Rumble, rumble, rumble.
The sickly green flames poured down through the rift Dreamfyre had torn open, and the intense heat, enough to melt stone, raced down the stairs and pipes of the entire aboveground structure of the bunker, casting the small stone fortress in a ghastly green light.
"Hiss—"
Horus couldn't help but shudder. He and Motarion had led their personal guards to hide in the deepest depths of the bunker's palace, but even there, he could feel the rock overhead melting, the squealing sound of stone burning and warping by flame echoing relentlessly in his ears.
"Where's our reinforcements? Where are they? The Westerosi savages—how far have they gotten?"
Horus felt like he was going insane. He knew perfectly well that even the legendary dragonlords of Valyria, those tyrant beasts whose wings could blot out the sun, could not threaten him deep underground.
Yet in his ears, it was as if the crackling of fire and the screams of the dying never ceased—a demonic chorus clawing at his heart, filling him with endless fear and trembling.
He could still vividly recall the pitched battle. Had it been only the tin-can knights and savage infantry, he would have been confident of victory. His forces were well-equipped, backed by no fewer than twenty mercenary companies, and thousands of Dothraki riders. But once the dragons appeared—
It was all over.
His most trusted subordinates, three of his sons, and the old comrades who had fought by his side were all consumed by the storm of dragonfire. Especially that dark green beast, with butterfly-patterned wings and antler-like horns—it had been savage beyond reason.
Horus's fear of the sickly green flames had long since become a deep-seated terror.
"Great Master, there are no reinforcements," Motarion said dejectedly, standing nearby. He trusted the strength of the fortress—their location deep underground was beyond the reach of dragonfire. But surviving the dragons was not the same as surviving the Westerosi army.
Horus's great army had already collapsed. Only a few thousand remained across the three main bunkers. Motarion had no confidence they could stop the Westerosi elite forces.
"Master Sharis's army has been blocked east of the Myr-Rhoynar Mountains by the Westerosi. With dragons overhead, no one dares force their way through. Great Master, it is only us now."
Horus gritted his teeth and waved his hand. "Send another hundred men to reinforce the Bronze Gate. Hold it at all costs. If we can delay long enough for the Westerosi to run out of supplies, Khal Khargo and his riders will arrive, and we will be saved."
Motarion nodded and went down to prepare immediately.
Only Horus remained, slumped on his throne, utterly exhausted, lost in thought—or perhaps thinking of nothing at all.
---
Splurt.
Aemon looked on with lingering fear at the man before him, whose head had just been severed by Lord Reyne's war axe. It was the first time he had encountered a warrior like an Unsullied. Even after being hacked with countless wounds by Dark Sister and having his throat slit, the man had refused to fall, still struggling even after decapitation.
Aemon had almost been skewered through by the Unsullied's spear.
"Your Highness, let us lead the next assault. You should rest for a moment," the White Knight said helplessly. He glanced at the twitching corpse of the Unsullied and clicked his tongue. "House Vaelarys bred these warriors years ago. They supposedly once fought against rebels under Tessarion's dragonfire. But now there are no Unsullied left in the Silverblood Army."
Aemon shook his head resolutely. "I am the commander. I swore to His Majesty that I would take the main keep myself. How can I not lead from the front?"
The young Knight Prince flashed a broad smile. "Don't worry. The warriors stand with us."
He raised Dark Sister high, and the White Knight had no choice but to lift the torch and continue charging deeper into the tunnel alongside the young prince.
Aboveground—
The surface structure of the bunker had completely collapsed, unable to withstand the combined assault of dragonfire and trebuchets. Before Sendros's dragonfire had even finished burning, the defending soldiers had sealed the passages leading underground, completely cutting off any chance for the Westerosi army to enter the core bunker from above.
They had abandoned the other two bunkers, concentrating all their defenses on the largest and deepest stronghold.
"Dan, any sign?" Skyfire roared as it swept over the smoking battlefield, and Jacaerys, his face smudged with ash, shouted back.
Sendros slowly landed on a charred patch of ruins, his massive head lowering toward the ground. A blast of sickly green dragonfire burst forth once more, melting rock and blasting soil into the air, exposing the black depths of the underground.
"Still nothing," Dan said, frustration creeping into his voice. On the other side, Dreamfyre rose slowly into the air. Watching her fly off in another direction made it clear that Daeron hadn't found the tunnel entrance either.
"No, but Sendros is listening," Dan answered. "Prince Aemon took three hundred men with him. They'll make a lot of noise, and dragons can hear things we can't. Let's hope the prince reaches the intended location safely."
Jacaerys nodded grimly and continued searching the next possible spot. Seasmoke hovered anxiously over the battlefield, with Tyraxes flying close by to keep an eye on him; without a rider, Seasmoke might have gotten into trouble otherwise.
They still needed him to pinpoint Aemon's position.
Underground—
Aemon finally led his men in breaking through the final line of defense in the tunnel.
Before them lay a vast cavern. A massive gate of bronze sealed off the entrance to the deeper levels, while the natural rock "walls" were riddled with countless arrow slits and small alcoves barely large enough for a man to stand in.
"Raise shields!"
Without hesitation, Aemon lifted his shield. Even so, a few crossbow bolts thudded into his armor. But the knights had reacted even faster, some having already raised their shields, anticipating the attack.
"Your Grace, where's the dragon?"
Lord Reyne cautiously moved beside Prince Aemon, shield raised, only to catch the unmistakable glint of joy on the prince's face.
They had finally found it.
Without a second thought, Aemon shouted in High Valyrian:
"Seasmoke, I am here—Dracarys!"
Rumble—rumble—rumble—
The familiar tremor returned. Pebbles and dust showered down from the ceiling above.
"Everyone, shields up! Fall back!"
Aemon's command was quickly drowned out by the deep rumbling and the shouts of terror from the soldiers guarding the bronze gate.
Boom!
The heavy ceiling collapsed with a deafening crash. Stones rained down, sending up great clouds of dust across the cavern floor.
Slowly, an enormous dragon's claw pushed through the wreckage.