Night had fallen over King's Landing, but the Red Keep did not sleep easily anymore.
Since the realm had divided, the castle felt different. The corridors were quieter, yet heavier with tension. Messengers came and went through the gates at all hours, ravens filled the rookery with restless noise, and every council meeting ended with more questions than answers.
Yet far above the city, in the silent godswood of the Red Keep, one man sat perfectly still.
The Watching King rested beneath the ancient weirwood tree.
The pale face carved into its trunk watched the garden with hollow eyes, while the red leaves trembled softly in the night wind.
Or perhaps it was not the wind.
Bran Stark did not breathe deeply. His body sat motionless in the chair that had been carried into the garden long ago.
But his mind was far away.
Far beyond the walls of the Red Keep.
Far beyond the present.
The ravens gathered above the branches.
Then suddenly they became something else.
Vision.
The first vision came quietly.
Bran saw snow.
Endless snow stretches beyond the Wall.
A man walked through the frozen wilderness with a white wolf beside him.
Jon Snow.
Bran watched him from above, as if the sky itself had eyes.
Jon walked toward the southern horizon.
Toward the sea.
Toward destiny.
The vision shifted.
Leaves rustled violently above Bran's head.
The wind changed.
The second vision came.
A dragon crossed the sky.
Huge black wings cutting through the clouds.
Fire spilled from its mouth and struck the sea below.
The water exploded into steam.
Drogon.
Alive.
Bran watched as the dragon circled above a ruined coastline.
Broken towers.
Black stone.
Ash.
Valyria.
The dragon screamed once into the empty sky.
But the vision did not end there.
Something moved beneath the dragon's shadow.
A figure.
A woman standing among the ruins.
Her silver hair moved in the wind.
Bran leaned forward slightly.
But before he could see her face, the vision shattered.
The ravens above the tree erupted into sudden flight.
The leaves shook violently.
Bran's mind was pulled into another future.
The third vision came like lightning.
A battlefield.
Thousands of soldiers clashed beneath burning banners.
The sigil of the dragon.
The direwolf of the North.
Men screamed as fire rained down from the sky.
A dragon soared above the battlefield, its shadow covering entire armies.
Bran saw the dragon open its mouth.
Fire swallowed the world.
The vision cracked apart.
Another future appeared.
The throne room of the Red Keep.
The Iron Throne was gone, melted long ago.
Yet someone stood where it once had.
A queen.
Her back turned.
Silver hair flowing down her shoulders.
The torches around the chamber burned blue.
Not red.
Blue.
Cold.
Unnatural.
The queen turned slowly.
Her eyes burned like pale fire.
The vision shattered again.
Bran gasped softly.
For the first time that night, his breathing changed.
Because the future had not shown him one path.
It had shown him many.
Too many.
The leaves above him trembled violently.
Ravens circled the godswood in panicked spirals.
Footsteps approached through the garden.
Tyrion Lannister entered quietly and stopped beneath the weirwood tree.
He had learned long ago not to interrupt these moments.
But tonight something was different.
The ravens were screaming.
The wind twisted strangely around the branches.
"Your Grace," Tyrion said softly.
Bran opened his eyes.
For a moment, he looked almost human again.
"What did you see?" Tyrion asked.
Bran looked toward the sky where the ravens circled.
"The realm breaking."
Tyrion sighed.
"We already know that."
Bran shook his head slowly.
"No."
His voice was quiet.
"But this time… the fire returns."
Tyrion frowned.
"Dragons."
"Yes."
The wind moved through the garden again.
Tyrion crossed his arms.
"And the queen?"
Bran remained silent.
Because some visions were not meant to be spoken aloud.
Finally, he said only this:
"She walks between life and memory."
Tyrion stared at him.
"That is not comforting."
Bran looked back toward the weirwood tree.
"The future rarely is."
The ravens finally settled into the branches above.
But the leaves of the weirwood still trembled.
Because somewhere in the shifting branches of time…
The dragon had begun to remember.
And when dragons remembered…
The world burned.