The pair stared intently at the approaching wolves.
Unlike his sister, Baelon felt no unease. What stirred in his chest was excitement.
Pure. Unfiltered. Excitement.
A fight.
Not a war, not a massacre carried out from dragonback.
A fight where steel met flesh, where he could test his own body and sharpen instincts dulled by months of command and planning.
It had been far too long since he had measured himself against something that could truly bite back.
"Brother, can I…?" Helaena hesitated, lifting her hands in a small, uncertain gesture.
"Pyromancy?" Baelon asked, already knowing the answer.
She nodded, eyes bright behind the goggles, eager in a way that bordered on reckless.
Baelon considered it carefully. He had been careful in choosing their landing site, an open stretch where the ash lay thin, and the air felt clean enough to breathe through the filters.
No visible gas vents, no telltale shimmer of explosive vapours. It should be safe enough.
And while he had no intention of letting Helaena grow accustomed to combat, the ability to defend oneself was no luxury; it was a necessity.
"You can," Baelon said at last.
Then he stepped closer and fixed her with a mock stern look. "But stay your distance. Your safety is paramount."
She was not like him. She may possess frightening speed and strength, yes, but little experience, nor any technique.
Panic, in her case, would be lethal. Unarmed and untrained, rushing into the fray would only ever end in her blood being shed.
Still, they were wearing their armour, which they had commissioned in Qohor and had been readjusted in Elyria to fit their new size. Thus, Helaena was not completely without resistance.
Despite the thoughts weighing on his mind, Helaena gave an earnest nod. "I'll make sure to stay safe."
Helaena did not wish him luck. She knew him well enough to understand that these wolves posed no real threat to him.
Reaching behind his shoulder, Baelon drew his greatsword.
The Valyrian steel blade slid free with a muted hiss, its metal drinking in what little light the sky offered.
The weapon was massive by any sane measure, taken from Astapor and forged for a man larger than most. In Baelon's grip, however, it felt almost light.
With one hand, he gave it an idle flourish.
His eyes glowed faintly as he moved, the blade cutting through the air with little effort.
What should have required strength instead flowed from him naturally, as though the sword were merely an extension of his arm.
It was only now, after the Blood Bond ritual, that he began to grasp just how terrifying his own physique had become.
And, he was still growing. Every moment, his bond with Vermithor grew deeper and his age longer, only adding to the effects of the Blood Bond ritual.
Whoosh!
The air split cleanly as he swung again, the motion carefree, almost playful. He stopped himself from indulging further, the approaching silhouettes demanding his immediate attention.
The beady red eyes were closer now. Dozens of them.
He tightened his grip and brought both hands to the hilt, as he refocused his eyes.
His breathing slowed, as it fell into a familiar rhythm, as his thoughts sharpened into perfect clarity. Soon, he counted the oncoming beasts.
One.
Two.
Three…
Twenty-two.
There were twenty-two Ash Wolves.
They were fully visible now, emerging from the grey dunes in a loose, loping formation.
Their fur was black as pitch, matted and dull, drinking in the ash until they seemed less like living beasts and more like moving shadows.
Their skin clung tightly to their frames, stretched over jutting ribs and sharp haunches, as though starvation were their constant companion.
Froth dripped from their snarling mouths, white against black, flecked with streaks of old blood.
Their eyes burned crimson, hungry and fevered as they fixed greedily upon Baelon and Helaena. It was as if the two were the first living things they had seen in years.
They did not howl again.
They simply charged ahead with wild abandon.
Then, without hesitation, Baelon shot forward.
His figure blurred as he closed the distance, ash exploding beneath his boots.
Shiiiiing!
Valyrian steel cried as it descended in a brutal vertical arc. The blade cleaved straight through the leading wolf from skull to spine, splitting it cleanly in two.
For a heartbeat, the corpse remained upright…then the halves slid apart with a wet schliiick, collapsing into the ash as blood and entrails spilt freely onto the grey ground.
