The old palace corridors were bustling as Daavos hurriedly searched for the prince's children, moving from one room to another.
At the same time, the palace was in chaos. Attendants rushed to pack belongings, soldiers prepared for departure—everything was set in motion for an evacuation.
Daavos moved through the Sun Tower and then headed toward the Water Gardens outside the city.
As the chaos continued, night fell.
# Sun Spear City, East Coast
As a town surrounded by the sea on three sides, a short journey across the desert led to a beach encircled by jagged reefs.
The night sky was clear, with only a few scattered stars as dark clouds drifted slowly.
Daavos walked along the shore in silence, his expression somber.
In his arms, he held a little girl, no more than two or three years old, while a boy around five or six clung to his side.
Both children were wrapped tightly in silk, their small faces tense with anxiety.
"Lord Daavos, does our father really have to send us away?"
Quentyn Martell asked timidly.
Daavos softened his expression slightly and replied, "Don't be afraid. Dorne will eventually win this war, and you will return home."
"Why must there be war?"
Tears welled up in Quentyn's dark eyes, his childish voice quivering with sorrow.
Unlike his older sister, Arianne, he lacked her early wisdom and instinctively despised the war that had shattered his peaceful life.
Daavos halted for a moment, lifting his gaze to the crescent moon before sighing helplessly. "That's a difficult question. Every second of every day, somewhere in the world, there is war. The only difference is how many people are involved."
He recalled a story his grandmother once told him.
A farmer lost a mule, only to discover that his neighbor had gained one. They fought over it.
Their fight drew in others, as villagers took sides and joined the brawl.
In the chaos, someone was injured. The injured man's family, from a neighboring village, sought vengeance. Soon, the conflict escalated into a war between two villages.
As the war dragged on, farming was neglected, taxes went unpaid, and the local lord suffered losses.
The lord, needing gold, declared war on another noble to seize his wealth.
In the end, war spread like a plague, consuming every corner of the land.
At its core, war was nothing more than greed and power.
The Iron Throne was strong, which meant Dorne had to endure oppression.
But if Dorne grew stronger, the Iron Throne's authority would waver.
As long as they shared the same continent, conflict was inevitable.
Quentyn only half-understood the explanation. His dark eyes filled with tears as he sank into the sorrow of parting.
Crash!
The evening tide rolled in, waves crashing fiercely against the shore.
Beyond the reef-strewn waters, a small wooden boat rocked with the tide, like a lost child drifting aimlessly.
"Children, it's time to go."
Daavos removed his white cloak, lifting both children into his arms as he carried them toward the boat.
Further out at sea, two small cargo ships waited in the darkness, ready to receive their "cargo."
Daavos climbed into the boat, rowing steadily toward one of the ships.
Before long, the small boat bumped against the ship's hull.
"Hey, tie the rope—I'll help lift the children aboard."
On the deck stood a burly man with a white beard. Speaking in Valyrian, he tossed down a thick hemp rope.
Daavos glanced at the ship's sail, where a cold, snarling tiger's head was emblazoned.
Confirming it was the right vessel, Daavos secured the little girl, Coleanne, to his chest and carried Quentyn on his back.
Thud!
He swiftly climbed aboard, untying the silk securing Coleanne before lowering his voice in warning. "Take good care of the little princess. Prince Doran will be grateful to Governor Tysario."
"Of course. The governor is always a generous host."
The bearded man grinned, reaching out for the child.
"Good. I still need to deliver Prince Quentyn."
"No rush—the other ship is approaching."
"What?"
Daavos froze, turning his head in surprise.
Shnk!
Suddenly, a dagger plunged into the back of his skull, the tip piercing through his lower jaw.
"Apologies."
"All men must die."
The bearded man's voice changed, his accent shifting as he reached up and peeled away his false face, revealing a foreign countenance.
He had thick, curly brown hair, a weathered and hardened face, and a perpetual smirk on his lips.
"Ahh!!"
Everything happened too fast. Blood sprayed over the children, their terrified screams piercing through the night.
Coleanne, now in the assassin's arms, shrieked so violently her tiny body convulsed.
