The torch was completely extinguished.
Darkness pressed in from all sides like a physical tide.
The only glimmer came from the cave entrance—the seawater reflected the fading moonlight, casting dancing ripples onto the cave ceiling.
Aeron leaned against the warm body of Salt Wind, listening to the roar of the incoming seawater drawing closer.
The water level had already reached the platform, biting and cold.
He touched Salt Wind’s head, feeling its rough scales and warm breath.
“Salt Wind,” he whispered in valyrian, “Keli Veridi (We must go).”
There was no response.
Only the dragon’s heavy, bellows-like breathing.
Aeron fumbled to untie the canvas strip from his waist—something he had prepared long ago.
He looped one end of the strip around the thickest bone spur at the base of Salt Wind’s neck and tied a tight knot.
He wrapped the other end firmly around his right wrist.
“Imi Ile (Follow me).”
He took a deep breath, pulled on the canvas strip, and stepped into the waist-deep, freezing seawater, heading toward the lagoon he remembered.
The canvas strip suddenly went taut.
Salt Wind did not move.
Aeron’s heart sank.
He stopped and looked back.
He could see nothing in the darkness, but he could feel it—the dragon was hesitating.
Animal instinct told it that the underwater passage was unknown and dangerous.
And its wounds were still painful.
Time was passing.
The water was rising.
“Petre (Please).” Aeron’s voice trembled; he knew he had no other choice.
“Zemis Mogitis (We have no choice).”
A few seconds of silence felt like centuries.
Then, strength came from the other end of the strip—first a tentative tug, then a firm follow.
Aeron felt Salt Wind’s massive head draw close from behind, its warm breath spraying against the back of his neck.
It touched his back with its snout in the darkness, very lightly, but the meaning was clear: Lead the way.
In that moment, Aeron’s eyes grew hot.
He pulled on the canvas strip, leading it like a blind person, step by step into the deeper lagoon.
Salt Wind followed obediently, its heavy body pushing aside the water.
The water grew deeper, soon reaching Aeron’s chest, then his neck.
He had to stand on tiptoe, took one last look at the faint moonlight at the cave entrance, drew a deep breath—and dived underwater.
The bone-chilling cold instantly enveloped his whole body.
He tried desperately to keep his eyes open, but there was nothing but darkness.
He could only rely on his memory and the direction transmitted through the canvas strip, swimming toward the entrance of the underwater passage.
Suddenly, a violent struggle came from the other end of the strip!
Salt Wind stopped, its massive body twisting uneasily in the water.
The passage entrance was narrower than expected, almost like a crushing tube for it.
The beast’s instinct made it resist, wanting to back away.
Aeron’s heart leaped into his throat.
He could not speak, so he could only pull the strip with all his might, using every ounce of his strength to convey one message: Forward!
Only forward!
A few seconds of stalemate felt like an eternity.
Then, the compromise came.
It was not submission, but more like a desperate resolve.
Aeron felt a massive, gentle force from the other end of the strip—Salt Wind no longer resisted, but instead nudged forward, gently pushing his back with its head, urging him to move on.
It chose to trust.
Aeron’s nose stung, mixed with the saltiness of the seawater.
He hesitated no longer and swam forward with all his might.
Behind him, he could feel Salt Wind’s massive body enduring pain and overcoming fear, squeezing inch by inch into the narrow rock passage.
In the absolute darkness and suffocation, that rough canvas strip between man and dragon became the only rope connecting two lonely lives.
It no longer transmitted just direction, but trust, reliance, and the shared determination to survive in the face of death.
Just as the air in Aeron’s lungs was about to run out, and black spots began to appear before his eyes—ahead, a faint, dripping, gray-white halo of light finally appeared.
It was the exit!
Aeron snapped his eyes open in the bone-chilling cold and suffocating dizziness, his lungs burning with the desperate need for air.
He was still half-submerged in the sea, salty water dripping continuously from his face and hair.
As the mud-brown dragon broke through the water, it used the curve of its neck to lift Aeron upward, allowing him to cling to the rough dragon scales.
Aeron instinctively scrambled with his hands and feet, almost rolling onto the relatively flat area at the base of the dragon’s neck.
His soaked clothes and the slippery scales on the dragon’s back nearly made him slide off; he hurriedly grabbed a protruding bone spur nearby to barely steady himself.
He gasped for breath, still shaken, and the first thing he saw was Salt Wind’s broad, dripping back beneath him, and ahead—on the eastern horizon, a sharp golden light was irresistibly tearing through the deep blue night.
Dawn had arrived.
“There!”
“Ballista!
Aim!”
Human shouts came from the rear left.
Aeron turned his head with difficulty, and through blurred vision, he saw three fast ships surrounding them in a fan shape less than a hundred yards away, with figures running about in panic on the decks.
Further away, a larger warship was slowly adjusting its hull, the massive black crossbow at its bow gleaming coldly in the morning light.
Salt Wind had just emerged from the water, its wings still dripping, its heavy body flapping on the surface of the sea, struggling to take flight.
But its movements were too slow—the wounds limited its power, and the seawater added weight.
On the deck of the Sea Snake, Daeron Velaryon shoved the gunner aside and stood by the firing lever of the ballista himself.
His eyes were locked on the struggling mud-brown dragon taking flight, and the glaring silver-haired figure on its back.
Now.
He curled his lips into a sinister arc and pressed down on the firing lever with both hands.
“Thrum—!!!”
The massive sound of the bowstring releasing exploded like a thunderclap.
The black iron spear, as thick as a baby’s arm, tore through the air.
The hollow valyrian steel core cable inside the spear shaft whipped out at high speed, tracing a straight trajectory of death through the air, aimed directly at Salt Wind’s newly unfurled right wing.
Aeron saw the black shadow.
Time became incredibly slow at that moment.
He could see the iron spear spinning as it flew, could see the three barbs gleaming coldly in the morning light, and could even see the afterimage of the trailing cable.
The target was too large, the speed too fast; Salt Wind could not possibly dodge it completely—
No.
Before this thought could even form, his body had already moved.
Almost instinctively, Aeron pulled with all his might on the canvas strip tied to his left hand—the lead rope connected to the bone spur on the left side of Salt Wind’s neck.
“To the left!”