The heavy oak doors of the Old Palace did not simply open; they groaned beneath the pressure of the slaughter waiting beyond.
Princess Deria stepped into the long corridor leading to the Hall of Sunspear, her silk skirts whispering across the polished marble. Beyond the corridor, the great gates of the hall loomed before her, and she froze. Some of her household guards—men who had sworn themselves to her line and broken bread at her table—staggered before her.
A green mist rolled through the gates of Sunspear like living smoke. The moment it touched their skin, they collapsed. Their hands clawed at their throats as their veins blackened with necrotic rot, blood leaking from their eyes and ears before their knees gave way.
"You're Grace! Fall back!"
The waterwizards and waterwitches serving House Martell moved without hesitation. Two women stepped between Deria and the advancing fog. They raised their hands and called upon the ancient rivers of their ancestors. Three older waterwizards emerged from the Hall of Sunspear and joined them.
"Mother Rhoyne, hear us. Shield your children," they chanted, their voices trembling beneath the strain.
From the ornamental fountains lining the hall, streams of clear water surged upward and burst into a dense, silvery mist. It collided with the poisonous mist, and the magical pressure made the stone walls shudder. Yet the poison pouring in from the gates continued to advance.
The lead waterwitch stumbled. A thick droplet of blood slipped from her nostril and traced a crimson line down her lip.
"Your Grace... we cannot hold much longer. The poison is eating through the spirit of the water."
Princess Deria looked beyond the shimmering barrier. Outside the grand gates stood a formation of hooded cultists and invaders, kneeling as they prepared to unleash another wave of destruction.
Her mind raced. She was a daughter of Dorne, not some helpless noblewoman waiting behind a shield while others bled for her.
A grim clarity settled over her.
"Bring it to me," Deria commanded.
The waterwitch stared at her. "Your Grace... no. We only need to hold. The Wizard of Dorne is on the field. He will save us."
"We have burdened the wizard enough." A soft, almost sorrowful smile touched Deria's lips. "This is my house. My blood."
The resolve in the princess's eyes left no room for argument. As a devout follower of the Peacebringer, the waterwitch obeyed the command as her final duty. She released herself from the ritual, nearly collapsing from exhaustion, then hurried through a private passage toward the vault.
Princess Deria remained with the four weakened waterwizards and witches.
Her fingers tightened around the sapphire pendant hidden beneath her bodice. She had prayed she would never have to use what lay within the vault.
She clasped her hands to her breast and began praying in the ancient, rolling dialect of the Rhoynar. A cold tide rushed through her veins as luminous mist spilled from beneath her feet, pouring into their defensive barrier. The silvery haze thickened and surged, swelling into a churning tempest that strengthened the failing spell.
Outside Sunspear, in Shadow City, the air reeked of copper and burnt flesh.
The Old Mother stood among the bone and ash remains of her son's disciple. Her cruel smile faded when the smoke cleared, revealing a lone figure walking through the devastation.
"Oh?" Her voice carried through the quiet ruins, a hint of amusement in her tone. "A capable mage, are you? To survive that…"
Thaddues said nothing. With an effortless motion, he flicked his wand and brushed ash from the sleeve of his robes.
The Old Mother's eyes narrowed. Instinct screamed at her that something was wrong. She sensed no chaotic surge of magic she had known, no trace of Valyrian blood-sorcery or the wild heat of dragonflame. Yet the air itself seemed to bend around the boy.
"Where are your masters?" she demanded. "Why does your master hide while sending a boy to face me?"
Thaddues stopped.
Had this Old hag sensed Rowena's lingering magic on him?
The thought came and vanished just as quickly. It did not matter.
"I'm enough."
"Insolent brat!"
The Old Mother thrust both hands forward. Pitch-black magic erupted from her palms, tearing through the cobblestones as it screamed toward him like a swarm of dying crows.
Thaddues did not flinch. He snapped his wand upward.
"Reducto!"
A brilliant red bolt of magic erupted from the wand, narrow at first before swelling into a roaring lance of destructive force. It streaked across the street like a blazing comet, leaving a trail of crimson sparks in its wake.
The two spells collided in midair.
BOOM!
The impact unleashed a deafening crack that shook the surrounding buildings. A violent shockwave burst outward, ripping roof tiles from nearby huts and blasting chunks of masonry from already-damaged walls. Dust, shattered stone, and burning debris filled the street as the two opposing forces struggled against one another.
For several heartbeats, the black and crimson magic churned violently in the air.
Then Thaddues twisted his wand.
The red spell surged forward.
The darkness shattered.
The remaining force slammed into the Old Mother's defenses, driving her backward across the blood-soaked stones.
When the haze cleared, Thaddues' expression had hardened. The force behind the woman's magic was ancient, raw, and deeply corrupting. He had encountered nothing this potent since arriving in this world. One thing was certain: this magic was disturbingly similar to that of the Old Gods.