Syrio Forel's eyes flickered with pity as he clicked his tongue. "Don't cry—I won't kill the little ones."
Kicking away his wooden leg prosthetics, he turned to gaze at the now-collapsing Daavos.
The dagger had pierced through his skull. Blood poured from Daavos's eyes, nose, and mouth as he stood rigid like a corpse.
His silver-white armor was now drenched in red.
Gurgle…
Daavos gasped reflexively, but only a ragged, broken wheeze escaped. His eyelids grew heavy.
With his last dying breath, he saw another small cargo ship emerging from the vast, endless sea.
For a fleeting moment of clarity before death, he realized something—
The assassin hadn't lied. The ship was indeed coming.
"Prince… betrayed…"
His fading consciousness could not form the words. His thoughts blurred as his body swayed backward uncontrollably.
Thud!
His lifeless body crashed onto the deck, stirring a cloud of dust that did not exist.
The massive sword slung across his back let out a crisp sound as it broke free from its shoulder strap.
The current wielder of the Dawnblade perished in his mission to protect the prince's family.
"Wuuu… wuuu…"
Two children broke down in tears.
Xilieu sighed helplessly. He had no way of comforting the children, so he bent down and picked up the massive sword.
"The Dawnblade of the Morning—a legendary weapon."
Lifting the heavy sword, Xilieu carefully examined it, nodding in agreement with the crown prince's foresight.
In a direct confrontation, he was no match for the Dawnblade's wielder.
But that no longer mattered.
Dorne specialized in assassinations—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
Splash!
Another cargo ship approached, carrying hundreds of people on its deck.
Robb, who was supposed to be in Myr, stood at the edge of the deck, his expression solemn. "Take care of the children. Lord Corlys will besiege the city before dawn."
"Leave it to me."
Xilieu gracefully bowed and said earnestly, "All mortals must serve."
Under the pitch-black night sky, the two cargo ships parted ways.
Faintly, the heart-wrenching cries of the children echoed in the distance.
---
Sun Spear, the Old Palace.
In his private chamber, Cole lay asleep on a soft bed.
Behind the sheer curtains that enclosed the bed, his muscular body remained fully armored in a suit of rigid plate mail.
At midnight,
Cole's sleeping face tensed, as if caught in a nightmare.
Beads of sweat slowly formed on his forehead.
"Ah!"
With a startled cry, he abruptly awoke, sitting up in bed.
His handsome face was filled with panic, his pupils trembling as if he had encountered something truly terrifying.
"Daevos… why hasn't he returned yet?"
Cole panted heavily, mumbling to himself.
The moment he spoke, he suddenly remembered—he had ordered Daevos to escort the two children across the Narrow Sea. By now, they should be en route.
Letting out a sigh of relief, he pressed his hand to his forehead. "The defenses on the Stepstones are weak. Bravos and Volantis' merchant ships shouldn't have trouble passing through."
As far as he knew, Corlys Velaryon had withdrawn almost all defensive forces from the Stepstones in his pursuit of revenge.
If Braavos could send a fleet to attack, they could reclaim control over the Stepstones.
"The foolish Sealord—so blinded by short-term gains that he forgets loyalty."
Cole felt stifled by frustration and held nothing but contempt for the Sealord.
Then, a new thought crossed his mind.
Recalling Weir City and Yronwood, he murmured, "The Black Harbor army is stationed at Yronwood. The rear is unguarded, while the Iron Throne's forces are positioned at the front. A strike on either side could turn the tide of battle."
The Dornish knew their own castles better than anyone.
"Before the dragons arrive, we need to move before sunrise and shift the battlefield to more favorable terrain."
Cole shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
But the more he shook, the dizzier he became.
Unknowingly, he drifted back into a deep sleep.
---
The Next Day, Before Sunrise.
Dawn had yet to break.
The sky was still cloaked in twilight, a crimson sun slowly climbing over the horizon.
Waves rolled across the sea as the sun aligned with the water's edge, painting the sky and sea in hues of red.
Screeeech!
