Vaes Drakarys - Preparations
Commander Vaelos - Third Person
Commander Vaelos had served the Wyrmborne since the early days of Vaes Dothrak.
A fire-affinity Dragonborn with scales the color of burnished copper, he had proven himself in three major engagements and countless skirmishes. His current assignment—garrison commander of Vaes Drakarys while the main fleet supported the Meereen operation—had seemed like a quiet posting.
That assumption had just been proven spectacularly wrong.
"All defensive positions report ready," his aide reported, a young Draconian whose partial scales marked him as a recent convert. "Harbor chains are prepared for deployment, siege weapons are manned, and the mage corps is standing by for coordinated response."
"Tempest's Bane?"
"Already moving to intercept. It detected the fleet before our patrols did—apparently it can sense large concentrations of ships from considerable distance."
Vaelos nodded, his clawed fingers drumming against his command table. The garrison had been left with approximately two thousand Draconians, five hundred Dragonborn, a dozen ships that had been deemed too damaged for the Meereen assault, and the Lagiacrus. Against sixty enemy vessels, those numbers weren't comfortable—but they weren't hopeless either.
"Lady Angelus is en route," he reminded his officers. "She'll be here within the hour. Our job is to hold until she arrives and to make these raiders regret choosing us as their target."
"Do we know why they're attacking?" one of the officers asked. "The Ironborn rarely venture this far east."
"Does it matter? They've chosen to threaten what belongs to us. That makes them enemies."
He was about to continue when a pulse of magical energy washed over the room—powerful enough that even the non-mages felt it as a physical sensation, a tingling along their scales that spoke of forces beyond ordinary comprehension.
"What was that?"
"Unknown energy signature," one of the mages reported, her eyes unfocused as she reached out with magical senses. "It's... it doesn't match anything in our records. The magical frequency is completely foreign."
"Location?"
"Market district. Sector seven."
Vaelos made a decision in an instant. "First squad, with me. Everyone else, maintain defensive positions—we can't afford to divert resources from the incoming fleet."
He moved toward the door, his hand finding the hilt of his Chaos-Forged blade by instinct.
The Arrival - Third Person
The portal tore open in the center of Vaes Drakarys's market square with a sound like reality itself being violated.
It was nothing like the subtle magical effects the Wyrmborne had developed—this was raw, violent, a wound in the fabric of existence that bled light in colors that didn't belong to this world. The merchants and civilians in the square scattered, their training taking over as they sought cover and called for guards.
Three figures emerged from the chaos.
The first was a woman of striking appearance—raven-black hair cascading over shoulders clad in black leather trimmed with fur, violet eyes that swept the unfamiliar surroundings with sharp intelligence. A large black raven perched on her shoulder, and her posture radiated authority and confidence even in obvious confusion. She wore tight leather pants with multiple buckles, knee-high boots, and a white blouse beneath her jacket. A golden necklace glinted at her throat.
The second was shorter, with vivid auburn hair that caught the light like copper fire. She wore a golden-tan leather corset over a white blouse, with teal quilted sleeves and dark red undersleeves beneath. Her outfit was practical but distinctive, and a burning book floated above her outstretched palm—a display of magical power that suggested significant ability.
The third was youngest of the three—a young woman with ashen-white hair and a distinctive scar running across her left eye. She carried a sword of unusual design, its blade catching the light as she raised it in defensive posture. Her armor was practical leather in browns and grays, with a heavy belt bearing various pouches and implements. Green eyes scanned the surroundings with the wariness of someone who had learned to expect danger.
"This isn't Novigrad," the auburn-haired woman said, the burning book snapping shut as she assessed their situation. "Yennefer, where in the blazes did you put us?"
"The coordinates were correct," the dark-haired woman—Yennefer—replied, her violet eyes narrowing. "Something interfered with the portal. Some kind of magical interference I've never encountered."
"Well, whatever happened, we need to—"
"Move and we will cut you down where you stand."
The voice came from behind them, and all three women spun to face the threat.
Ciri - First Person
My sword was up before I consciously processed the danger.
We were surrounded. The creatures that encircled us were unlike anything I had ever encountered—humanoid figures covered in scales of various colors, their eyes slitted like reptiles, their hands ending in clawed fingers that gripped weapons of dark metal that seemed to drink the light. Some were larger than any human had a right to be, with full draconic features including horns and tails. Others were smaller but no less threatening, their partial scales and more human proportions somehow making them more unsettling rather than less.
At least thirty of them, with more arriving every second.
"What are they?" Triss breathed beside me, her magic already gathering in her hands.
"Unknown," Yennefer replied, her own power manifesting as a shimmer in the air around her. "But they're organized, equipped, and clearly not happy to see us."