The Old Mother's hands trembled. She stared at her gnarled fingers as the skin withered further and liver spots spread across her knuckles. The spell had consumed a portion of the life-force she had cultivated for a decade, yet the boy had countered it with little more than a flick of his stick.
"Who are you?" she rasped, anger giving way to a thin thread of fear.
Thaddues answered. "I am the Wizard of Dorne."
Realization struck her with the force of a blow. The rumors were true. There were no hidden watermages or ancient cabals lurking in the land of Dorne.
It was him.
This child had slaughtered her bloodline. He had killed her two sons.
A shriek of madness tore from her throat.
"Blood for the soil! Bone for the root!"
She slammed her palms against the blood-soaked earth. The ground groaned as massive, thorn-covered roots erupted from the stone, each as thick as the mast of a siege engine and dripping with black, acidic sap. They twisted through the air toward Thaddues.
He vanished with a sharp crack just before they struck.
He reappeared fifty yards away atop a ruined parapet, but the roots followed. They twisted in midair as though tracking his very soul, surging upward and tearing into the stone beneath him.
Thaddues swept his wand in a brutal horizontal arc. A blade of silver light tore through the air and severed the entire bundle. The roots writhed across the ground, spilling black fluid before rapidly turning to ash.
Below, the Old Mother screamed and clutched her chest as though the severed roots were extensions of her own flesh.
"You insolent bastard!"
Thaddues smiled and raised his wand for the killing curse, but then the ambient magic shifted.
The change was sudden and violent. The air around Sunspear became impossibly heavy, wet, and cold.
He turned toward the palace.
"No..."
His face drained of color. Without another thought, he Apparated.
He materialized beneath the high arches of the Palace of Sunspear, and the instant his boots touched stone, he knew he was too late.
The forecourt before Sunspear's gates blazed with ethereal blue light.
At its center stood Princess Deria. In her left hand, she clutched a sapphire pendant against her chest. In her right, she held an ancient bronze spear. Her eyes were closed, her lips moving in a resonant chant in the forgotten high dialect of the Rhoynar.
She was trading her life for power, burning her own soul to fuel a magic this world had not witnessed in a thousand years.
"Mother of Waters, hear your daughter.
Take my life. Take my soul. Give me your strength.
By the Rhoyne, by the sea— Rise, Mother. Rise!"
Her voice echoed across the courtyard, no longer sounding entirely human. Beneath it rumbled the distant roar of a thousand crashing waves.
Then the ocean answered.
Thunder shook the harbor as a dozen colossal pillars of water erupted from the sea and climbed toward the heavens, blotting out the sun. The torrents converged above the palace, forming a vast, swirling vortex before plunging downward at Deria's command.
"Get out of my lands!"
Her eyes opened, burning with pure azure light. Power surged through her body, pushing her mortal frame beyond its limits. Behind her, the surviving waterwizards and witches collapsed to their knees, weeping and praying as the force washed over them.
Deria thrust the ancient spear forward.
The sky fell. The barrier broke.
A towering wall of water surged toward the palace gates, carrying enough force to obliterate anything in its path.
"Defensive line! Form up!"
Kaelen shouted the order, but terror cracked his voice. A dozen believers thrust their hands forward and raised a shimmering crimson ward.
It lasted half a heartbeat.
The divine weight of the Rhoynish flood shattered the barrier like glass. The mages vanished beneath the torrent, their bodies crushed and swept away in the foam.
The wave continued into the Shadow City.
Stone tenements collapsed like sandcastles. Cultists disappeared beneath the raging water. Within minutes, half the lower district had been swept clean, leaving only flooded rubble beneath a settling veil of mist.
At last, the roar faded.
The blue radiance surrounding Deria dimmed.
She stood swaying on the drenched stone, her breathing shallow and her eyes unfocused. Slowly, she turned toward Thaddues.
A tired, peaceful smile touched her lips.
"Wizard…" she whispered, her voice barely carrying across the flooded forecourt. "Defend… her home."
Thaddues moved toward her.
He was too late.
Deria's body fractured into light. Her form dissolved into a shimmering cloud of fine water mist that drifted upward and vanished into the ocean breeze.
Silence settled over the place.
Then a ragged voice rose from the flooded ruins of Shadow City.
"Kaelen? … My daughters? My sons?"
The Old Mother staggered from the debris, her robes soaked through, her ancient body battered and bleeding. She searched the ruins, calling their names.
One by one.
No one answered.
Her gaze drifted across the forecourt, then toward the empty places where her children had stood.
All of them were gone.
For the first time, the Old Mother looked truly broken.
Thaddues stood across the ruins, motionless.
Deria was gone.
His face remained cold, almost unnaturally so, but his eyes burned with a fury that seemed to warp the air around him. His wand trembled between his fingers—not from fear, nor exhaustion, but from the effort of keeping his rage contained.
The Old Mother had lost every child she had brought to war.
Thaddues had lost someone he promised to protect.
Their eyes met across the flooded ruins.
The Old Mother wept.
Thaddues did not, but the air around him began to scream.
TBC
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