Capítulo 58: Chapter 57- Of Dragons and Dreams
124 AC
The twenty third day of the tenth moon
Ulf POV
Amidst the looming shadows of a desolate landscape, the formidable figure of Silverwing emerged, her presence a potent blend of awe and terror. The air grew thick with tension as the clansmen's eyes widened in disbelief, freezing them in their tracks. Fear took hold, and their instincts screamed at them to flee, yet the dragon's aura seemed to shackle their very souls.
A primal, guttural instinct set their feet into motion, turning them around in a frenzy of panic. But Silverwing, with her eyes gleaming like molten silver, would have none of it. With a powerful beat of her massive wings, she closed the distance in an instant, her sinuous body cutting through the air with an elegance that belied her deadly intent.
Then came the searing inferno. A torrent of silver fire erupted from Silverwing's gaping maw, a merciless force of nature that engulfed the fleeing clansmen. Their harrowing screams were drowned by the roar of the flames, as the intense heat licked their flesh and gnawed at their bones. Agonized wails resonated through the air, a symphony of torment that painted a gruesome tableau against the dark canvas of the world.
In the wake of the blazing tempest, the dragon descended, her massive claws tearing into the earth like daggers of obsidian. The ground quivered beneath her weight, a testament to her supremacy. With calculated brutality, Silverwing turned the battlefield into a nightmarish spectacle. Men who had once been a united force were now isolated victims, their fate sealed by the fiery wrath that had befallen them.
Silverwing's talons closed around a hapless clansman, his shrieks a discordant harmony to the symphony of chaos. Like a puppeteer manipulating her marionette, the dragon crushed bones and rent flesh, her power insurmountable and her wrath unrelenting. Blood sprayed like dark confetti, staining the ground a deep, malevolent crimson. Organs and limbs were torn asunder, the macabre aftermath of a dance between predator and prey.
And in the midst of the carnage, as the very essence of life ebbed away in a haze of smoke and agony, the realization dawned with chilling clarity. The words of House Targaryen, "Fire and Blood," were not mere words of grandeur. They were a testament to the unforgiving nature of power, a stark reminder that the dominion of a dragon extended not only over the skies, but over the hearts and minds of those who dared to cross their path.
Amidst the lingering tendrils of dissipating chaos, I stood alone, an island of life amidst a sea of desolation. The once-proud clansmen were now naught but charred remnants, their forms twisted and mangled into an unrecognizable tapestry of destruction. The heavens themselves seemed to weep, rain cascading down like tears of sorrow, as if the very sky mourned the unforgiving fury and utter carnage that Silverwing had wrought.
My strength wavered, and I sank to my knees, the weight of the ordeal crashing upon me like a tidal wave. Weariness, both physical and spiritual, crept over me, threatening to pull me into the abyss of exhaustion. And then, amidst the rain-soaked turmoil, I sensed a presence – not one of hostility, but of compassion.
Silverwing, her once-fiery eyes now softened with a depth of understanding, approached me with a grace that belied the destruction she had just wrought. Her massive form seemed to shrink as she drew closer, her immense power giving way to a gentleness that resonated with my own weariness. As her face neared mine, I reached out, my trembling hand connecting with the cool, metallic scales of her snout.
A profound connection enveloped us, a current of shared emotions and unspoken words that transcended the boundaries of mere language. With each stroke of my hand, I felt a surge of warmth radiating from Silverwing, a silent reassurance that spoke of a bond unbreakable. Her eyes, those windows to a soul older and wiser than time itself, closed in response, as if savoring the comfort of our connection.
Whispers of gratitude and awe danced on my lips as I gazed into the depths of those ancient eyes. "What would I ever do without you, girl?" I murmured softly, my voice carried away by the sighing winds. In response, Silverwing's mighty chest swelled, a triumphant rumble emanating from deep within her, a proclamation of our indomitable union.
But as the moments lingered, a solemn realization settled upon me like a heavy cloak. "You have to leave now," I implored, my voice heavy with a mixture of sorrow and urgency. My gaze met hers with an intensity born of a love that transcended the bounds of master and beast. "They can never know that you were here, Silverwing."
For a moment, it seemed as though defiance would be her answer, a fierce rebuttal against the world that sought to conceal her existence. Yet, as if she understood the weight of my plea, Silverwing's fiery spirit seemed to quell, replaced by a reluctant acceptance. "Please," I whispered, my heart laid bare before her.
In that fleeting, profound instant, I knew that Silverwing comprehended not just the words, but the sentiment that echoed through them. With a regal tilt of her head and a final, lingering nuzzle, she conceded. The bond that bound us was unbreakable, and as she spread her mighty wings and soared into the heavens, a piece of my heart ascended with her.
Tears mingled with rain on my cheeks, a testament to the depth of our connection and the sacrifice she had willingly made. And though her physical presence was no longer by my side, her essence remained etched within me, a reminder that love, loyalty, and sacrifice were the threads that wove the tapestry of our shared destiny.
