The night of the God's Eye was flowing ink.
The Cannibal's black shadow cut through the water surface, the airflow ruffling the emerald green lake water, startling a flock of black swans into flurried flight. The sound of their wings sweeping the water was exceptionally clear in the silence.
Daemon lay on the dragon's back. The brand on his right shoulder still throbbed with faint pain. The visions of the Trident seen in the godswood that day were branded in his mind—the battlefield without dragons, the warhammer of the silver-armored giant, and that fallen silver-haired, purple-eyed prince.
"Over here." Alys Rivers's voice came from below.
Daemon looked down to see a small boat moored in the heart of the lake. The green-dressed woman leaned on the gunwale. Moonlight fell on her extraordinarily voluptuous breasts, plating them with silver frost.
The outline of the Isle of Faces loomed ahead, covered in dense forest. Faint lights shone through the canopy, like countless eyes peeping in the darkness.
The Cannibal landed on the beach at the island's edge. Dragon claws crushing shells startled a flock of waterfowl.
Daemon walked to the shore. Blackfyre hung at his waist, the hilt warmer than usual.
Alys Rivers had abandoned the boat and stepped ashore, barefoot on the wet sand. The silver chain on her ankle chimed lightly with her steps. "You are half a day later than I expected."
"I needed to ensure Gael wouldn't worry if she found out." Daemon's gaze swept over the island's forest. The silhouettes of trees twisted like ghosts in the night. "This is the place you spoke of?"
"The Isle of Faces." Alys Rivers raised her hand, pointing deep into the forest. "The place where the First Men and the Children of the Forest swore their pact. The future you saw that day was too heavy; I cannot explain it. Everything has a price, so I must take you to see the true Oathkeeper—the Speaker for the Greenseer."
Passing through the dense woods, the air became humid and sticky, filled with the scent of moss and rotting leaves.
The soil underfoot was soft as sponge. Occasionally stepping on dry twigs produced crisp sounds that startled nocturnal animals in the trees into short squeaks.
Daemon noticed every weirwood here had a face carved on it—crying or laughing, angry or sad. Features twisted like phantoms in dreams. Glowing moss was embedded in the eye sockets, flickering with ghostly green light in the darkness.
"The blood and fire of the Dawn Age are carved on these faces." Alys Rivers's voice was very low, as if afraid of disturbing something. "The First Men burned too many weirwoods. The Children of the Forest used magic to shatter the Arm of Dorne. The war lasted for centuries until the pact was signed here." She stroked the face of a heart tree, fingertips tracing the twisted corner of its mouth. "Every face is a witness, witnessing peace, and witnessing betrayal."
Daemon stopped before the stoutest weirwood. The face on this tree was exceptionally hideous, eye sockets deep, mouth split to the ears. Glowing moss made it look like it was weeping green tears.
"What does this have to do with what I saw?" He thought of the blood of the Trident, the ashes of Redgrass Field. "Can the peace between the First Men and the Children of the Forest explain a future civil war?"
Alys Rivers didn't answer, just whistling toward the depths of the woods. The whistle was sharp and long, like the cry of some bird.
Moments later, the rustling of leaves came from ahead. A small figure emerged from behind a tree, stopping ten paces away.
Daemon gripped his sword hilt.
Was this a Child of the Forest? Smaller and thinner than he imagined, reaching only his waist at most. Deep brown skin was covered in dappled spots like a doe, half-hidden by a cloak woven of leaves.
Her ears were large and pointed, twitching slightly like a startled fox. Most peculiar were her eyes—slanted like cat eyes, pupils a mix of gold and green, gleaming with strange luster when moving in the darkness.
Messy hair tangled into a knot, woven with vines, twigs, and a few withered wildflowers, presenting the autumn hues of reddish-brown and gold.
"Her name is Leaf." Alys Rivers introduced softly, a rare emotion in her tone. "She is the Oathkeeper of this island, the Speaker for the Greenseer, and... the only Child of the Forest who speaks the Common Tongue."
Leaf didn't speak, just watching Daemon with those cat eyes. Her gaze swept over his silver hair, his purple eyes, finally resting on the brand on his right shoulder.
