On the broad deck of the Zhiyuan, six hundred Ironborn warriors stood tall, forming the unyielding spine of this juggernaut.
They were warriors, but also this great ship's sailors, helmsmen, shipwrights, lookouts, cooks... None of this troubled an Ironborn; they were intimately familiar with everything aboard a ship.
They earned their place on the Zhiyuan not just because they were battle-hardened elites forged in fire, but because they were the core loyalists who had shared life, death, and glory with Euron Greyjoy.
Among them were men who had stood shoulder to shoulder with Euron in the Seven-Sided Melee at the Tourney at Harrenhal. Under the gaze of countless noble knights, they had shattered the elegant dreams of knighthood with Ironborn axes and savagery, seizing the laurel of victory.
Some had followed him across the Narrow Sea, adventuring for three years through exotic ports and shadows along the coast of Essos. They had seen the Golden Palace of the Magister of Pentos and crossed blades with the Water Dancers of Braavos in narrow alleys. Shared wanderings had forged a bond between them that transcended blood.
Others had followed close behind him since the beacon fires of Robert's Rebellion. In that war that overturned a dynasty, they learned not just how to raid, but how to coordinate with allied forces in grand warfare, storming cities and seizing lands.
The knotted muscles on their arms and the old scars on their bodies silently told the stories of every past struggle. Their combat skills and loyalty had been proven by blood and fire; they were the most trustworthy blades in Euron's hand.
Inside the Captain's Quarters, swaying whale-oil lamps cast warm light onto dark green velvet tapestries.
Ashara Dayne leaned on a soft couch, gently humming a Dornish lullaby. In her arms was Alexander, just a month old, blinking violet eyes and giggling. Lisa sat smiling on the wool carpet, carefully holding the small hand of one-year-old Daeron, watching the boy toddle toward an oak spinning top rolling in front of him.
The three sisters stood like shadows in the corner of the cabin, their crimson silk dresses rustling softly.
In the shadows, the Red Priestess Gwendolyn sat still as a sculpture, her gold-embroidered red robe trailing on the floor. Beside her, the Shadowbinder Evelyn was wrapped in a blue cloak, her emerald green eyes gazing out toward the distant sea.
A three-meter-tall "Peacekeeper" stood outside the oak door. Black iron armor covered its entire body seamlessly, the plates making a dull sound like the breathing of a giant beast when they rubbed together. Controlled by Lisa, its only command here was to protect the women and children in this room.
The bottom hold of the Zhiyuan was like another world—a world of darkness.
There were no portholes here, only a few oil lamps hanging from the beams casting dim, swaying halos that stretched shadows into twisted shapes. The air was filled with a strange, sweet-acrid smell, mixed with sulfur, minerals, and a restlessness not belonging to the human world.
Five alchemists wearing heavy leather aprons gathered around a stone table fixed to the deck. Behind them, along the curved hull of the hold, thousands of stone containers were densely arranged. They were firmly secured on special racks, each sealed tight. In the dim light, ghostly green phosphorescence flowed slowly within the containers, like the eyes of countless sleeping demons.
Qyburn sat alone on a low stool in the corner, a parchment scroll spread on his knees. The scratching of his quill was the only rhythmic sound here. He occasionally looked up to observe the alchemists' operations, then lowered his head to record. His calm gaze held no emotion; these dangerous goods, capable of sending the entire juggernaut into the clouds, were a subject worth studying for future warfare.
Specially modified, the stability of this wildfire had been greatly improved. Yet, that dormant, world-destroying power was more heart-palpitating than ever. The stone containers provided the most reliable protection, imprisoning the wildfire deep in the hold of the expeditionary ship, rising and falling with the waves, waiting for the moment to be awakened.
In the lowest level of the hold, there was darkness without a single ray of light.
Over three hundred strange figures, entirely shrouded in special black leather armor, moved with a non-human sluggishness. Their joints made faint sounds like snapping dry twigs when they turned.
These were Qyburn's "works"—existences dragged back from the edge of death through forbidden necromancy, blending ancient black magic and bloody blood magic.
They were neither living nor purely dead. In their eye sockets were two pools of solidified darkness, without focus or thought, only a single command branded into their rotting nerves: Pedal.
More than three hundred bodies were manipulated by invisible threads, pedaling the auxiliary treads that drove the juggernaut day and night without stopping. The mechanical roar and the harsh grating of chains filled this metal tomb, yet they felt nothing, silently repeating the same motion endlessly.
