erupted into drunken laughter, all too clear for the Queen Dowager to hear.
Another voice chimed in. "And did you at least finish before the room burned down, Your Grace?"
Aegon barked another laugh loud enough to echo through the stone corridors.
"Did I crawl out a burning window half-dressed for nothing? What king would I be if I left the job unfinished?!" Alicent heard her son heave a wistful sigh. "Gods, the smoke only made it all the better."
More crude laughter followed.
Alicent's jaw tightened, hearing it all, but she hurried along regardless, pacing away from the undignified scene, no doubt in the heart of the Keep.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered whether Viserys would have wept had he seen what now sat upon his throne.
Then she crushed the thought before it could linger further. The realm had needed strength. She needed strength. It was as simple as that.
Yet as she climbed the winding stairs toward the Tower of the Hand, that justification felt increasingly hollow within her chest.
At last, she entered the solar.
Her father stood behind his desk with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, staring out toward the darkened city beyond the windows.
Even in old age, there remained something imposing about her father.
Still. Silent. Ever-watching.
Like he was carved from the very stone of High Tower itself.
"What is His Grace doing at the moment?" Otto asked calmly, not even turning toward her.
"Drunk in stupor and boasting to his good-for-nothing Kingsguard," Alicent scoffed as she shut the door behind her. "I do not understand why they remain under our employ if they are only fit to drink and laugh. What need have we for jesters then?"
Otto closed his eyes briefly. "As long as he is not whoring, I shall count it a blessing. He has only just been crowned."
The weariness within his voice did little to calm her as she stepped closer toward the desk.
"Has that woman been dealt with?" Alicent paused. "Daemon's…paramour?"
At last, Otto nodded. "The City Watch disposed of the body within the Blackwater."
Alicent's expression did not soften.
"Alas," Otto continued grimly, "not before she managed to loose word toward Dragonstone."
Alicent immediately felt her chest tighten.
"Then what are we to do?" She demanded. "We cannot simply sit idle whilst Rhaenyra gathers her banners."
At last, Otto turned toward her fully. "We will not."
The Hand slowly moved around the desk, hands clasped behind his back once more.
"I intend to restore Tyland Lannister to his seat upon the Small Council as Master of Coin. With the Westerlands firmly behind us, the Crown's coffers and levies shall remain secure."
Alicent listened silently.
"Harrenhal must also be seized swiftly," Otto continued. "Whichever side controls Harrenhal dominates the Riverlands."
His expression hardened. "If we move quickly enough, we may leave only the North and Vale to Rhaenyra."
Alicent frowned faintly.
"Men mean little when dragons prowl the skies," she replied quietly. "And three dragons that should have stood beside us vanished mere weeks prior."
At that, Otto looked at her meaningfully.
"Even so," he said, "save for Vermithor and Dreamfyre, Vhagar remains the single greatest asset amongst House Targaryen."
His gaze lingered on her. "And many of Rhaenyra's children mount dragons are scarcely larger than donkeys. They are not beasts to be feared."
Alicent slowly stilled as understanding dawned almost immediately upon her.
"You want Aemond."
"The realm needs him, daughter," Otto answered plainly.
The words unsettled her far more than she expected.
For years…all of this had supposedly been for her children's safety.
To protect them from Daemon. From Rhaenyra. From the inevitable bloodshed Otto had long warned her would come should Viserys persist with his chosen heir.
Yet now?
Now her children stood closer to danger than ever before.
Aegon sat drunkenly upon a throne he scarcely deserved, whilst Aemond was being prepared like a blade to hurl toward war. A war he would be all too willing to drown in.
Nothing felt safer. Not in the slightest.
Alicent lowered her gaze briefly but spoke at last. "I shall speak with him."
Otto seemed satisfied with that. "Good. Aemond understands duty better than his brother ever will."
Alicent did not answer him, and the chamber fell into silence briefly before Otto spoke once more.
"There is also the matter of the Reach. My brother will need reassurance that Oldtown remains secure should the Velaryons attempt a blockade…"
Their conversation continued, dancing past schemes and conspiracies alike, each one drawing on Alicent's remaining vigour.
By the time their meeting ended, Alicent offered no farewell as she turned toward the door, eager to seek solace through her own thoughts.
However, the moment she stepped back into the corridor…
Bang!
She nearly collided with someone standing silently beyond the doorway.
Aemond.
Her son stood motionless within the dim torchlight, pale hair hanging over a mask dark enough to drink the flickering light around them.
His expression, at least the half she could see, was unreadable as he stared down at her with his one remaining eye.