Suddenly, a thunderous dragon's roar shattered the dawn's silence.
Above the Shadow City, Sunfyre soared through the sky, unleashing a stream of dragonfire without hesitation.
Just as the sun had risen halfway.
Sunfyre's body gleamed golden, his scales shimmering brilliantly, with a translucent pink wing membrane—like a sun knocked off its course.
Boom! Boom!
An army advanced from the Greenblood River, surrounding the gates of the Shadow City. Trebuchets launched massive stones toward the walls.
---
Sun Spear, the Private Chambers.
Cole's eyes snapped open, jolted awake by the commotion.
"What's going on? What happened?"
Tearing down the bed curtains, he bolted out of his chambers.
Grabbing the nearest guard, he roared, "Is the Sea Snake attacking?"
The guard trembled and stammered, "A large army is blocking the gates of the Shadow City! A dragon is attacking the buildings!"
"Damn it!"
Cole's face twisted with unease. He shoved the guard aside and staggered toward the exit.
As he moved, he muttered under his breath, "There's a tunnel beneath the Shadow City… Sun Spear won't hold."
Mid-sentence, a wave of dizziness washed over him, his body suddenly weak, nearly causing him to collapse.
Gritting his teeth, Cole forced himself to stay alert and summoned his troops.
At that moment, he understood one harsh truth.
No wonder the continent of Essos harbored such hatred for dragonlords and their beasts.
Before dragons, Westeros' strength lay in its thick armor, highly mobile cavalry, and impenetrable castles.
After dragons, no armor was thick enough to withstand dragonfire. Cavalry became nothing more than toys to be tossed around.
Even a noble's most valuable fortress lost its natural defenses and strength, unable to hold against an enemy with aerial supremacy.
Outside the Shadow City Walls.
A proud army of three thousand royal troops stood tall, manning siege engines against the city.
Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, wore a solemn expression as he bellowed, "Fire!"
Boom! Boom!
The catapults hurled boulders, crashing against the brownish-yellow city walls.
The defenders, numbering only a few hundred, were already struggling against the dragon's assault. They were quickly overwhelmed.
With a wave of his large hand, Sea Serpent commanded, "Breach the city!"
The soldiers pushed the battering rams forward, easily smashing through the unguarded gates.
At that moment, the morning sun slowly rose, and the sky was ablaze with fiery clouds.
Sea Serpent lifted his head to gaze at the heavens. His rigid face twitched slightly, and an indescribable excitement flickered in his eyes.
---
"Run!"
"One by one, get in! The exit is in the desert!"
In the shadowed corner of a wall in Shadow City, Dornish soldiers surged forward frantically, scrambling into a hidden passage.
A mile outside the city—
Boom!
A muffled sound came from beneath the sand, followed by a loud pop as a wooden hatch was pushed open.
Covered in sand and dust, Quentyn clawed his way out of the underground tunnel.
"Move quickly! The Water Gardens are ahead—go around them, take the smaller paths, and head for Ghost Hill!"
More soldiers crawled out as Quentyn led them into the desert.
The main roads were too dangerous—crossing the desert was safer.
Ghost Hill was the closest stronghold to Sunspear. There, they could find supplies and plan their next move.
Whoosh—
As they trudged through the sand, a fierce wind roared overhead.
Quentyn's entire body tensed. The relief of escaping vanished, replaced by an overwhelming dread. He struggled to lift his gaze.
The sky darkened in an instant. A massive shadow swallowed the sun, casting an eerie gloom over the land.
Above them, the brilliant blue sky had disappeared—replaced by the towering form of a massive, pitch-black dragon.
Its vertical pupils glowed an eerie green, flickering with a menacing light, the gaze of a supreme predator.
"Dracarys!"
A clear, commanding voice rang out.
In the next second, a torrent of emerald dragonfire cascaded downward.
Quentyn's teeth clenched in despair. In his final moment, he caught sight of a silver-haired figure atop the dragon, looking down at him with a gaze of utter contempt.
The scorching heat engulfed him. Like a lamb to the slaughter, Quentyn let out a final, desperate scream—
"No!!"