Thoros felt his soul being scorched by black flames. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. He felt certain his physical body was trembling uncontrollably.
Then the scene before his eyes changed again.
The mountains crumbled behind the wolf pack, the snow melted in an instant, and the riverbeds dried up and cracked.
The black flames they had kindled blazed in every direction. More and more black wolves surged out of the fire from all sides. These were no warm hearth flames, but greedy, destructive infernos.
The great fire devoured the verdant Riverlands, burning Riverrun to ash. It spread without pause, sweeping over the sturdy walls of Storm's End and across the thousand-foot cliffs of the Eyrie.
It swallowed Oldtown's towering spires, turning the Citadel's countless scrolls to drifting ash.
The flames leaped over the walls of King's Landing. The Red Keep wailed in the inferno, and the Iron Throne melted in the heat, twisting into an ugly heap of scrap metal.
Countless crowns representing the power of the Seven Kingdoms, the ancient family crests, seals of office, noble charters, knights' swords and shields—all were consumed in the raging fire.
In the forests, the weirwoods carved with faces wept bloody sap, then became charred husks in the flames. The septs of the Seven collapsed,
and the seven statues were burned beyond recognition.
Thoros trembled all over. What kind of fire could burn everything in the world?
The scene shifted, and Thoros's soul was suddenly dragged into a magnificent palace hall.
It was more splendid than the throne room of the Red Keep. Hundreds of red candles illuminated every corner.
The hall was bustling with noise. Lavishly dressed nobles chatted and laughed as they attended a grand feast. He saw the royal stag banner, the Direwolf banner of the