The Ruins of Valyria, Rivals Rising, the Blame Is Mine, a Millennium of Change

The sea was black, its waves dark as ink.

A fierce wind whipped up towering waves that battered the Silence.

The ship rose and fell like a vast ghost upon the sea, yet made no sound.

No work songs, no sailors shouting. It was as though the ship did not exist.

On deck, a crew of tongueless mutes worked in silence.

Their eyes were empty, their movements mechanical, like walking corpses.

Euron Greyjoy stood at the bow.

A patch covered his left eye. His exposed right eye was blue, gleaming with a smile that made the heart shudder.

It was full of malice.

A mute first mate came forward and offered him a cup of wine, thick as blood.

Euron Greyjoy took the cup and drained it.

"Listen."

His voice was low.

"He's calling."

The first mate had no tongue, but Euron Greyjoy seemed to understand the question in his eyes.

Where are we going, Captain?

Euron Greyjoy turned his back on Pyke.

He turned his back on the war that would decide the fate of the Iron Islands.

His gaze went east, far beyond the horizon.

To those accursed waters.

"To Valyria."

"I'm going to find true power."

"Power enough to make the gods tremble."

Euron Greyjoy gave a signal.

Full sail.

The great black sail billowed in the wind, bearing a black iron crown held aloft by two crows.

The Silence carved a wide arc through the waves.

Pyke.

The castle perched atop sheer cliffs, shrouded in gloom.

Waves struck the cliffs with a thunderous roar.

In the castle hall, flames flickered in the braziers.

Their light fell across Balon Greyjoy's gaunt, brooding face.

He sat on the Seastone Chair, his fingers digging into the armrests.

"Still nothing?"

"Where's the fleet I told Euron to bring back?"

"Where