The dead came at dusk.
The first wave broke against the walls like black tide. Arrows failed. Swords shattered. Then came the fire.
Andrew leapt from the ramparts, wreathed in flames. Vharaxes screamed from above. Drogon followed.
The sky was a dance of light and death.
Andrew's spear flew, impaling a white walker through the heart. He carved through wights like a god of war. Daenerys rained dragonfire.
And still they came.
In the distance, the Night King watched.