To Baelon, it felt less like he was slashing through flesh, but rather a ball of cotton. No resistance. No struggle. Just effortless slaughter.
'Valyrian steel…it truly lives up to its name.' He mused for nought a second and soon refocused, shifting his head.
Then, jaws snapped shut where his head had been a moment before as another beast closed in on him.
Baelon answered with a kick, his foot slamming into its ribcage with bone-crushing force. The beast was sent tumbling away, screeching as it skidded through the ash.
The pack adapted instantly.
Several wolves surged forward together, leaping in unison, their movements coordinated and vicious.
Baelon jumped to meet them, sword clutched in one hand as he rose, twisting his body midair.
The blade flashed sideways, carving through one of the airborne wolves, its body torn apart before it even touched the ground.
He had risen high, higher than any man should have been able to, but not high enough.
The others followed him into the air, some launching themselves from the ground, others springing off their own kin.
Their bloodthirsty maws yawned wide, rows of jagged fangs inches from closing around his feet.
Then—
Heat roared from his free hand.
A plume of fire blasted downward as Baelon angled his palm, the force of the eruption striking the ash below and hurling him even higher.
The wolves snapped shut on empty air as the explosion sent them reeling, their formation broken by flame and shock.
Baelon twisted in midair, completing a clean flip, and landed lightly on one knee. Before the beasts could recover from the sudden assault, he was already moving.
Steel flashed again and again, each swing quick, each cut lethal. Limbs were severed, spines split, bodies torn apart in a flurry of motion.
When the dust settled, nothing remained of the pack but dismembered limbs and scattered entrails staining the ash black.
Baelon straightened and turned.
Helaena stood several paces away, facing a lone remaining wolf. Before her, a fiery serpent writhed into existence as it coiled tightly around the beast.
Fire licked at the wolf's fur, charring flesh as it whimpered and thrashed.
Nevertheless, its cries and weeping had an effect.
The flames soon wavered.
Helaena had hesitated, her control faltering. The serpent flickered, its coils loosening, its shape trembling as though unsure whether to persist.
Baelon moved at once.
He did not believe her to be in real danger, not with three massive dragons looming behind her, their heads lowered and eyes fixed upon the struggling wolf with predatory interest.
Still, instinct drove him forward.
Better safe than sorry.
Time seemed to slow.
Sensing its chance, the wolf tore free as the flames weakened, pain and hatred fuelling its final lunge. It charged toward Helaena, jaws wide, ash spraying beneath its paws.
Baelon ran with everything he had, sword drawn back for a killing strike. He was close…close enough that he could already see the madness in the beast's eyes.
Fwhoom!
Flames erupted before the wolf in an instant, rising into a towering wall. Before the creature could even comprehend what had happened, the fire folded inward, enclosing it completely.
A sphere of flame.
The wolf's screams echoed briefly from within, high and shrill, before cutting off entirely.
When Helaena finally dispelled the fire, the sphere collapsed inward on itself. All that remained was a small mound of ash, drifting quietly to the ground.
Baelon reached her moments later and grasped her hand. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Helaena said, shaking her head. There was something complex in her expression, visible even through mask and goggles. "I just… didn't expect…"
He released her hand and gently stroked her head, his touch reassuring rather than admonishing. He did not blame her for the hesitation.
The whimpering of the beast was such that most men would hesitate in taking action, let alone the gentle her.
He had hesitated once too long ago on the Dothraki Sea, when he had first hunted and watched the light fade from another living creature's eyes.
"At least you did your best," Baelon said softly. He smiled, though it was visible only in the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes behind the goggles. "Come on. We need to get moving."
He looked at the dragons that were excitedly gobbling up the carcasses around them and then turned toward the dark horizon ahead.
"To Oros."
***
A ruin.
A ruin so complete in its destruction that not even Sallosh could compare.
