The sun fell like lead over the Stepstones*
The air smelled of salt, sweat... and rotten blood*
Weeks had passed since the war began* The Triarch of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh did not yield* The Sea Snakes cut routes, and the Velaryons responded with iron and fire* But now, everything hung by a thread*
Corlys Velaryon, the Lord of the Narrow Sea, observed the battlefield from a coastal hill* At his feet, blackened banners and the remains of burned ships were proof that victory did not come easily*
"They're waiting for us to bleed until we surrender," Corlys growled* "They're playing the war of attrition*"
Laenor Velaryon, his son, mounted on his dragon Seasmoke, descended with fury, like a white lightning bolt among the rocks*
"And if we let them, they'll succeed* We don't have men for months* We need to cut off their head* Today*"
Corlys nodded, though his eyes were fixed beyond the enemy lines*
Where smoke rose, where the banners of the Triarch still stood...
There was Daemon Targaryen*
Prince Daemon had not waited for orders*
Mounted on his dragon Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, he had soared through the sky like a winged demon* Not for glory* Not for recognition*
He did it because no one else dared*
He descended among the mud and spears with a lance in hand, his sword Dark Sister still sheathed, as a challenge* The Triarch's soldiers laughed when they saw him land alone*
There were three hundred*
Daemon walked toward them*
Alone*
Without full armor* Without a shield* Without fear*
"Surrender your commander to me!" he shouted, his voice echoing like thunder*
They ignored him* They shot arrows* The first ones bounced off the rocks, then one grazed his arm*
Daemon fell to his knees*
And then he smiled*
It was a trap*
As the Triarch's men emerged from their trenches to kill him, Laenor descended from the sky on Seasmoke, spitting white fire that consumed entire lines of infantry* Corlys, seeing the signal, ordered the charge*
The Velaryon ships landed with men roaring their prince's name* The sea boiled with the clash of hulls, wooden walls collapsed under catapult fire*
Daemon rose among the corpses*
Dark Sister sang as it cut* Throats* Guts* Swords*
He was alone at first, but not for long* His men arrived and followed him like a specter of war*
At the heart of the enemy camp, he found Craghas Drahar, the infamous Crabfeeder*
Covered in old leather and dirty armor, with pale skin marked by scars and a nauseating stench, Craghas had sunken, cruel eyes* In his hands, a rusty pike* At his feet, the remains of men impaled alive and devoured by crabs*
Daemon looked at him, saying nothing*
The Crabfeeder lunged at him like an animal*
The fight was bloody* Craghas was faster than expected, but Daemon was a storm of fury* The enemy's spear grazed his side, drawing a grunt from him* Dark Sister answered with a slash that split the air*
Both fell into the mud and viscera* Craghas tried to bite his face*
Daemon smashed him against a rock* Then he pinned him down and drove Dark Sister from his neck to his chest, impaling him like a fish*
Craghas twitched once... and fell still*
Daemon lifted his corpse and dragged it out of the camp*
When the enemy soldiers saw their commander dragged like a dog, they faltered* They fled*
The Triarch's banner fell* Fire consumed their camp*
The victory was absolute*
When the smoke cleared, Daemon was covered in blood* He did not speak* He did not smile* He only looked at the horizon, toward the Narrow Sea*
Laenor landed nearby, panting*
"Are you hurt?"
Daemon shook his head*
Corlys arrived on foot, his cloak drenched, his gaze hard*
"You risked everything on a suicidal gamble*"
"And I won*"
"Yes* But someday, that luck will run out*"
Daemon did not respond*
He only watched the battlefield*
And above, Caraxes roared, wings spread like a vengeful god*
Thus ended the Battle of the Stepstones*
Not with diplomacy*
Not with treaties*
But with fire* Blood* And a corpse that would feed the crabs one last time*
Daemon Targaryen rose as a hero to his own*
And as a silent threat to all others*