The speaker stepped forward—a creature with copper-colored scales and the bearing of a military commander. His armor was as dark as his subordinates', and the blade at his hip pulsed with faint crimson light.
"You have invaded Wyrmborne territory," he said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Identify yourselves immediately, or face the consequences."
"We didn't invade anything," Triss protested. "Our portal malfunctioned—we were trying to reach a different location entirely."
"Your intentions are irrelevant. You are here, unauthorized, displaying magical capabilities that register as hostile. That makes you threats until proven otherwise."
I shifted my grip on my sword, calculating odds. Thirty against three, with more arriving. Even with Yennefer and Triss's magic, those numbers were daunting—and I had no idea what these creatures were capable of.
"We don't want to fight," I said carefully. "Just let us open another portal and we'll leave. You'll never see us again."
"I'm afraid that's not possible." The commander's clawed hand came to rest on his weapon's hilt. "Lady Angelus has already sensed your arrival. She is en route to assess the situation personally. Until she arrives, you will be detained."
"And if we refuse?" Yennefer's voice was silk over steel.
"Then you will be subdued. Non-lethally, if possible. Lethally, if necessary." His eyes swept over us with cold calculation. "I have over two hundred warriors within responding distance, siege weapons on the walls, and a sea dragon in the harbor. You have impressive magical signatures, but I don't believe you can defeat all of that."
I glanced at Yennefer, then at Triss. Their expressions told me they had reached the same conclusion I had.
"Fine," Yennefer said finally, lowering her hands. "We'll cooperate. For now."
Awaiting Judgment - Third Person
The three women were escorted—not roughly, but with unmistakable firmness—to a secured position overlooking the harbor.
"Why here?" Triss asked, watching as the strange scaled warriors took up positions around them.
"Because we have a fleet to destroy," Commander Vaelos replied matter-of-factly. "And Lady Angelus wants you to observe. She believes it will help you understand exactly what you've stumbled into."
Yennefer's eyes narrowed. "A fleet?"
"Pirates. Ironborn raiders from the western continent, along with various other reavers who thought our city would make easy prey." A thin smile crossed his scaled face. "They were incorrect."
Ciri moved to the edge of the overlook, her eyes drawn to the harbor below. Ships were moving into position—not many, perhaps a dozen vessels that showed signs of recent damage and hasty repairs. Beyond them, in the open water, she could see the enemy fleet approaching.
"Those are Greyjoy ships," Yennefer said quietly, moving to stand beside her. "The kraken banner—I recognize it from my travels through the western kingdoms."
"You know these raiders?"
"Of them. House Greyjoy rules the Iron Islands, a harsh chain of rocks off the coast of Westeros. They worship something called the Drowned God and believe that paying the 'iron price'—taking what you want through violence—is more honorable than honest trade." Her violet eyes tracked the approaching fleet. "They're dangerous fighters, but they've never been a threat to the eastern continent before."
"Perhaps they heard the same rumors we did," Triss suggested. "About changes in this region. Strange creatures, impossible transformations, cities being conquered..."
"And they thought a city defended by 'strange creatures' would be easy pickings." Yennefer shook her head. "Fools."
Ciri wasn't so sure. The approaching fleet was massive—sixty vessels at least, their sails dark against the setting sun. The defenders had perhaps a dozen ships and an unknown number of these scaled warriors.
"They might actually win," she said quietly.
Commander Vaelos heard her. The sound he made might have been a laugh if it had contained any humor.
"Watch," he said simply.
The Battle of Vaes Drakarys - Third Person
The Ironborn came in confident.
Their longships cut through the water with the raiding energy—fast, maneuverable, and packed with warriors who had spent their entire lives learning to kill and take. Sixty ships strong, they represented the largest Ironborn fleet to venture east in living memory.
Euron Greyjoy had promised them glory. He had promised them plunder beyond imagining—cities built on the wealth of the slave trade, defended by strange creatures that would fall before Ironborn steel. He had promised them a new empire in the east, one that would make their rocky islands seem like a forgotten memory.
He had been horribly wrong.
SKREEEEEEE!
Tempest's Bane rose from the depths like divine judgment.
The Lagiacrus's massive form erupted from the water at the center of the enemy formation, its serpentine body crushing three longships simply through the force of its emergence. Lightning crackled along its dorsal spines, building to a discharge that turned the air itself into a weapon.
CRACK-BOOM!
The first lightning barrage hit seven ships simultaneously. Masts exploded. Hulls caught fire despite the surrounding water. Warriors who had been preparing to fight found themselves thrown from decks that were suddenly burning beneath their feet.
"Regroup!" someone was screaming on the lead Ironborn vessel. "Regroup and—"
CRASH!
Tempest's Bane's jaws closed on the ship's bow, tearing away twenty feet of wood and metal in a single bite. The vessel began to sink immediately, its crew scrambling for safety that didn't exist.
