Jhala is the largest and least populated island of the Summer Isles. The Red Flower Vale and the Sweet Lotus Vale slice through the land like scars, with Lotus Port nestled where the two valleys converge.
This should have been a prosperous paradise of trade, yet it was overshadowed by greed and oppression.
Jalabhar Xho, the Prince of the Red Flower Vale, had witnessed the division and decay of the Summer Isles since childhood.
In the Great Hall of Pyke, Jalabhar Xho, the exiled prince, stood before the lords of the Iron Islands, recounting the reasons why he had waged war and why he was ultimately defeated and exiled.
"In the Summer Isles," Jalabhar began, his gaze sweeping over Euron and every lord present, "war was once an ancient and grand ritual."
Jalabhar described the old customs he had personally torn apart: Before battle, both sides would send out "Singers of Peace," carrying parrots with feathers dyed in rainbow colors, singing of ancestral covenants and ancient laws in local dialects. If one side insisted on war, they would blow a war horn inlaid with black pearls. Then, warriors would don heavy armor adorned with seashells and coral and wield long spears—the tips of which must be painted with turmeric, signifying a glorious "War of Painted Spears."
"According to tradition," Jalabhar sighed, his tone a mix of nostalgia and utter contempt, "such battles would last for days, with heavy casualties and rivers of blood, yet rarely resulted in extermination or the end of a bloodline. It was more like a grand performance sacrificed with lives, everything within ancient rules." His tone shifted, his voice suddenly rising to a roar: "But I tore it to shreds!"
"What I initiated was not another 'War of Painted Spears' following ancestral rules." He looked around at the crowd, the fire of conquest burning in his eyes. "What I initiated was an uprising!"
Jalabhar gripped his spear tightly and declared loudly, "Just like King Robert today, rising up against the tyrannical 'Mad King' Aerys! Did he seek to follow the ancient Andal rules of dueling? No! He wanted to overthrow an entire dynasty and establish a new order!"
"And I," Jalabhar declared decisively, "want to overthrow those corrupt rulers who use hypocritical traditions to imprison the islands and stifle vitality! I do not need their approval, nor do I care for their 'glory.' What I want is complete victory, for the Red Flower Vale, for the entire Summer Isles, to welcome a true rebirth!"
These words landed with weight. From that moment on, Jalabhar was no longer an exiled prince following ancient rules, but a revolutionary determined to rewrite history with iron and fire.
Standing in the hall of Pyke, Jalabhar Xho's gaze swept over every Ironborn present. "I love peace," he said slowly, every word distinct. "I pray for peace. I desire peace more than anyone."
Jalabhar paused, his smile bitter, as if mocking his own naivety.
"But in the Summer Isles today, peace is merely a golden crown atop a coward's head—magnificent, yet unable to hide the rot and stench beneath!"
"I saw with my own eyes the fleets of Omboru loading our people like livestock, shipping them to the slave markets of Essos! I saw the nobles of Walano hoarding precious summer spices in private warehouses until they molded, while the children of the poor died under coconut trees because they couldn't afford a few medicinal herbs!"
Jalabhar's thoughts seemed to return to that afternoon that changed his life, his voice trembling:
"I was twelve that year, accompanying my mother to the Sweet Lotus Vale. Passing a coconut grove, we heard crying... not one child, but several. We followed the sound and saw seven children huddled under the roots of a tree. They were skin and bones, their skin burnt black by the sun, lips cracked and bleeding, licking rain water accumulated in the tree crevices..."
Jalabhar took a deep breath, recalling the scene: "'Hunger,' my mother told me. 'The nobles' estates take the best land on the island. Farmers must give seventy percent of their rice harvest as rent; the remaining thirty percent must be exchanged for the spices they control.' She pointed to the sweet, cloying scent in the air. 'Do you smell that? That is ambergris the noble fleets traded for from Essos. Yet our children cannot even gnaw on half a rice cake to stay alive!'"