With every ounce of determination, I mustered the strength to rise from the sodden earth, the weight of my remaining armor a tangible reminder of the harrowing battle that had unfolded. Each step I took seemed to draw from a wellspring of perseverance I hadn't known existed. The rain, relentless in its assault, plastered my hair to my forehead and sent rivulets down the grooves of my armor. Thunder rumbled like the voice of a vengeful god, punctuating the scene with a primal, almost otherworldly, rhythm.
Piece by piece, I shed my armor, the metallic segments clattering onto the ground with a sound that echoed the weariness of my own body. The weight that had been both my protection and my prison now lay discarded, a tangible representation of the burdens I had borne through the inferno of battle.
My legs wavered beneath me, unsteady as though they were no longer my own. Fatigue clawed at my muscles, threatening to pull me into an abyss of surrender. But the thought of Jeyne, her face etched in my mind with a tender determination, propelled me forward. It was a fierce ember of hope that refused to be extinguished, urging me to continue despite the storm's relentless onslaught.
Time became an abstract concept, lost to the ceaseless deluge and the rhythmic cadence of my steps. The landscape blurred into a symphony of shadow and rain, each drop a stinging reminder of my vulnerability. Yet, I pressed on, each footfall a declaration of my unwillingness to succumb.
And then, emerging from the shroud of rain, a vision materialized on the horizon – riders, their cloaks billowing like banners, the sigil of House Arryn emblazoned upon them. It was a beacon of salvation, a glimmer of hope that pierced through the storm's oppressive grasp. A burst of energy surged through me, a final surge of vitality drawn from the depths of my spirit.
But the strength that had carried me thus far faltered, the reservoir of determination finally running dry. My legs betrayed me, buckling beneath the weight of exhaustion, and I crumbled to the ground. The wet earth welcomed me, its embrace cool against my fevered skin. The world around me dimmed, edges blurring into an enveloping darkness.
Consciousness trickled back to me like the soft caress of a breeze, accompanied by the haunting cawing of crows or perhaps ravens. My senses slowly reawakened, and the ground beneath me felt unfamiliar – a mosaic of leaves and grass that cradled my body. As my gaze wandered, it settled on a grand weirwood tree, its gnarled roots sinking deep into the earth, its ancient face carved with enigmatic wisdom.
The air hung heavy with an unsettling stillness as I uttered the words, "Weirwood tree," my voice barely more than a whisper. The gnarled silhouette of the ancient sentinel loomed, its presence radiating an aura of primal power that seemed to seep into the very fabric of reality.
Drawing nearer, I noticed the grotesque anomaly – a man, ensnared by the roots, his form twisted into a grotesque communion with the tree. The roots, like cruel fingers, had burrowed into his flesh, a symbiotic fusion that defied the laws of nature. A raven, perched on a nearby branch, stared with eyes that held secrets too dark for mortal minds.
"Three-eyed raven," I breathed, the words carrying a weight I couldn't comprehend. The figure turned to face me, and his gaze bore into my soul with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. A specter of a smile danced upon his lips, a macabre echo of mirth in this unsettling tableau.
"Songbreaker," his voice resonated through the air, a foreboding omen that slithered beneath my skin like a serpent's kiss.
"You will suffer," his words emerged like a curse, heavy with a promise of doom. As if on cue, the ground beneath me convulsed, a yawning maw tearing open with an insatiable hunger. I tumbled into the abyss, a sensation of free fall overwhelming my senses.
Amidst the chasm's abyssal embrace, darkness enveloped me, obliterating all semblance of direction and reality. The void seemed to stretch on endlessly, a canvas of blackness splintered by the distant gleam of a cold, distant light. Panic gripped me, my body thrashing in the emptiness, as if seeking purchase in a realm that defied all physical laws.
And then, just as swiftly as the fall began, solid ground met my feet. The transition was jarring, my body trembling as I tried to regain my bearings. The surroundings were cloaked in obscurity, and the atmosphere clung to me like a heavy shroud. A sense of foreboding intensified, every shadow seeming to whisper secrets too grim for mortal ears.
Through the darkness, the contours of the landscape began to take shape – the looming cliffs of Dragonstone, a land suffused with ancient legends and eerie tales. My heart quickened as I recognized the dragon-forged stronghold, but the familiarity brought no solace, only a deeper unease.
As I struggled to comprehend my surroundings, a figure materialized before me. A silhouette emerging from the shadows, its form shrouded in mystery. Recognition stirred, igniting a sense of urgency within me.
"Rhaena, stop!" I cried out, desperation lacing my voice as I desperately tried to forestall the impending catastrophe.
Yet, she remained oblivious to my presence, disappearing into the gaping maw of a cavern that yawned before her, its darkness pregnant with malevolence. Her voice drifted back to me, carried by an unseen current, her words a dissonant symphony of cryptic murmurings.
