The Iron Islands were a barren place, and Old Wyk was especially so.
The Drowned God had given his people a land where even birds would not shit, where cattle and horses could not be raised, forcing them to make a new life through killing.
The whole region of Great Wyk was a range of hills covered in wild grass. From the heights, one could look down upon the Ironborn's holy ground, Nagga's Cradle.
The bones of the Grey King's Hall, Nagga's ribs, rose from the earth like huge white tree trunks, each twice as thick and twice as tall as the mast of a great sailing ship.
"Whoosh! Whoosh!"
The sea wind blew fiercely. Ships lined the sacred beach of Old Wyk one after another, and still more would come.
Aeron Greyjoy had called a Kingsmoot, a grand gathering the Ironborn had not seen in a thousand years.
Of all the ships that had arrived, the most frightening was Crow's Eye's Silence.
Even moored in the harbor, the ship seemed silent, cruel, and swift.
Silence had only one mast. Its sails were black as the deepest night sky, and its dark-red hull was long, narrow, and low.
Crow's Eye Euron Greyjoy stood on the deck. The whole ship was deathly quiet, crewed only by all manner of mutes and mixed-blood bastards.
His "children," and among them were some of his bastards.
"My kin will come as well," Crow's Eye thought as he looked toward the distant sea. "Though there is little affection between us, they at least still have some value as sacrifices. Stupid little Theon, my dear niece Asha."
"I have killed three brothers, Harlon, Robin, and Balon. Killing a few more will make no difference. The Drowned God they pray to, oh, but I will make the gods pray to me."
Crow's Eye was the most handsome of King Quellon's sons, and also the most wicked and deranged.
The middle-aged man who had returned from exile had hair as black as a midnight ocean, without a single strand of gray. His face was still smooth and pale, and his black beard was neatly trimmed. A patch of black leather covered Euron's left eye, while his right eye was blue as a summer sky.
Crow's Eye stepped down into the cabin, into a dungeon where the sun never shone.
Whenever the tide struck the ship, those trophies would let out piercing wails. But their tongues had all been cut out, so their cries sounded strange.
Crow's Eye looked at those trophies: septons of the Seven from the Green lands, priests of R'hllor the Red God, and a warlock from Qarth in the east.
The priests had been stripped of their clothes and ornaments, stripped of all pride as well. Only chains and scars kept them company, and not one still looked fully human.
The whole dungeon reeked of many things: blood, saltwater, and filth.
"Poor men, poor gods," Crow's Eye said as he looked at the priests.
"Pree," the eastern warlock wailed. His skin was pale as snow, his lips indigo from drinking Shade of the Evening.
Pree had lost both legs, and his whole body was little more than skin and bone.
"Stop wailing, good priest. Your gods cannot save you. Your wine, however, is not bad. Sweeter than seawater, and it lets me see more truths. Perhaps the path to truth lies within it."
Crow's Eye drank the blue Shade of the Evening, raising the cup to his lips.
Shade of the Evening was thick and sticky, like swallowing rotten meat.
The taste seemed to change with every swallow. At times bitter, at times sour and foul, and at times sweet.
"Let me see the future. Let me see who the true Storm is." Crow's Eye laughed madly.
Crow's Eye's dream came to him. He saw himself lift his eye patch, a blood-red eye looking down upon all living things, while the gods despaired at the sight of him.
A Kraken with blood-red eyes and blood-red arms appeared upon the sea, rampaging savagely across the waves, turning the ocean into a sea of blood.
"Crack. Crack."
Many gods fled, only to be caught by the blood-red Kraken's suckered, barbed tentacles and torn to pieces.
The Seven of the Green lands: the Maiden, the Father, the Warrior, the Mother, the Stranger, the Smith, and the Crone.
Even the Drowned God worshiped by the Ironborn was torn open by the blood-red Kraken.
The swollen, green Drowned God had been more than half devoured by crabs. The rest of Him had begun to rot, seawater running down through His hair.
There were gods from across the Narrow Sea as well: the Great Shepherd, the Black Goat, the Three-Headed God, Bakkalon the Pale Child, the Lord of Light, and the Butterfly God of Naath.
Crow's Eye raised the huge dragon horn again. Smoke shrouded a city in flames, and the blood-red Kraken and the sphinx obeyed his command, but no dragon appeared.
Crow's Eye still did not see what he wanted to see. In that empty dream, he saw no image of King Gendry or the stag, nor did he see the dragons.
"An interesting opponent." Crow's Eye woke from the dream. "The bleeding star, burning everything away."
"Could he also be a blasphemer? But that would hardly be strange. House Durrandon is a house of blasphemers, and Dragonlords never truly believed in any gods. As for me, I will walk even farther down this road."
"Sacred flesh, sacred blood." Crow's Eye looked at the captured priests. "I want you alive. And on the Iron Islands, I can still obtain new prey, my little brother Aeron."
"Pree!"
"Pree!" the eastern warlock wailed. The one before him was no ordinary man. He was a blasphemer, a kinslayer, a demon wearing human skin.
Crow's Eye left the dungeon and went to another cabin, his treasure chamber.
The chests in the treasure chamber were open, filled with glittering gold, jewels, and small jeweled daggers, but Crow's Eye paid them no mind.
"Only these two things are priceless treasures," Crow's Eye said, meaning the Dragon Horn and the Valyrian steel armor.
The huge horn hung on the wall. The Dragon Horn was covered in bands of red gold and black iron.
When its sound rose high, the ancient Valyrian runes carved into those bands would begin to glow red.
Whoever blows this horn dies.
The Valyrian steel armor was an even rarer treasure. Crow's Eye lifted it. Its soot-black scales were dark as smoke, yet as light as a silk shirt.
The edges of the scales were red-gold, flashing when they moved. The metal was decorated with patterns: whorls, pictographs, and mysterious symbols, all etched into the steel.
Crow's Eye set them down, then looked at the treasures loved by common men.
"And these, these are gifts, used to buy the votes of those captains and lords, those piglets." Crow's Eye grabbed a handful of gold and pearls, but to him they were no more than rags and stones. "A ridiculous Kingsmoot. A true king still has to bribe his own subordinates."
A bald, powerfully built man followed behind Crow's Eye. The mixed-blood bastard was keeper of the treasure chamber.
The bald giant wore countless gleaming arm rings of gold, emerald, and black jade. Across his broad chest was tattooed a fierce bird, its claws dripping blood.
In the future, he would also be responsible for blowing the Dragon Horn.
Crow's Eye looked at the Dragon Horn on the wall, then stepped closer. The horn was warm as a woman's skin.
"I will become King of the Iron Islands. There is no doubt." Crow's Eye stroked the horn in his hand. "Among the Kraken, I am the eldest, and the most savage. I have never known defeat."
Crow's Eye had age, reputation, and wealth. His advantages were enormous. With the Dragon Horn as well, he could bewitch men's hearts even more easily.
Crow's Eye looked at the horn's red and gold colors. "Red is the color of blood, and the color of the future. I will sell my obedient niece, and use my little brother for a blood sacrifice. As for the Iron Kraken, he is my servant, my tool."
"But none of them are the key. The key is Robert Baratheon's son, 'The Storm'." Crow's Eye murmured to himself, a cold light flashing in his eye.
"I will make more blood and draw that boy to me. I will kill him. I will take his kingdom."
"Dragons, Kraken, sphinxes. I am king. I am god. Blessed are the people of the world, for they shall offer sacrifice to me and worship me."