The fleet plowed through waves as gray and heavy as lead, sailing westward in silence.
Three days had passed since the survivors of Tyria had been delivered to the safety of Oros City.
They hadn't paused once, pressing on through the endless mists of the Smoking Sea.
The thick fog clung to the ships, swallowing the course until only what lay directly ahead could be seen.
The fleet crept forward like blind giants, groping their way through waters that concealed all sight.
Drawing on the seamanship he'd picked up aboard the Laughing Lion, Lo Quen commanded the silent Dragon Soul Guards to trim the sails. Every order stretched his nerves taut as he fought to avoid the reefs lurking beneath the murky waves. So far, fortune had spared them.
On the foredeck, Lo Quen raised the Myr lens he had salvaged from a Lannister warship, the icy metal pressed against his eye.
Ahead, the fog that had bound them for days at last showed signs of thinning. A faint line of blue horizon struggled to pierce the gray curtain.
The edge of the Smoking Sea was close.
"Look! What is that…" Janice's startled cry shattered the oppressive silence. She pointed to the gloomy skies behind them.
Lo Quen spun around.
Valyria's skies were forever streaked in ashen gray and blood red, the haze of dust and volcanic fire.
But now, beneath that crushing canopy, a thick black line oozed into view.
It was no cloud, but a violent smear across the heavens, as if some vast brush had been dipped in ink and slashed across the sky, rushing down upon the fleet with world-breaking force.
Lo Quen's pupils shrank to pinpoints. That wasn't a cloud—it was alive!
A living storm of bloodthirsty, twisted monstrosities!
"All hands to battle stations!" His roar cracked like thunder. "Janice! Get below! Bar the doors!"
Jaelena rushed to him. "Lord, what's happening?!"
"A pack of Valyrian beasts is on us!" Lo Quen's face was set in grim lines.
"That's impossible!" Jaelena gasped. "They never leave the Fourteen Flames—"
Lo Quen pointed to the writhing black line in the distance. Her words caught in her throat.
"I'll hold them. Stay on the ship. The edge of the Smoking Sea is just ahead. Once you're through, they won't be able to follow." His tone left no room for doubt.
Before the words had even faded, he vaulted over the rail.
Midair, golden light burst forth. Flesh and bone twisted and swelled within the blaze, and in an instant he became a golden dragon—scales gleaming, majesty unchallenged.
Its wings thundered, tearing the fog apart in violent gusts as the colossal form soared upward, driving straight into the roiling cloud of death.
High above, the faces of the monster horde emerged with terrifying clarity.
Dozens of winged abominations.
A three-headed chimera with purple maws howling in fury. A warped, griffin-like horror with raw wings and an eagle's beak. A cockatrice, its crimson crest quivering, feathers like venomous needles. A massive serpent-lizard clad in brown scales, bat wings blotting out the sun.
And at their center, a vast shadow loomed.
Lion's body, human face, wings spanning the sky, cold, blood-red eyes glaring down.
A Sphinx.
The smallest of the beasts stretched ten meters, the largest forty or fifty. But the Sphinx towered seventy, maybe eighty meters—a living mountain, a king of monsters, surrounded by its flock.
Though Lo Quen's golden dragon was second only to the Sphinx in size, even the mightiest beast could be dragged down by the many. Against such numbers, a single mistake meant death in the Smoking Sea.
He turned his dragon's head back. The fleet was still a long way from the edge of the mists—their only hope of escape.
He had to buy them time.
With a sudden tilt, the golden dragon veered aside, streaking across the sky in a blazing arc away from the ships.
The horde reacted at once, like sharks to blood. They wheeled and surged after him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lo Quen saw a purple-feathered beast break from the pack. With wings spanning over ten meters, it shrieked as it dived at him, wild with frenzy.
Lo Quen let a cold sneer curl inside. His dragon wings snapped back, halting his massive body midair.
His neck coiled like a drawn bow. His molten jaws opened wide.
BOOM!
A torrent of golden fire erupted, searing straight into the onrushing beast.
Caught in the madness of the hunt, it had never imagined prey would strike back.
The dragonfire consumed it in an instant.
Shriek—!!!
The piercing cry twisted into a gut-wrenching wail. Its once-proud purple feathers, thick and heavy, caught Dragonfire like oil-soaked kindling, curling and burning furiously until they crumbled into ash.
Flames raced greedily across its body, turning the ferocious bird into a giant, writhing fireball. It tumbled from the sky, trailing smoke and the stench of charred flesh as it plunged toward the boiling, ink-black sea below.
Lo Quen's dragon eyes narrowed, a fleeting glint of disappointment flashing within them.
No Dragon's Soul appeared.
It seemed that as his own strength grew, even monsters of this level yielded little chance of releasing a Dragon's Soul.
In that instant of distraction—
Whoosh!
The dense fog below suddenly burst apart!
A violent gust surged upward like a colossal hammer, flinging salty spray into the air as a massive bat-winged serpent-lizard erupted from the mist like a phantom.
Its fang-filled jaws gaped wide, the stench of rot billowing out as it lunged straight for the golden dragon's belly.
...
In the narrow cabin's rest chamber, the air hung heavy as lead.
Janice clutched her sister's cold hand. "Sister, with so many monsters... can he really handle them alone?"
Jaelena stayed silent, her eyes locked on the battlefield outside the porthole, where golden light and monstrous roars tore through the mist.
After a long pause, she finally forced out three words. "Maybe he can."
But her wavering tone carried no conviction.
The sight of that monstrous horde was burned into her mind. Lo Quen could take the form of a golden dragon, but how long could he endure?
"If only we could help..." Janice sighed, releasing her sister's hand. Listless, she turned and walked out of the room.
Jaelena's gaze stayed fixed on the window, her heart caught in her throat.
Suddenly—
"Ahhh!" A sharp scream split through the dull silence of the ship!
"Janice!" Jaelena's heart nearly burst from her chest, terror wiping away all thought.
She spun around, the Valyrian steel sword at her waist rasping free with a sharp clang. She became a silver blur as she charged toward the cry.
At Janice's cabin door, a figure blocked her path.
He wore reeking, filthy red-bronze armor. His hulking frame stank of sweat. One thick hand clenched Janice's molten-silver hair, wrenching her head back until she winced in pain.
In his other hand gleamed a longsword, its cold edge pressed against the side of her pale, smooth neck. The blade had already nicked her skin, leaving a bright line of blood.
Though Janice had become Lo Quen's Flame Knight, her strength and physique greatly enhanced, she lacked both training and battle experience. Taken off guard, she had been subdued almost instantly.
The man lifted a grime-streaked face covered in patchy stubble. His mouth twisted into a grin, a mixture of madness and smug triumph.
"Jaelena... long time no see."
Jaelena's blood froze. Her hand trembled on her sword hilt, quivering with fury. Every word ground out through clenched teeth like shards of ice.
"Terys... you cowardly wretch. Still clinging to life, are you..."
...
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