Her nose twitched as if sniffing some scent, then she spoke suddenly. Her voice was high and thin like a child's, but carried a feeling inconsistent with age: "The Black Dragon the Greenseer spoke of? Carrying the bloody smell of that future Redgrass Field."
Daemon raised an eyebrow. "You know me?"
"I know your blood." Leaf's finger pointed to those face-carved weirwoods. "The trees remember everything. Your ancestors rode dragons here. The Greenseer foresaw your family sweeping the Seven Kingdoms in the Dance of the Dragons, your bloodline extinguished by arrow rain on Redgrass Field... The trees remember it all."
Alys Rivers interjected timely: "Leaf and their Greenseer can see the veins of time. What you saw in the godswood that day was just a fragment of the future; she might tell you more."
"Was what I saw true?" Daemon pressed, his voice tight. "The war at the Trident, the world without dragons, and that silver-haired, purple-eyed prince..."
Leaf shook her head, golden-green pupils constricting into slits. "The future is not a single road, but countless rivers. What you saw is one of them; perhaps it will happen, perhaps not." She turned to walk deeper into the forest. "Follow me. The Greenseer told me the answer lies not in words, but in dreams."
Daemon looked at Alys Rivers. The witch shrugged, her full breasts swaying in the moonlight. "Trust her. The dreams of the Children's Greenseer are more honest than flames."
They came to a clearing in the woods. In the center was a spring, water emerald green, reflecting the starry sky.
Leaf stood by the spring, plucked a withered twig from her hair, and threw it into the water.
The twig didn't sink but spun on the surface, stirring ripples. "Lie down," she told Daemon. "Look at the water."
Daemon hesitated for a moment, then lay down by the spring. Cold soil seeped through his clothes onto his skin, reminding him of that barren grassland.
Alys Rivers walked to his side, her voluptuous figure blocking part of the moonlight. Her hand pressed gently on his forehead, palm carrying a familiar warmth. "Relax, Black Dragon. This time, it is not a dream guided by me."
The ripples in the spring grew larger. The reflected stars began to twist and spin, finally merging into a blur of light.
Daemon's vision was drawn by the light, eyelids growing heavy. The Cannibal's low roar in the distance, the rustling of leaves, Alys's breathing... all sounds gradually faded away.
In the dream, Daemon stood amidst burning ruins on a grassland. Ash fell like snowflakes, the air filled with the smell of sulfur.
A silver-gold haired girl stood barefoot in the fire. Flames licked the hem of her dress but didn't burn her in the slightest.
Her hair was singed curly by the fire, a few charred strands sticking to her cheek, but those purple eyes were startlingly bright, like two gems tempered in fire.
Daemon wanted to ask who she was, but found he couldn't make a sound.
The girl slowly opened her arms. From her bosom and back, three hatchling dragons suddenly drilled out—one black as pitch, one bronze with green, one cream with gold.
The hatchlings let out shrill cries, spewing tiny jets of dragonfire, burning the surrounding ash into nothingness.
The image shattered suddenly, like a mirror struck by a stone.
Then Daemon stood in a world of ice and snow. Bone-chilling cold wrapped around him instantly. The ice beneath his feet was smooth as a mirror, reflecting his face purpled by cold.
Distant glaciers pierced the sky like the fangs of giant beasts. Cold wind carrying snow pellets hit his face like cutting knives.
He saw a strange "man" standing on an ice mound. Skin pale as moonlight, eyes pure blue like two frozen stars.
The creature's skin was cold as ice, wearing the fur of some unknown creature, holding an ice crystal spear. He walked to a crude altar where a crying baby lay.
The eerie creature bent down, touching the baby's cheek gently with cold fingers.
The baby's crying stopped abruptly. His eyes slowly opened, turning the same azure blue as the creature's, skin turning pale as paper.
The creature straightened, suddenly turning his head. Those blue eyes locked precisely onto Daemon's position.
Daemon felt the blood in his whole body freeze. That was not a human gaze—no anger, no curiosity, only an immutable coldness, as if looking at an insignificant bug.
