A gust of wind from the east whipped Dany’s platinum hair across her face. She gazed toward the horizon, now eclipsed by a host of over ten thousand Northern and Old God soldiers. Above them, the murder of crows hung like a colossal black shroud, emitting a relentless, piercing cacophony. they circled the army, poised for a life-or-death confrontation with the gargantuan dragon before them.

  Nearby, Drogon reared up on his hind legs, unfurling the full span of his massive wings. He beat them rhythmically, conjuring frantic blizzards of snow and ice that lashed against the army and the avian swarm. With every downward stroke of those great wings, Drogon let out a thunderous roar that made the very earth shudder.

  The wind howled with a ghastly shriek. Thousands of front-line infantry struggled to brace themselves against the gale Drogon fanned toward them. Ser Antony teetered in his saddle while his horse panicked in the snow-blind vortex. Beside him, the commander of the Night’s Watch fared no better, desperately clutching his mount’s neck as the wretched beast was spun around by the gusts. Only the envoy’s carriage stood firm against the blizzard, vibrating only slightly.

  The infantry wavered in the wind, but thanks to their heavy shields and long pikes, they managed to form a perimeter, halting the biting onslaught of snow. The cavalry, however, were in a wretched state. Several riders were snatched by the wind, tossed into the air, and sent crashing back down onto their own ranks, wounding countless men below. Others, even less fortunate, fell straight onto the forest of sharpened spears pointing skyward.

  From the Ice Tower, Tormund IV let out a boisterous laugh, shouting, "Die, you bastards!" every time a knight was swept into the sky and dropped.

  "If this keeps up, that thrice-damned dragon will blow us all away!" Ser Antony yelled, his voice hoarse as he struggled with the reins, pressing his head against his horse’s neck while screaming toward the carriage.

  Around him, soldiers began to wail in terror. Someone cursed loudly, "F*** this, I joined the army to fight men, not dragons!"

  The envoy slightly parted the carriage curtain and looked up at the sky. Suddenly, as if guided by an unseen hand, the dense cloud of black crows swarmed downward, diving toward Drogon. Thousands of birds converged, blacking out a corner of the sky as they tore through the wind with aggressive shrieks, creating a noise that was truly deafening.

  "Drogon, watch out!" Dany screamed as she watched the deluge of crows descend upon her dragon.

  As if sensing her warning, Drogon immediately tucked his wings and dropped his massive frame to the ground. A resounding thud shook the earth as his wings made contact. He flattened his long, horn-studded neck against the ground, narrowly avoiding the swarm of crows that streaked past like a feathered blade.

  Having missed their mark, the murder of crows banked sharply, soaring high before slowly turning for a second pass. Drogon pivoted his massive body to follow them. His chest swelled, his terrifying maw opened, and then—Foom.

  A localized pillar of fire erupted from Drogon’s throat, lancing toward the crows. As it traveled, the column of flame expanded, incinerating the stragglers at the rear who were still trying to turn back. Chunks of charred birds rained down, leaving streaks of fire etched against the sky. They hit the snow and continued to smolder with a sickening hiss.

  Ser Antony instantly recognized his opening. The tempests Drogon had been conjuring had ceased while the dragon was occupied with the annoying swarm. The battle-hardened commander did not waste the opportunity. He roared the order: "Cavalry! Attack from the flanks!"

  Without a second's delay, tension etched into their faces, thousands of knights with shimmering spears and swords let out a collective war cry to bolster their morale and spurred their horses forward. The thunderous rhythmic pounding of hooves rose from both flanks. The white snow was churned up, revealing the black earth and stone beneath. The air grew thick with the acrid scent of war.

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  The moment the cavalry launched, Ser Antony issued his next command: "Infantry! Advance in formation!" The old commander wanted to seize the momentum with a total assault. He hoped ten thousand men could end the dragon quickly. In all his years of study and combat, no one had ever taught Ser Antony how to slay a dragon of this scale. He fought with seasoned instinct and a desperate hope for luck.

  Following his command, there was a synchronized clash of shields. Within a few breaths, thousands of infantrymen had formed disciplined phalanxes, marching steadily toward Drogon. With every stride, they grunted a rhythmic "He-up!" in unison. The resonance of thousands of voices together caused their fighting spirit to surge visibly.