From the abyss within the cave, eyes gleamed with an unnatural verdant hue, their intensity piercing through the shadows like twin beacons of maleficent knowledge. Scales, like obsidian armor, glinted in the dim light, revealing a monstrous presence that should only exist in the realm of nightmares.
The Cannibal.
My voice cracked with urgency, a final plea to halt the inexorable descent into darkness. "Rhaena, I beg you, cease this folly!"
The world trembled, reality itself buckling under the weight of unfathomable forces. Desperation surged within me, a futile attempt to bridge the chasm between two converging cataclysms –a vengeful girl and a beast of ancient malice.
But the convergence was merciless, the boundaries between realities collapsing in a symphony of chaos. The darkness consumed all, swallowing me whole, as I felt myself torn from existence and cast into the void once more, a puppet severed from its strings by hands unseen.
Amidst the shifting shadows and the whispers of the void, my voice reverberated with a fierce urgency, cutting through the obscurity like a blade. "Stop this game, greenseer!" I demanded, my words echoing with a potent blend of desperation and frustration.
His response was a gravelly symphony of hoarse notes that seemed to emerge from the very depths of the abyss. "Songbreaker," the single word rumbled through the air like the resonant toll of a death knell, carrying with it the weight of ages and secrets untold.
In the heart of this surreal encounter, a tapestry of visions began to weave itself before my eyes – a tapestry of past, present, and an ominous future that beckoned with a cold hand. Aemond, astride Vhagar, his triumphant victory against a knight of the Kingsguard etched into the annals of time. But the narrative took an unexpected twist, a revelation that tore at the fabric of understanding.
"You thought that by saving his eye, the boy was spared from the path of bloodshed," his voice rasped, the words as chilling as a winter's frostbite. "You believed he would not tread the path of innocent slaughter, and for a time, you were right."
The images continued to unfurl, like tendrils of fate uncoiling, revealing a destiny forged in the fires of choice and consequence. The scene shifted, and I beheld the emergence of a new monster, one birthed from a lineage of blood and dragons.
"But you, inadvertently, birthed a monstrosity even graver than him," his words reverberated through the fabric of reality, each syllable carrying a weight that could shift destinies. His voice held the cadence of ancient truths, of prophecies etched in the bones of the world. "A monster who, if left unrestrained, shall sow death and destruction on a scale eclipsing the very horrors you sought to avert. A creature fated to lay waste to the 'Tower,' to kindle flames that shall reduce a city to ash," he intoned, his voice echoing like a dirge in the cavernous chamber.
Before me, the tapestry of vision unfolded, an ominous mosaic of fate and foreboding. Against a sky marred by roiling darkness, a colossal black dragon soared, its wings blotting out the sun's light. Every fiber of my being recoiled as the figure astride the abyssal beast came into focus, a silhouette forged in defiance of hope.
Rhaena.
Dread flooded my senses, each heartbeat a drumbeat of denial against the unfolding truth. Her form melded with the dragon's, a fusion of malevolence and power that defied comprehension. My voice trembled as if carrying the weight of the world's despair. "No, that cannot be," I protested, my words a fragile bulwark against the avalanche of revelation.
The greenseer's eyes, pools of ancient knowing, bore into me with a gravity that seemed to rend the very fabric of my doubts. His words were laden with a burden too immense for words alone to bear. "Come where Winter Fell," he beckoned, his voice a whisper that seemed to vibrate through the very sinews of existence.
The plea held the resonance of prophecy, a call to arms that reached beyond the tangible realm, touching upon the tapestry of fate itself. The words resonated with a grandeur that transcended the present, that held the echoes of ages past and ages yet to come.
In the darkness, I felt a seismic shift, an unraveling of the world that had ensnared me. The visions coalesced into a maelstrom of consciousness, spiraling into the depths of my being, each thread of reality and illusion weaving itself into a grand tapestry of fate. The greenseer's enigmatic words lingered, reverberating like a haunting refrain, as my eyes snapped open and I gasped for air.
"Ulf," a voice called out, distant yet familiar, rousing me from the tendrils of darkness that had enshrouded my consciousness. Blinking against the haze, I found myself within the confines of a room, its walls exuding a sense of familiarity that tugged at my senses. Gradually, the outlines of my companions emerged from the shadows, their faces etched with concern and relief.
As I struggled to piece together the fragments of my fractured awareness, a weariness, profound and bone-deep, clawed at my every movement. It was as if the very fabric of my being had been woven with threads of exhaustion. A murmur of greetings and inquiries brushed my ears, their voices a soothing balm to my disoriented mind.
But before I could respond, the weight of my own weariness proved overwhelming, a forceful current that pulled me back into the abyss of fatigue. The bed beneath me cradled my form, its embrace a soft landing for my weary body. As if surrendering to an inevitability, I succumbed to the embrace of sleep once again.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder