Euron Greyjoy was a man who lived by the storm, but even he knew when the winds had turned lethal. Looking at the burning remains of his fleet, he realized that if he lost every ship, his niece Asha—waiting like a vulture for his throne—would never let him survive the failure.
Panic, a cold and unfamiliar sensation, gripped his heart. Euron immediately signaled for his remaining ships to break the line and scatter. He had no intention of returning to King's Landing; Tywin Lannister's gold was not worth a dragon's belly. His new plan was simpler: retreat to the Iron Islands, raid the wealthy Reach and the Westerlands on the way, and wait for the dust to settle between Jason and Daenerys before surrendering to whoever was left standing.
Under the cover of the thick black smoke rising from the pyres of wooden galleys, fewer than a hundred Ironborn ships managed to slip away. Jorah Mormont and the Targaryen fleet were too battered to pursue. Even the dragons were flagging; Daenerys, slumped atop Drogon's neck, could feel the exhaustion radiating from her children. The three-headed dragon had won the day, but they were spent.
"Your Majesty, shall we give chase?" Ser Barristan asked as Daenerys slid down from the black dragon's back onto the scorched deck of her flagship.
Missandei rushed forward with a cool drink, her face pale with worry as she helped the Queen sit. "Send the men to feed the dragons," Daenerys commanded, her voice raspy from the smoke. "They need roast meat and rest. They've earned it."
She watched the horizon as Euron's remnants dwindled into dots. She chose mercy—not for Euron, but for her own tired soldiers and dragons—and ordered her fleet to begin rescue operations for those struggling in the water.
Euron Greyjoy stood on the deck of the Silence, his face a mask of gloomy fury. "I lost this day," he spat into the sea, "but I will have my revenge. I'll peel the skin from that dragon girl's back."
He began to bark orders to his crew to pick up speed, but a sound suddenly tore through the air—a sound unlike anything heard in the history of the world.
SING—
The long, dull, thunderous blast of a modern steam whistle echoed across the bay. Euron froze. Behind him, fifty-one steel giants had emerged from the mist, their grey hulls gleaming with a cold, metallic light under the midday sun. They were lined up in a terrifying, precise row.
"What... by the Drowned God, what is that?" Euron whispered, his lips dry.
On the bridge of the Easter I, Jason Liu looked through his binoculars at the fleeing Ironborn ships. He felt no sympathy for the raiders of the Iron Islands. "Identify the fleet," Jason commanded. When the reports confirmed they were the Greyjoy rebels, a cold smile touched his lips. "I don't like pirates. Prepare the frigates. Sink them all."
The order was relayed instantly via radio to the ten Jianghu-class frigates. On the deck of each steel ship, the automated 100mm naval guns whirred, tracking the wooden hulls with mathematical precision.
"Aim and commence firing," the command came through the headsets.
The frigates fanned out in a wide, predatory arc, effectively boxing in the hundred remaining Ironborn ships. Then, the world exploded.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
A volley of high-explosive shells streaked across the water. The Ironborn didn't even have time to scream. The first ten ships were struck simultaneously, erupting into massive fireballs. Steel fragments shredded wooden hulls like paper. Within seconds, the sea was filled with sinking debris and the screams of men being swallowed by the waves.
The 100mm guns didn't stop. They fired with a rhythmic, mechanical efficiency that made the dragons' fire look chaotic and slow. Euron watched in a trance of horror as his fleet was erased. One by one, his ships vanished.
"Leave Euron's ship for last," Jason ordered, watching the carnage through his glass. "Disable it, but do not sink it."
Moments later, the Silence was the only ship left afloat, surrounded by a graveyard of floating timber.
In the distance, Daenerys and her council watched in absolute terror. They had seen the dragons burn ships, but they had never seen a fleet destroyed with such cold, distant, and instantaneous violence.
"Your Majesty... that is the flag of the North," Ser Barristan whispered, pointing to the direwolf of House Stark and the mermaid of House Manderly flying from the masts.
Varys, having finally crawled out of his safe hiding spot in the hold, squinted at the largest ship. His powdered face was ghost-white. "That is the flag of the East family... of Starfire Castle. If I am not mistaken, King Jason himself is on that mountain of steel."
Daenerys bit her lip, her eyes fixed on the smoke-belching giants. She wondered if her dragons could ever stand against weapons that struck from such a distance with such fury. Beside her, Jorah, Grey Worm, and Daario moved to tighten their own defensive lines, their hands trembling on their hilts as the steel fleet turned toward them.
A motorboat was lowered from the Easter I, carrying a squad of soldiers in modern camouflage. They boarded the Silence with practiced ease. When the Ironborn sailors tried to resist with axes and rusted swords, a burst of gunfire cut down a dozen men instantly. The rest dropped their weapons and fell to their knees in shock.
Euron Greyjoy, ever the madman, swung his axe at a soldier, but a single shot from a sidearm shattered his right leg. He collapsed onto the deck, screaming as the soldiers bound him in heavy zip-ties.
The "Crow's Eye" was dragged onto the Easter I, his blood staining the pristine grey deck. Two soldiers forced him to his knees before Jason Liu. Euron struggled, his one eye wild and filled with a mixture of hate and incomprehension, but the weight of the soldiers and his shattered leg kept him pinned.
"So," Jason said, looking down at the broken King of the Iron Islands. "You're the one who thought the sea belonged to him."