Euron Greyjoy waited.
He'd seen the storm, felt the shift in tides. His ship, Silence, moved like a shadow through fog. He wore Valyrian steel armor stolen from a drowned tomb and spoke to priests of the Deep.
The flames showed Andrew a face without sanity—a crowned pirate with a smile like a slit throat.
"I have seen the eye that watches all," Andrew muttered. "It watches me now."
In dreams, he saw fire clash with abyss. Vharaxes and Drogon bleeding under black skies.
Euron was coming.