"Three fully armed slavers were dragging a woman in ragged clothes. Her linen skirt was torn, revealing purple whip marks on her back. The infant in her arms was crying until it almost stopped breathing."
Jalabhar seemed to see that blinding scene again, his tone full of rage: "'This bitch owes a debt,' the slaver spat at us. 'Selling her to Walano as a whore will cover our drink money!' The woman's husband rushed forward like a madman to fight, only to have the slaver's dagger plunged straight into his belly. Blood splattered on my white linen shirt, like a cruel red lotus."
His voice lowered, carrying the exhaustion and helplessness of witnessing too many tragedies. "Later, the neighboring village 'Moon Bay' was sacked by pirates. I followed the warriors to help... When we arrived, we saw only the charred remains of wooden huts, chopped coconut trees, and... and over twenty female corpses on the beach. Their wrists were bloodied raw by chains, clearly just captured onto the ships, then dragged back to shore for some reason and left there like garbage to die..."
Jalabhar looked up, his gaze sharp and firm again, sweeping over Euron and all the Ironborn leaders. "I tore up tradition and launched an uprising not because I love war, but because I have seen how that so-called 'peace'... eats people without spitting out the bones!"
"King Robert rose against the Mad King to end tyranny. I stand here today, asking to fight alongside the warriors of the Iron Islands, to end another form of tyranny happening right now in the Summer Isles! I will not fight a 'War of Painted Spears,' but launch an uprising, for the starving children, the sold women, and all the people groaning under a hypocritical peace!"
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Jalabhar had launched a formal uprising, starting one afternoon in Lotus Port.
That day, fifty slavers were roughly herding a boatload of women onto a ship. The sound of cold iron chains on their wrists pierced through the daily clamor of the docks.
Led by Jalabhar, the fishermen did not stay silent. The cold glint of harpoons and heavy ropes became their first weapons. The crowd surged like a tide, blocking the slavers' path. Jalabhar pushed through the crowd to the front, holding high his father's mottled sword.
"Release them!" Jalabhar's voice drowned out the waves, exploding over the docks. "Or I will tear down all your slave pens today!"
The slaver leader spat, his face full of unconcealed contempt. "Where did this little bastard come from? Even your father didn't dare tell us what to do. What are you?"
Before his voice fell.
A flash of sword light.
Jalabhar's sword, without any hesitation, pierced the leader's throat with precision. Hot blood sprayed onto the rough limestone of the dock, spreading quickly like a suddenly blooming, blinding, cruel flower.
After a brief silence, the fishermen erupted in a deafening cheer. This cheer was like a fire, instantly igniting the long-suppressed anger.
More people poured out from narrow alleys and low shacks—not just fishermen, but farmers shouldering hoes, blacksmiths clutching hammers, and even some minor nobles in worn linen shirts with eyes equally filled with resentment.
"We want to eat!"
"We want our children to survive this winter!"
"We want our own ships, our own ports!"
The chaotic shouts eventually merged into a single voice.
Jalabhar leaped onto a pile of stones, looking down at the faces distorted by long-term hunger but now lit by hope. Most of them didn't even have a proper name.
At that moment, a realization struck Jalabhar like lightning. He clearly understood that he stood here not to reclaim a family crown, nor for hollow inheritance rights.
He was fighting for these people.
Jalabhar took a deep breath, and towards the crowd, towards the churning sea, shouted the words that would change the fate of the Summer Isles:
"We will unite the Summer Isles!" His voice was carried by the sea breeze to the distance. "Not for conquest! But so that every island can protect the children in its arms! So that every inch of land grows grain to feed the people, not to feed greedy parasites!"
Before the blood in Lotus Port had dried, Jalabhar Xho's uprising spread like wildfire.
Jalabhar completely abandoned the symbols of his princely status. No magnificent royal armor, only the rough cloth battle robe stained with blood from the dock conflict; he relied not on expensive, mercenary soldiers, but focused entirely on training the fishermen, farmers, and smiths who picked up harpoons and hoes. Because they knew better than anyone why they fought.
