The Vault Beneath the Red Keep
The air beneath King's Landing burned with incense and bone dust.
Lily descended the spiral stair with only a single torch, its flame guttering against the unnatural heat that seeped from the stones.
Below, the Dragon's Sepulcher awaited a cavern carved from obsidian, older than the Targaryen line itself.
Flames crawled along the walls like living things, licking ancient runes that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
Behind her came Qyburn, stooped and trembling, clutching a chest bound in iron.
"Your Grace, the blood magic you call upon is not meant for mortals"
"Neither was power," she interrupted coldly. "And yet here we are."
At the center of the vault stood a throne of fused dragonbone cracked, molten, and still steaming from the fires that forged it.
Upon it rested a skeletal figure half-dragon, half-human, crowned in red flame. Its hollow eyes followed Lily as she approached.
"You have called me," it whispered.
Lily bowed her head slightly. "The North stirs with ghosts. The Snow Wolf and the Crow Witch defy the fire. I will not burn alone."
"Then burn them."
The vault shuddered. The skulls on the walls burst into flame, and molten light filled the chamber.
Lily smiled through the heat.
"I already plan to."
Winter's March
Far to the North, Winterfell's gates opened to a sky the color of steel.
Job Snow stood armored in black and silver, the sigil of a crowned wolf across his chest.
Beside him rode Althea, her cloak feathered and furred, her eyes pale as moonlight. She did not shiver. The cold bent to her will.
Behind them, the Northern host stretched like a dark tide men, women, and wights alike. The dead followed them willingly now, bound not by the Night King's call, but by hers.
"They fear us," Job said quietly.
"They should," Althea murmured. "We've become what their songs warned them of."
He turned to her. "And if they call you a monster?"
"Then let them." Her lips curved faintly. "Even monsters dream of peace."
Job smiled grimly. "And what do gods dream of?"
Her gaze softened. "You."
The words were quiet but they made the snow pause midair.
The Raven and the Lion
At the edge of camp, a raven descended, its feathers tipped in gold.
It landed on Althea's shoulder, its eyes burning red.
She took the parchment it carried. The seal was familiar a lion in flame.
"She writes again," Job said.
Althea unfolded it, reading aloud.
'When the gods war, the realm trembles.
One crown cannot hold two souls.
Come to me, crow queen and see what your love has cost.'
Her jaw tightened. "She's calling me south. Again."
Job's hand brushed hers. "Then we answer."
But Althea's eyes were on the horizon and in them, the faint shimmer of vision: a burning city, a golden woman, and a dragon's skull splitting open.
"It isn't Lily calling," she whispered. "It's something older. Something waiting for me beneath the Red Keep."
Fire and Council
In King's Landing, Lily gathered her council in the Great Hall.
The heat had become unbearable torches burned blue, the air thick with smoke.
Lord Varys stood at her left, silent and pale. Qyburn whispered to her right, his eyes fever-bright.
"The North marches," Varys said softly. "Snow's banners fly from White Harbor to Moat Cailin. Even the dead march beside him."
"Then let the dead meet dragons," Lily replied.
Qyburn's thin lips twisted into a grin. "And if they do not burn, Your Grace?"
"Then we'll burn the world until they do."
Behind her, the Iron Throne shimmered with heat veins of red light crawling through its blades. The crown on her head glowed faintly, as though remembering Valyria's fire.
"Let the realm choose," she said, rising. "The Fire Queen or the Frozen One."
The Dreaming Tree
That night, Althea dreamed again.
She stood before the Weirwood Tree only now it was taller, brighter, its roots dripping silver blood.
The branches trembled with whispers.
"You walk toward the dragon's grave," the tree murmured.
"In its heart lies what you lost."
"Job?" she breathed.
The tree's face changed eyes turning black, mouth curling into a cruel smile.
"No. Yourself."
The branches lowered, brushing her cheek. The touch burned cold.
When she woke, her palm was bleeding a line drawn in the shape of a crown.
Fire and Frost
By the next day, the Northern army had reached the Neck.
The land steamed with warm mists, where ice met swamp.
Job rode ahead with Althea. "Once we cross here, we'll be in open war."
"Then war it will be," she said, her voice soft but certain.
A flock of ravens passed overhead, scattering black feathers across the frozen water.
Job caught one between his fingers it shimmered silver, like the feathers she had bled from the godswood ritual.
"They watch us," he said.
"They always have."
She looked south, where the sun bled red into the mist. "The gods are waking. They'll demand tribute soon."
Job turned his horse toward her. "Then they'll have us both."
Their eyes met and for the first time, even the snow seemed to stop falling.
The Sepulcher Opens
In King's Landing, the ritual reached its climax.
Lily stood at the center of a burning sigil Valyrian symbols etched into molten gold.
The priests around her chanted until their voices broke.
The dragon-skull throne trembled. The bones within it cracked and from the fissures poured liquid flame.
The vault screamed.
"Rise," Lily whispered. "Rise, and crown your queen."
From the molten pool, something vast emerged a shape half made of smoke and bone, its wings unfurling to scrape the ceiling.
A dragon but not of flesh. A spirit of fire and vengeance, bound by her will.
Its eyes opened, burning molten gold.
"Burn the North," Lily commanded.
The creature roared, and every dragon skull in the Red Keep caught fire at once.
Above, the city of King's Landing shuddered and the sky turned red.
The Vision of War
Far in the North, Althea felt it.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of ash.
She fell to her knees, gripping the frozen earth.
"What is it?" Job demanded, dismounting beside her.
Her eyes glowed faintly. "She's awakened something. Not a dragon a god that thinks it was one."
The sky rippled faint light streaking across the horizon like veins of fire.
"Then we'll kill a god," Job said.
Althea smiled through her tears. "You make it sound easy."
"Nothing's easy with you."
She rose, placing a hand over his heart. The mark there pulsed faintly, frost and flame interlaced.
"Then let's end this together," she whispered. "Before the gods remember how to dream."
The wind howled.
Behind them, the Northern host moved shadows against the ice.
Before them, the horizon burned with coming fire.
And high above it all, the raven and the dragon crossed paths in the crimson sky.