Brave Baelor

Half a month after the Battles of the Stepstones.

Axe Island, Sothoryos.

The desolate island was covered in primeval forests and jagged rocks, with flocks of birds and beasts darting out from time to time.

Clang! Clang!

At the foot of a rocky mountain near the coast, a group of ragged young men swung pickaxes, then hauled the rubble away in carts.

"Move it! No slacking off!"

A taskmaster dressed like a sellsword held a long whip and urged every slave to work harder.

Anyone who made the slightest mistake was immediately lashed.

Beside the mine where the stone was being dug out,

two silver-haired men worked side by side. One chipped at the rock while the other gathered the pieces.

"Brother, I'm hungry."

The somewhat thinner young man panted and tossed a pile of rocks into the cart.

His once fair face was now dark and gaunt.

"Bear with it. We won't eat until noon."

The other man swung his pickaxe hard, chipped off a large stone, picked it up and put it on the cart, then fished a sweat-soaked piece of black bread from his collar.

The bread was only half the size of his palm. Rye flour mixed with husks and bran made it as hard as Valyrian steel.

He casually shoved it into his younger brother's hand, then turned back to work.

"Brother, you saved me some again."

The silver-haired young man looked ashamed as he gnawed at the black bread, unable to swallow it.

He really couldn't swallow it; he could barely even bite through it.

"Eat quickly, before someone takes it."

Gilan lowered his eyelids and glanced around at the slaves eyeing them hungrily.

They were all slaves, and all of them were starving—if they weren't starving to death, they were starving themselves to