Jalabhar consolidated all available resources in the Red Flower Vale. Inspired by him, old craftsmen improved warships using the island's tough ironwood, adding fierce rams to the agile hulls and laying rattan nets on decks to protect against arrows. He had women and children reclaim land in the rear to grow food and make arrows, even organizing a women's unit called the "Lioness Squad" responsible for transporting supplies to the front lines.
The decisive battle erupted in the rippling waters of the Turquoise Strait.
The allied forces of nobles from Walano and Omboru still thought Jalabhar was that destitute prince who only knew petty harassment and raids. They assembled hundreds of ornately decorated, tall and mighty warships, coming aggressively to "quell the rebellion," intending to crush this "rabble" in one stroke.
Instead, they encountered a completely different army. Jalabhar's ironwood fleet was like a school of sharks scenting blood. Though small, the ships were incredibly fast. They avoided the sharp edge of the enemy's main battleships, targeting the clumsy, slow supply ships, precisely tearing at the alliance's lifeline.
The rebel warriors shouted slogans like a tsunami—no longer the ancient war cry of a specific island, but a unified voice full of hope and conviction:
"For Summer!"
Through a spyglass, the Walano commander watched the battlefield in disbelief. "Those farmers and fishermen on the small boats... their will to fight is even more frenzied than the soldiers we paid for!"
The battle settled as the sun set, the blood-red afterglow dyeing the entire strait crimson.
The ram of the rebel army finally tore fiercely into the ornate belly of the alliance flagship, the Pearl.
Jalabhar stood at the bow, watching countless enemy soldiers begin to lay down their arms and surrender. The sea breeze was filled with smoke and blood, yet before his eyes, he suddenly saw those starving children under the coconut tree when he was twelve.
Jalabhar took a deep breath and issued his first order after victory to the herald beside him, his voice clear and firm: "Pass the order. All who lay down their weapons and surrender are allowed to return to their hometowns and farm their own land. But all who have directly harmed or oppressed commoners must stay. They will use their labor to atone for the sins they have committed."
The brief victory was like a sudden summer rain, washing away the old filth but failing to eradicate the entrenched disease.
Jalabhar Xho, the leader raised up by the people, began to reshape the Summer Isles according to his ideal blueprint.
Jalabhar issued decrees permanently abolishing the internal slave trade in the archipelago and redistributing coastal fertile lands illegally occupied by nobles to landless fishermen and farmers. He cut heavy tariffs and encouraged islanders to develop their own handicrafts and agriculture.
These reforms, shining with the light of idealism, were like blades cutting the lifelines of profit for too many people. especially the powers extracting massive profits from the slave trade—Lys, Tyrosh, Myr. The golden trade routes of these Free Cities were forcibly blocked by Jalabhar. And the native nobles of Walano and Omboru, stripped of privileges and land, saw their luxurious lives shaken along with their foundations of rule.
Gold and hatred became the most effective adhesive.
Gold Dragons from the Free Cities poured into the pockets of exiled nobles like water, equipping them with mercenary companies far superior to the former alliance army. Those old enemies defeated by Jalabhar, supported by external forces, returned with deeper resentment.
This time, the war was not limited to the sea.
Conspiracies, betrayals, assassinations—all despicable means were brought to the table.
Some within the rebel army, their wills not firm, turned their coats under the temptation of heavy gold.
Islands that once fought side by side split again under external pressure and internal provocation.
After a series of tragic defeats and chilling betrayals, Jalabhar Xho ultimately failed to hold the ideal he fought for.
In the misty dawn, under the desperate, bloody defense of a few most loyal guards, he fled the Summer Isles he loved deeply but could no longer save in a small boat bearing no markings.
The Prince of the Red Flower Vale, the former leader of the uprising, thus finally became an exile who had lost his land.
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