Oros had no single structure left, even half-standing. Not one. Every home, every temple, every tower had collapsed in on itself, reduced to layers of weathered stone and shattered foundations.
It had not simply fallen…it had been ground down, piece by piece, until only its bones remained.
It was starkly different from Sallosh.
From the sky, Baelon could not spot even a trace of green. No creeping vines. No stubborn weeds forcing their way through cracks. Not even moss clinging to ashened stone.
Nature itself had forsaken the place just as Gods and men had done centuries prior.
Still, Baelon narrowed his eyes.
Within the rubble, there was…movement?
At first, it was little more than shifting specks amid the rubble. But as he squinted, the specks soon became clear.
People?
The records he had taken from Astapor surfaced in his mind. Living souls upon the Valyrian peninsula fell into only two categories.
Fools or abominations.
If they were the latter, Baelon could only speculate as to what form they took. Mutated horrors such as those whispered of in Mantarys? Descendants of some magic ritual gone wrong? Or perhaps…
Stone men?
Whatever they were, their presence would not deter him.
Baelon gave Vermithor a firm pat along the neck. The bronze behemoth responded instantly, rearing back and releasing a deafening roar that rolled across the ruined city like thunder.
KRRAAA—VROOOOM!
Dreamfyre and Silverwing joined in moments later, their cries echoing through the broken streets.
Below, the people scattered at once, spilling out of the ruins like ants disturbed from beneath a stone.
Only then did the three dragons descend outside the ruins of Oros.
They landed with ash puffing up around their claws. Baelon and Helaena dismounted quickly, boots crunching against stone that had not felt living footsteps in centuries.
"We'll enter the city," Baelon said, turning to her. "Stick close behind me and stay alert. The dragons will circle overhead. If they see anything, they'll warn us, either through our bond or with a roar."
"Got it," Helaena hummed. She hesitated, then added, "But… is pyromancy safe here too?"
Baelon's gaze lifted toward the ruins, sweeping over collapsed streets and yawning gaps in the ground. "I'm not certain," he admitted, shaking his head.
"Oros sits near the Fourteen Flames but…" He paused, gaze flitting to the massive peninsula nearby that jutted through the ground like a shattered stone crown.
It had once been counted among the Fourteen Flames. Now it stood silent, its immense caldera collapsed and lifeless, peaks broken and scarred.
No smoke rose from it. No glow stained the sky. It was truly and utterly dead.
"The volcanoes here don't seem particularly active." His lips pressed together. "It's unlikely the gases would be concentrated enough to pose any meaningful threat."
"Then why the masks?" Helaena asked, frustration seeping into her voice.
Baelon winced.
He knew exactly how uncomfortable they were. Any sustained exertion would leave them breathing hard, lungs burning as sweat clung stubbornly beneath leather and linen.
And now, she had learned they might not even be strictly necessary.
"The air isn't always this forgiving," Baelon sighed, adjusting the seal of his mask. "One wrong step, one hidden pocket…and we could choke before we ever see the source."
He spread his hands slightly, helpless but sincere. "They're a precaution. Just… bear with it."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Helaena exhaled. "So be it," she said at last. "I can only hope our efforts here bear fruit."
Her gaze drifted back toward the city. "Those people we saw from above…"
She frowned. "They seemed to share the same colour as the ground here. An almost dirty grey."
Hearing this, Baelon's eyes fixed on the ruins ahead. "Then they were likely stone men."
Helaena froze.
Stone men.
Those afflicted by greyscale, otherwise known as Prince Garin's curse. A disease that turned living flesh into cracked, flaky stone, leaving the body mottled grey and the mind eroded by pain and madness.
It spreads by touch; either a scrape or even a wound would suffice.
Infection was a death sentence in all but the process.
For that reason, the Free Cities had long ago exiled the afflicted to the world's edges, casting them into isolation so the living might be spared.
Now, they stood before such a city.
Silent and broken.