Two more years slipped by on Pyke, harsh and uneventful, until the year turned to 261 AC.
Euron Greyjoy—now five years old, stood barefoot on the slick black rocks below the castle.
Dawn arrived wrapped in a thick sea mist. Salt clung to the air like a second skin. Each wave crashed against the cliffs and receded, leaving a line of white foam that curled around Euron's ankles like cold fingers. Far out in the haze loomed the shadow of a longship—the Silence—its outline rising and fading with each shift of the fog.
A shallow-draft reaver's ship, its bow carved into a snarling dragon's maw, twelve oar-ports lined its sides like hungry eyes. The vessel seemed alive, breathing with the tide.
This was the third time he had slipped away to look at her.
Dagmer "Cleftjaw" had docked the Silence at Pyke for supplies last month, and Balon's gaze had never strayed far from it since. The heir spent every spare hour with Dagmer's men—drinking, boasting, sharpening axes, and talking endlessly of raids. Balon had long dreamed of taking to sea; the arrival of the Silence handed him that dream on a platter.
A wise man avoids danger, Euron thought. But a man seeking power can't cower behind stone walls.
Three days ago, when he first stepped barefoot into the surf, he had heard something far more thrilling than the waves:
[Pirate King System: Entry Detected. Activation Progress: 1%]
At last—his cheat had awakened.
The tide surged up his legs, cold as steel, yet strangely welcoming. Euron "felt" an octopus hiding in a crevice beneath the water—not with sight, but through the faint tremor of the current.
When he went deeper, the water reaching his knees, the guard behind him yanked him back.
[Pirate King System: 1.01% complete. Full functionality will unlock at 100% activation.]
One good voyage… that might be enough.
Euron's fingers skimmed the water as he looked again toward the Silence.
If he wanted to change fate—his own, his father's, Balon's, his unborn nieces and nephews, the future of the Iron Islands—he needed strength.
And that ship, wrapped in fog and blood-soaked reputation, could give it to him.
"Young lord, you shouldn't be here," old Wick muttered. The fisherman's weathered hand—missing two fingers—blocked Euron's view. "Once the sailors get drunk, they won't care if it's you, the King, or the Great King himself."
Euron smiled faintly. "If you don't tell my father, and I don't tell him… then he'll never know."
Wick scowled, but followed. His loyalty and skill with a blade had earned Lord Quellon's trust, and the old man now served as Euron's guard on the coastline.
A sudden gust ripped the fog apart. At the stern of the Silence, a massive figure stood at the rudder—Dagmer Cleftjaw himself. His jaw, split clean in two from an old wound and bound with iron rings, still leaked dark wine whenever he drank. The tales said he had slain seven Myrish sailors with his bare hands in the Stepstones and stole the gold-braided belt now cinched around his filthy leathers.
Euron pointed to the long string of objects dangling from the mast.
"What are those?"
"Ears," Wick grunted. "The fresher ones are from Lysene merchants. The Silence took a merchantman a few days past. Each ear's a trophy from a raid." His tone held a flicker of longing—raiding still ran in his blood.
Euron tossed him a silver stag. "Congratulations. Your youngest must be three months old now? Spend more time with him. Children grow faster than the tide."
Wick caught the coin with ease and understood the message:
Don't think about joining the reavers.
He nodded slowly. "Aye… at my age, better to cast nets in Ironman's Bay."
"Has the little kraken been prowling the fleet again?"
Dagmer's voice carried over the rocks like grinding stone, but his tone toward Euron was warm. He crouched beside him, wiping Euron's wet fingers on his armor with a gentleness that contradicted his monstrous jaw.
"Your brother's about to do something foolish," Dagmer said. "I suppose you already figured that out?"
The wooden planks above groaned.
Balon stepped out from behind a stack of crates—broad-shouldered, bare-armed despite the cold, smelling of ale and perfume from last night's revels. A newly sharpened axe hung at his belt.
"Spying on me again, Euron?" Balon grabbed him by the collar. "Planning to run squealing to Father?"
Euron dangled, unbothered. On Balon's neck, he noticed a fresh scar—the whip Quellon had given him three days ago for behaving like a common pirate.
"The eastern reef will be underwater tonight," Euron said calmly. "With a southwest wind, you can slip past Father's watch before dawn."
Balon's eyes narrowed. A horn sounded—Dagmer's crew was gathering, and the Silence was raising her gangplank.
Balon leaned in, voice low and tense. "If you tell Father…" His hand hovered near his axe. "A smart boy knows when to stay quiet."
He tossed Euron onto the sand.
"If Mother asks, tell her I went to Old Wyk to train with the Stonehouse boys."
"She won't believe it," Euron replied. "Even toddlers know what you plan to do with Dagmer."
Balon swung back around, furious. "You want me to tie you to the reef again and let the waves drown some sense into you?!"
Euron grinned. "I won't betray you. But you have to take me with you. Let me sail with the Silence."
Wick choked. "S… sail?"
Balon barked a laugh. "Sail? Reaving isn't playtime, boy!"
"Not play," Euron said. "Plunder."
"You're five."
"And I'm Ironborn. Lord Quellon's son. A Greyjoy."
He spread his arms. "Unless the Iron Islands' finest swordsman can't protect his own brother?"
Balon's face reddened. He hauled Euron up again, baring his teeth.
"Fine. If you want to see the old way… I'll show you."
"Put the boy down," Wick warned, stepping between them. His hand found his axe. "I serve the young lord. Harm him, and I'll answer to the Great King."
Balon backed off with a snarl.
"This is my choice alone," Euron said. He waved Wick aside. "Tell my father that I'll return in a fortnight—or a month—with a shipload of spoils."
Seeing he couldn't stop them, Wick climbed down from the dock, his face grim.
"I am your guard. If you die out there, how will I face the Great King?"
Euron smirked.
"Don't worry! I won't!"
The Silence's sails unfurled—black canvas marked with Dagmer's sigil: a sea serpent devouring its own tail.
Then a smaller flag rose at the masthead:
The golden kraken of House Greyjoy, gleaming like a promise of doom.
Euron smiled as the wind filled the sails.
[Pirate King System: Activation 1.5%]
And the Silence drifted from the fog-clad shore, carrying with it the boy who would one day drown the world in terror.