  Dany rushed from the courtyard of the Ice Tower toward the only path leading to the Dragon Gate. She had to get to Drogon; he needed her. But a small hand shot out and gripped her arm, jerking her to a halt. It was Lyana.

  "I have to get to Drogon!" Dany snapped, trying to shake her off.

  "This is not your fight," Lyana said calmly, shaking her head.

  Before Dany could protest, her vision blurred. She slipped into unconsciousness. Tormund caught her limp body with lightning reflexes, his eyes wide as he looked at Lyana.

  "Tormund, take Dany and Jasmine. This is your destiny," Lyana said solemnly.

  "My destiny?" Tormund stammered, avoiding her gaze.

  "Look into my eyes," Lyana commanded.

  Tormund reluctantly met her gaze. He felt as though those beautiful eyes were growing larger and larger, shimmering with a primal flame until they swallowed him whole. It was another world. Tormund stood dazed, like a man under hypnosis, his eyes vacant, but in his mind, a violent and heroic vision began to unfold.

  He snapped out of it as if he had been slapped, turning to Lyana with a wide, toothy grin. "Dam, that was a hell of a trip."

  "Go, now," Lyana ordered with a nod.

  "Why aren't you coming?" Jasmine grabbed Lyana’s hand, her voice trembling.

  "My mission is here, at the White Citadel, with Drogon. Protect Daenerys and care for her until you reach Asshai," Lyana whispered, pulling Jasmine into a brief embrace.

  The ground shook as the Vale cavalry charged ferociously toward Drogon. "Kill!" the commanders screamed.

  Thousands of javelins were hurled, whistling through the air like leather whips. But the sound died instantly upon impact with Drogon’s scales. The spears fell away like pathetic toothpicks; Drogon didn't even spare the knights a glance. The only sound was the harmless clink-clank of metal against dragonhide. Horror began to dawn on the faces of the Vale’s finest.

  Whoosh.

  A sudden rush of wind swept through. Half of the Northern flanking maneuver disappeared in an instant. Those remaining stared into the empty space where, seconds ago, their comrades had been cursing and shouting.

  "What the f*** was that?" a knight shrieked in bewilderment.

  Another zip of displaced air, and another section of the cavalry was swept away like trash.

  "Gods! Watch the tail!" a rider at the rear screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Thousands of men panicked, pulling their horses around to flee. Fwhip, fwhip—more sickening sounds of air being sliced. The ground turned a foul, muddy red. Thousands of men and horses were mashed together like pulp, decorated with shattered swords, banners, and house crests.

  "Run!" the few dozen remaining knights cried, spurring their mounts into a frantic retreat. Their commander looked back at his fleeing men and roared, "Get back here or I’ll kill you all!" A dull thud followed, and both man and horse evaporated from the spot.

  The fleeing survivors mumbled prayers; others broke down, sobbing like children. It was the swiftest massacre they had ever witnessed.

  Drogon continued to bathe the crows in fire until they scattered. The charred remains covered the ground, staining the snow black. Within moments, the survivors of the flock fled for their lives.

  Now, the infantry had closed the distance. Thousands of spears were leveled, ready to plunge into the dragon. However, seeing the cavalry annihilated in the blink of an eye caused their morale to plummet. The shouts of "He-up!" grew quieter and quieter until they were mere whimpers. Their footsteps felt heavier than lead.

  "Screw this, I want to live!" A soldier at the front threw down his shield and spear, broke rank, and sprinted toward the rear.

  Like a domino effect, the grand phalanxes collapsed into a cacophony of screams. Shields and spears were cast aside. Thousands of warriors turned tail as Drogon lowered his massive head, his blood-red, ferocious eyes locked onto them. These men were born to fight human enemies; no one had taught them how to face a fire-breathing dragon the size of a mountain.

  "Run!" ... "Faster!" ... "Get out of the way!" Curses, screams, and piteous wailing filled the air as the retreat turned into a heartbreaking scene of carnage.

  Drogon’s eyes burned with pure hatred. His chest expanded further and further until his mouth snapped open. A violent torrent of flame erupted, surging toward the retreating army.

  Drogon spat a sea of fire, sweeping it left and then right. Thousands of living torches burst into flame. The agonizing screams faded slowly into silence. The ground of the far North was dyed a deep, abyssal black—the color of burning snow.