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The waters of the Basilisk Isles had finally found a long-awaited peace, though beneath the calm surface, the undercurrents of a shifting order were already swirling.
Temporary stability meant the real work of governance had begun. Edwin Ramirez, now the de facto administrator of this new territory, was buried under a heavy and critical task—integrating the tidal wave of pirates who had surrendered. He was breaking up these disorganized bands, restructuring them according to Ironborn discipline, and attempting to domesticate lawless desperadoes into an armed force that could follow orders.
Meanwhile, another project—one far more symbolic—was underway across the islands.
Following Euron Greyjoy's decree that "The sea is our wall," Edwin directed crews to systematically dismantle the fortifications that had once symbolized the pirates' fragmentation and defense.
The clang of hammers and chisels, and the rumble of collapsing stone, replaced the sounds of slaughter as the new anthem of the archipelago. Fortress after fortress, once considered impregnable, was stripped from its perch and leveled, grinding away the sharp edges and thorns of the old era.
With this almost paranoid thoroughness, the Iron Islands were declaring to every survivor: the age of pirate warlords ruling their own little kingdoms was over. From this day forth, the order and security of these seas would be defined solely by the Golden Kraken banner.
But Euron knew better than anyone that as long as the vast ocean rose and fell, and as long as ships laden with gold and goods still sailed, piracy—a trade as old as the reefs themselves—would never truly vanish. It was like a dark current deep on the seabed.
Ordering the demolition of all fortifications wasn't just an embodiment of the arrogant "sea is our wall" philosophy; it was a pragmatic move. Euron had no interest in playing the saint who purified the seas. He was reshaping the rules of the game.
The pirates kneeling in submission today might very well raise the skull and crossbones again tomorrow. Those fortresses, so hard to take, were the perfect breeding grounds for betrayal. They were stubborn lesions on the body of the archipelago, ready-made shelters for any potential challenger.
If that was the case, it was better to raze them to the ground with his own hands.
Tear down the walls. Topple the keeps. Uproot the nests where conspiracies could hide, weapons could be stockpiled, and rebels could gather. He wanted these waters "clean"—so clean that any force attempting to rise again would find no foothold, left naked and exposed to the merciless blades of the Iron Fleet. By stripping away the foundation of their survival, he ensured these waters could never again birth a "tumor" capable of rivaling the Golden Kraken.
---
With the Basilisk Isles stabilized, the complex tasks of reorganization and aftermath were handed entirely to Edwin Ramirez.
Suddenly, Euron found himself with a rare commodity: free time.
But the Lord of Sea Monsters was born incompatible with calm waters. His restless soul could not stay anchored in one place for long. When the first fleet of the Ice and Fire Trading Company prepared to sail for New Ghis to open up trade routes, he decided to join this maiden voyage.
In the end, the only one accompanying Euron was the Warrior Queen, Alicia. She didn't ask, and she didn't try to dissuade him. She simply packed her gear and stood by his side as a matter of course. Her steadfast presence declared to everyone that wherever Euron's gaze turned, her mission lay there too—she was determined to bear a daughter of the Greyjoy bloodline.
---
The Isle of Ghozai lay like a forgotten emerald in the embrace of the Gulf of Grief.
It sat close to the coast of Ghiscar on the southern part of the eastern continent, separated from the mainland only by the treacherous currents of the Ghiscari Strait.
A short distance south of Ghozai, a smaller island stood like a loyal sentry. Upon it sat the most important—yet youngest—city of the Ghiscari people: New Ghis. Though small in size, it was the westernmost bastion of Ghiscari civilization, famed for its rigid system of slavery.
Thanks to its blessed geography—sitting right on the critical sea lane connecting the wealthy cities of Volantis and Qarth—the port of New Ghis had become an indispensable supply stop for countless merchant vessels.
Ships on long voyages docked here to replenish fresh water and food, and repair damage from storms, before continuing their arduous journeys between East and West.
The far-sighted Ice and Fire Trading Company had already set its sights on a grander trade blueprint.
If they could successfully open a "Golden Route" connecting Slaver's Bay, Volantis, and Qarth, then New Ghis, controlling the choke point, would inevitably become a vital hub for the company's fleet.
It was absolutely necessary to establish relations with the rulers there.
---
New Ghis, the city-state rising from the island, stubbornly perpetuated the core institutions of the ancient Ghiscari Empire.
Its pulse was firmly controlled by the aristocratic slave-owning class known as the "Masters."
Any major decision—whether it was allying with Qarth to wage war on Astapor or responding to more distant threats—had to pass through the long, calculation-filled deliberations of the noble council.
Right now, in the corridors of power and the secret chambers of the city, there was only one topic burning hot enough to fray every nerve: the Iron Islands' southern campaign.
News arrived like the monsoon winds, heavy with the scent of salt: the prosperous Summer Isles now flew the Golden Kraken; the peaceful Isle of Naath had accepted the "protection" of the Sea Monster Lord; and the chaotic Basilisk Isles had been swept clean and unified with thunderous force.
Wherever the Ironborn pointed their swords, they conquered.
Now, the Iron Fleet hadn't turned back for home. Where was their next target?
No one knew.
But every eye that scanned the map eventually, inevitably, froze on one name—New Ghis.
It sat right on the edge of the waters the Iron Islands were devouring. It was the closest, untouched land of plenty to that insatiable kraken.
A silent chill was creeping up the spine of every Master.
A question no one dared ask aloud, yet which haunted every mind like a ghost wandering between the pillars of the council, was this:
Is New Ghis next?
---
A messenger ship from the Ice and Fire Trading Company arrived first at the busy port of New Ghis, delivering a carefully worded document sealed with the Kraken wax stamp.
The official language was concise and restrained, mentioning only that the company's fleet would soon arrive and hoped to establish friendly commercial relations with New Ghis for mutual benefit.
This news alone was enough to garner routine attention from the city's merchants and officials.
But a second piece of news, spreading quietly in its wake, hit the Masters atop their pyramids like a boulder dropped into a stagnant pool.
A name. A name accompanied by a list of terrifying titles—Lord of Sea Monsters, Protector of the Summer Isles and Naath, Conqueror of the Basilisk Isles—Euron Greyjoy. He was personally accompanying the merchant fleet.
Instantly, the power center of this young city, famous for its slavery, began to churn.
The Masters dropped their trivial affairs, leaving their opulent mansions and heavily guarded estates to converge on the Council Hall.
They exchanged fearful, uncertain glances, whispering about this unsettling variable.
Euron's arrival went far beyond simple commerce. He was a force that could not be ignored, a walking legend, and a massive uncertainty. No one knew what this unpredictable maritime hegemon intended by coming here in person.
It was this oppressive weight of the unknown that forced all the big men who controlled the lifeblood of New Ghis to gather together, bracing for the worst.
If Euron knew that his mere arrival had put New Ghis on a war footing, he would have surely sent a note ahead of time to tell them:
Relax. I'm just on vacation.