"You came..." A whisper echoed on the ice field, indistinguishable whether it was the Other's voice or the wind.
Daemon sat up abruptly, chest heaving violently, cold sweat soaking his undershirt.
Alys Rivers's embrace was right behind him. Her voluptuous breasts pressed against his back, warm breath blowing into the hollow of his neck. "What did you see?" Her voice was urgent, the hem of her green dress damp with spring water.
Leaf stood by the spring, the gold-green in her cat eyes almost burning. "You saw him?"
"What was that?" Daemon's voice was hoarse, still trembling from fear. "That creature on the ice field, his gaze..."
"The Others." Leaf's voice was unusually grave, the high thin child's voice carrying unprecedented seriousness. "The dead from the Land of Always Winter."
"The Others from legends?" Alys Rivers was also surprised, her full breasts rising and falling slightly. "Legends say that is just a myth of the First Men, a story to scare children."
"Not a story." Leaf shook her head, pointing north as if able to see through a thousand forests to the frozen Wall. "They were the losers of the War for the Dawn, driven back to the Land of Always Winter. But they never vanished, only waited." She looked at Daemon, gold-green pupils constricting. "What you saw were the Others of two hundred years later."
Daemon's heart sank. "Two hundred years later?"
"But he is early." Leaf's gaze fell on the brand on his right shoulder. "Because of your arrival, Black Dragon. Your rebirth is like a stone thrown into the river of time. The ripples raised not only changed your future but also awakened the sleeping him."
"When will he start to revive?" Daemon pressed, thinking of the baby touched by the Other, thinking of those azure eyes.
"A dozen years? Several decades? Or a hundred?" Leaf's voice was light, but held unquestionable power. "His awakening needs a process, needs cold, needs sacrifices. But one thing is certain—" She paused, gaze sweeping Daemon then looking at the distant sky, as if searching for dragon shadows. "Once the dragons of this world go extinct, there will be no one left to stop him from reviving early and crossing the Wall."
Daemon fell silent.
The shadow of the Dance of the Dragons hadn't dispersed, and now a larger, more distant threat lay across his path.
He originally only wanted to stop the civil war and preserve the family bloodline, but now it seemed what he needed to guard might be the future of all Westeros.
Alys Rivers gently held his hand, her palm warm and soft. "Now do you understand what scenes concerning you I saw in the fire?"
Leaf had retreated into the woods, leaving only a whisper drifting in the wind: "The Greenseer says dragonfire might melt ice, but the premise is, the fire cannot be extinguished first on a battlefield of fratricide..."
Daemon looked up at the night sky. The God's Eye reflected the outline of the Isle of Faces, like a leaf floating in ink. Tonight, he not only didn't get the answer he wanted but foresaw a more terrible crisis.
The Cannibal's roar came from the shore, carrying restless agitation.
He knew from tonight on, the burden on his shoulders grew heavier—not only to stop the Dance of the Dragons and preserve the dragon bloodline but also to be vigilant against that ice threat from two hundred years later that could revive early at any time.
Alys Rivers snuggled beside him, her full body bringing a trace of warmth. "Let's go back, Daemon. There are people waiting for you at Harrenhal."
Daemon stood up, Blackfyre gleaming coldly in the moonlight. He took one last look at the spring. The water surface had returned to calm, reflecting the starry sky, as if those eerie visions had never appeared.
But he knew those images were real.
The cold gaze of the Other, the purple eyes of the girl in the fire, the blood of the Trident... all fragments pointed to a more turbulent future.
He had to quicken his pace.
As The Cannibal carried him and Alys Rivers into the air, Daemon looked back. The forest of the Isle of Faces was silent as a riddle in the night. Countless weirwood faces flickered in the woods, silently recounting the pact of the Dawn Age, and prophesying the coming storm.
The water of the God's Eye flowed slowly beneath his feet, emerald and warm, yet seemingly hiding countless cold secrets. Daemon gripped Blackfyre tight, a trace of resolution flashing in his purple eyes.
No matter how many threats lay in the future, he would face them one by one.
Because he was Daemon Blackfyre, the Black Dragon returned from Redgrass Field.
His fire would not be easily extinguished.
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