Euron Greyjoy did not need them to fight right now. To him, this "labor force" that didn't sleep, eat, drink, or even excrete was far more efficient than any sailor. They were the perfect coolies, tireless and uncomplaining, pedaling this juggernaut toward unknown battlefields, becoming part of the ship's dark heart themselves.
In front of the towering sterncastle of the Zhiyuan, there was an abrupt, empty platform—a structure Euron had commanded the shipwrights to keep with an unquestionable tone during construction.
The old shipwrights had puzzled over the blueprints; leaving such a wide deck area on a longship where every inch was gold was practically a blasphemy against sailing tradition.
Until the fleet sailed deep into the ocean, one dusk when the sunset burned like fire, the answer descended from the sky.
A huge shadow swept past the masts. Accompanied by the sound of wind being shorn, a multicolored giant bird folded its wings and landed steadily on this specially reserved platform.
It was no ordinary bird. Its scaled feathers shimmered with the seven-colored luster of bronze and emerald in the setting sun, and its curved beak looked as if carved from obsidian.
The Millennium Dragon, Halcyon.
It folded its ancient wings, its slender neck turning elegantly toward the sterncastle. Its gilded vertical pupils reflected the burning afterglow on the sea surface.
The Ironborn on deck stopped their work in unison, axes suspended in mid-air, ropes slipping from hands. Low gasps and intakes of breath spread through the crowd. Everyone stared at this mythical creature bathed in golden light, as if witnessing an ancient legend come alive before their eyes.
Facing everyone's bewildered gazes, Euron just smiled and said its name in a calm tone: "Its name is Halcyon." beyond that, he offered no further explanation.
At first, the crew held awe, even fear, for this giant beast residing at the stern, always giving it a wide berth.
Time quietly changed all this.
The Ironborn gradually discovered that Halcyon was distinctly different from the fire-breathing dragons of legend.
Its temperament was surprisingly docile. Those multicolored scales shone in the sun, yet radiated no violence. It had a long, wet, dexterous tongue. When someone plucked up the courage to tentatively scratch its chin covered in fine scales, it would squint its ancient gilded pupils comfortably and gently lick their arm with that warm tongue, like a tamed giant hound.
Among everyone, Asha Greyjoy's curiosity was the most intense.
The Iron Islands princess, always bold and knowledgeable, showed extraordinary interest in Halcyon. First, she observed for a long time, then carefully approached, feeding it, cleaning its feathers. One night, she even moved her bedroll to the stern platform, sleeping beside the dragon's folded wings for two nights, using breath and body warmth to build a wondrous trust.
By the third day, a sight appeared that made all the crew hold their breath.
Under everyone's gaze, Asha agilely climbed onto Halcyon's lowered neck. She leaned down and whispered a few words into its ear. Then, this thousand-year-old beast spread its massive wings like rosy clouds. With a light push of its powerful hind legs against the deck, it soared into the sky carrying the girl on its back.
It flew a steady circle around the massive fleet, its huge shadow sweeping over every gray sail in turn. Asha's reddish-brown long hair flew in the high-altitude wind. Looking down at the toy-like fleet below, her face radiating the light of conquest and joy, she laughed loudly.
When Halcyon slowly carried her back to land on the Zhiyuan's platform, the deck was first dead silent, then erupted into a wave mixed with amazement and cheers.
Iron Wind Isle was empty.
Dagmer's son, his rock wife from the mountains, and his salt wife from the salt pans had all gone to Harrenhal with the migrating tide of people, accompanying Euron's most trusted captain. Everyone else from Iron Wind Isle was now on this expeditionary fleet.
That island, wrapped in jagged reefs and fog, had now become a solitary isle.
Iron Wind Isle held many secrets Euron did not want outsiders to know—underground workshops, caves carved with eerie runes, and towers haunted by whispers. But Euron didn't worry much about this.
Euron stood at the stern of the Zhiyuan, watching the direction of Iron Wind Isle finally disappear below the horizon, a smile playing on his lips. He wasn't careless; he possessed absolute confidence.
Beneath those cursed waters, two shadows far larger than longships were slowly patrolling the coastline of Iron Wind Isle. They were two deep-sea monsters known as "Kings of the Near Sea." Their scales were harder than steel, their tentacles strong enough to crush the largest warships.
They were now the guardians of Iron Wind Isle, and the jailers guarding its secrets.
Without Euron's permission, any ship attempting to land would be dragged into the abyss before even nearing the reef zone. If anyone truly dared to pry into what he had hidden on the island, the freezing waters around Iron Wind Isle would be their final grave, and their flesh and blood a hearty meal for those two "Guardians."
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