As the first light of dawn climbed over the stockade of the Crabb lands, Daemon's party was already prepared for battle.
The Cannibal spread his wings by the cliff's edge. The black dragon's scales shimmered with a dark purple luster in the morning light, occasionally spitting small clusters of pitch-black sparks that sizzled on the rocks.
"Can't you really take me with you?" Gael hugged Daemon's waist, her cheek pressed against his armor, her voice laced with lingering drowsiness and obvious worry.
Dreamfyre crooned softly behind her, pale blue wings flapping gently, silver spinal scales reflecting the morning sun like a scattering of crushed diamonds.
Daemon looked down and kissed the top of her head. The coldness of his armor contrasted sharply with the girl's warmth.
"Me and The Cannibal are enough." His voice was very soft but carried unquestionable firmness. "The Whispers only holds remnants of a defeated force; it doesn't need two dragons."
"But I want to be with you." Gael's fingers tightened on his cloak. "Dreamfyre is very strong; yesterday she..."
"I know she is strong." Daemon interrupted her, cupping her face and looking seriously into her pale violet eyes. "But I want her to protect you more. I never intended for you to go into battle. Gael, protecting you is my duty, not your obligation." He pointed to the women and wounded still busy in the town. "Your mission is to take care of yourself, take care of Dreamfyre, and take care of them."
Gael bit her lip, finally nodding, though her eyes reddened. "Then you must protect yourself." She stood on tiptoe, trying to peck him lightly on the lips. "I'll wait for you here."
Daemon smiled and nodded, turning to mount The Cannibal. The black dragon gave a low response, spread his wings, and took to the air, circling once over the town before flying toward the Whispers.
Rupert Crabb led his horse to Bernarr Brune, who was watching his father, Lord Brune, direct the clan to assemble.
The soldiers of House Brune were all in high spirits, and there were even some unfamiliar faces—said to be distant relatives from Brownhollow who had come to join.
"Your father is quite proactive this time," Rupert whispered.
Bernarr said nothing, just gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. He could see that the urgency on his father's face wasn't entirely about atoning for crimes with merit, but more of a compensation for yesterday's "miscalculation"—the "fisherman's profit" he thought he could reap had ended up making him a background character to Daemon's heroism, and the power of two giant dragons had clearly far exceeded his estimation.
"Everyone, look alive!" Lord Brune's roar spread through the ranks. "If we don't take the Whispers today, House Brune might as well quit Crackclaw Point!" He mounted his horse, pointing his spear straight at the Whispers. "Move out!"
The midday sun was like a red-hot iron ball, baking the ground hot. The air was so dry it felt like a match strike could ignite it. Heat waves rose from the distant sea, distorting the outline of the Whispers.
Daemon sat on The Cannibal's back, looking down at the wildling camp below.
The Whispers was quiet; clearly, the wildlings were taking a midday nap, completely unaware of the impending doom.
"Now!" Daemon patted The Cannibal's neck. The black dragon let out a deafening roar and dove down.
Pitch-black dragonfire poured out like a waterfall, instantly swallowing the wooden towers of the Whispers.
The dry thatched roofs burned like tinder. Thick smoke billowed up, mixed with the screams and panicked shouts of wildlings.
"Charge!" Lord Brune's roar came from below.
He clearly couldn't wait to "grab credit and atone," leading his troops to charge into the ruins of the Whispers the moment he saw the dragonfire rise.
Daemon directed The Cannibal to circle high above. The black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder burned faintly as the dragon's fire continuously swept over wildling gathering points.
He saw the bear-skin clad wildling leader rush out of a burning tower, smoking all over, yet still waving his battle axe trying to organize resistance.
"Father! Watch out!" Bernarr Brune's shout pierced the chaos.
Daemon's heart tightened. He saw the wildling leader, braving the flames on his body, use all his strength to hurl the battle axe at Lord Brune.
The bloodstained axe drew an arc in the air like black lightning, precisely striking the charging Lord Brune in the chest.
"Urgh—" Lord Brune let out a short scream and fell from his horse, instantly submerged in the melee of soldiers and wildlings.
"Father!" Bernarr Brune roared and charged, his longsword hacking madly to cut a bloody path.
Daemon frowned, directing The Cannibal to sweep low, dragonfire thoroughly swallowing the wildling leader.
Without their leader, the wildlings collapsed completely, fleeing toward the cave under the cliff, only to be cut down by soldiers waiting there.