On the walls of Vaes Drakarys, siege weapons that had been designed with Angelus's guidance opened fire.
These weren't ordinary ballistae. The bolts they launched were enchanted with the same Chaos-Forged magic that powered the Wyrmborne arsenal—weapons that exploded on impact, that burned with fire that couldn't be extinguished, that punched through ship hulls like they were made of paper.
THOOM! THOOM! THOOM!
Three ships went down in the first volley. Four more in the second. The Ironborn formation, already scattered by Tempest's Bane's assault, began to collapse into chaos.
Ciri - First Person
I watched the battle unfold with something approaching awe.
I had seen combat before—more than my share, really. I had fought monsters and men, survived the Wild Hunt and the wars that had torn the Northern Kingdoms apart. I had thought I understood what power looked like.
I had been wrong.
The sea creature—the Lagiacrus, Commander Vaelos had called it—moved through the enemy fleet like a wolf through a flock of sheep. Its lightning attacks were devastating, but they were almost secondary to the sheer physical destruction it inflicted. Ships that tried to flee were run down and torn apart. Ships that tried to fight found their weapons useless against scales that seemed to shrug off everything they could throw at it.
"This is impossible," Triss whispered beside me. "No creature should be able to do that. The magical energy required..."
"It's not using magic in the traditional sense," Yennefer replied, her violet eyes narrowed in concentration. "The lightning is biological—some kind of natural weapon enhanced by magical evolution. The creature itself is saturated with power, but it's not casting spells. It simply is that powerful."
"And the defenders created this thing?"
"Apparently so."
On the water, the Ironborn were dying.
I tried to find sympathy for them—they were human, after all, and they were being slaughtered with brutal efficiency. But I couldn't quite manage it. These were raiders, slavers in their own right, men who had come to pillage and murder. They were simply facing something that was better at violence than they were.
Within twenty minutes, it was over.
Of the sixty ships that had approached Vaes Drakarys, perhaps a dozen managed to turn and flee. The rest were sinking, burning, or being dragged beneath the waves by a creature that seemed to view the battle as more of a hunt than a fight.
"Collect the survivors," Commander Vaelos ordered his officers. "And salvage anything useful from the wreckage. Lady Angelus will want a full accounting of what we've gained."
He turned to face us, and I saw something new in his expression—not hostility, exactly, but a assessment that suggested we had just been re-evaluated.
"You've seen what we're capable of," he said. "That should help you understand the situation you've found yourselves in."
"Situation?" Yennefer's voice was carefully neutral.
"You've appeared in our territory through unknown magical means, at the exact moment an enemy fleet attacks our city. From a certain perspective, that timing could be considered suspicious."
"We had nothing to do with those pirates!"
"Perhaps. That will be for Lady Angelus to determine." He gestured toward the sky. "And you won't have to wait long for her judgment. She's here."
The Crimson God Arrives - Third Person
The shadow fell over them first.
Ciri looked up and felt her heart stop.
The creature descending from the clouds was unlike anything she had ever seen—larger than the Wild Hunt's ships, larger than the buildings surrounding them, larger than anything had a right to be. Its scales were deep crimson, so dark they were almost black, and between them ran veins of glowing gold-orange that pulsed with inner fire. Four massive legs ended in claws that could have crushed houses, and wings that seemed to blot out the sky folded as it descended toward the harbor.
Its chest glowed from within, the light bright enough to cast shadows even in the fading daylight. An elaborate crown of horns swept back from its skull, and its eyes—golden, ancient, utterly alien—fixed on the three women with an intensity that made Ciri want to run and never stop.
THOOM.
The impact of its landing shook the ground hard enough that Ciri had to catch herself against the wall. The creature—the dragon, she realized, though no dragon she had ever heard of looked like this—settled its massive form and turned its attention fully toward them.
"By the eternal fire," Triss breathed. "What... what is that?"
"Power," Yennefer replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "More power than I've ever sensed in any single being. More than the mages of the Lodge combined. More than..." She trailed off, apparently unable to find a comparison that fit.
The dragon's head lowered until its eyes were level with theirs—still meters above them, but close enough that Ciri could see the intelligence burning within those golden depths. This was no beast or monster. This was something intelligent.
And when it spoke, its voice resonated not in the air but directly in their minds.
"I am Angelus. The Red Dragon. The Crimson God."
The words carried weight beyond their meaning—authority and power compressed into concepts that human minds could barely contain.
"You have appeared in my territory through means I do not recognize, at a time that strains coincidence. You will explain yourselves, your origins and your purpose for arriving at this time when MY people were being attacked."
The dragon's eyes swept over each of them in turn, and Ciri felt as if her very soul was being examined.
"And then I will decide whether you live or die."
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End of Chapter Nineteen