The battle ended quickly. The ruins of the Whispers were still burning, thick smoke blotting out the sun, the air filled with the pungent smell of burnt meat and sulfur.
Daemon landed The Cannibal on the open ground before the Whispers. Bernarr Brune was kneeling on the ground holding Lord Brune, his face pale. Several soldiers stood helplessly around them.
"How is he?" Daemon walked over, his heart sinking. The wound on Lord Brune's chest was hideous; the axe blade had nearly split his chest open, blood dying the ground beneath him red.
"Maester... call the Maester quickly!" Bernarr's voice trembled, tears mixed with dust sliding down his face.
Daemon squatted down and checked Lord Brune's breathing; it was faint but there. "Get him back to Crabb's land quickly," he told Bernarr. "Maybe there's still hope."
At dusk, the weary party returned to the Crabb lands.
The Cannibal's shadow fell on the town wall like a huge ink stain.
As soon as Daemon jumped off the dragon, Gael and Mysaria threw themselves into his arms simultaneously.
"You're back!" Gael's voice was tearful, holding him tight and refusing to let go. Though Mysaria didn't speak, she buried her face in his cloak, her shoulders trembling slightly.
Daemon patted their backs, but his gaze was on Lord Brune being carried by soldiers.
Lord Crabb stood at the gate leaning on a cane, his expression grim upon seeing this.
"Take him to the Maester," Daemon told the soldiers, then turned to the captured wildlings, his eyes growing cold. "Bring them here." The remaining dozen wildlings were pushed to the center of the square, faces ashen.
Daemon drew Blackfyre and executed them cleanly without hesitation. After drinking blood, the blade seemed to glow with a layer of red light.
"Count the casualties," Daemon told Rayford. Rayford returned quickly, his expression complex: "Prince, on our side... only Lord Brune is heavily wounded; others have light injuries at most."
Daemon nodded, but felt no joy of victory. He walked outside the Maester's room and heard Bernarr's suppressed crying from inside.
Pushing open the door, he saw Lord Brune lying on the bed, face pale as paper, breathing weak as a candle in the wind. Lord Crabb stood aside, brow furrowed tight.
"How is he?" Daemon asked softly.
The Maester shook his head and sighed. "The infection is too severe. It is... beyond saving."
Lord Brune seemed to hear the voice and opened his eyes with difficulty, his gaze landing on Bernarr. "Bernarr..." His voice was faint as gossamer. "Come here..."
Bernarr threw himself by the bed, holding his father's hand. "Father, I'm here."
"I know who you want to... follow..." Lord Brune gasped for breath, his eyes clearing slightly. "He and his dragon... are indeed strong... the man is worthy too..." He paused, coughing a few times. "But in the future... without me... keep your eyes open... don't... don't act on emotion... protect your mother... and brothers..."
Bernarr wept uncontrollably, only able to nod vigorously.
Lord Brune's gaze turned to Lord Crabb, and he suddenly laughed. The laughter pulled at his wound, making him grimace in pain, yet he still said: "Damn it... I fought with your Crabb family... all my life... at the end... I die fighting for your family..." He gasped, his tone softening. "Old friend... for the sake of our friendship in youth... take care of my son..."
Lord Crabb's eyes reddened, and he nodded. "Rest assured, I will."
Lord Brune looked finally at Daemon, a trace of relief and envy in his eyes. "Prince... my foolish son's future... depends on you... Damn it... Bernarr, you brat... how are you so lucky... I wanted to... follow someone decent like that too..."
He took a deep breath, suddenly raising his voice to shout at the Maester: "Maester! Make it quick! Hanging on like this... hurts too damn much!"
The Maester looked hesitatingly at Daemon. Daemon closed his eyes briefly and nodded.
The Maester took a small vial of potion from his kit and fed it to Lord Brune.
Soon, Lord Brune's breathing steadied, the pain on his face gradually disappeared, and finally, at the moment the sun set and the moon rose, he closed his eyes forever.
Dead silence filled the room, only Bernarr's crying echoing in the quiet night. Daemon patted his shoulder lightly and walked to the window, looking at the newly risen moon, feeling a mix of emotions.
The night at Crackclaw Point was once again shrouded in sorrow. And standing by his father's corpse, Bernarr Brune gripped his sword tight. In his eyes, beside grief, there was now a newfound determination.
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