The wind on the Isle of Faces

The night at Gods Eye is like flowing ink.

The Glutton's dark shadow ripped through the water, creating ripples that disturbed the emerald green surface. Startled, the flock of Black Swan took flight, their wings sweeping across the water with exceptional clarity in the stillness.

Daemon lay on the dragon's back, the brand on his right shoulder still throbbing. The illusion of the Trident he had seen in the Godswood that day was etched into his mind like a brand—a battlefield without dragons, the warhammer of the silver-armored strongman, and the fallen silver-haired, purple-eyed prince.

"Over here," Alys Rivers ' voice came from below.

Daemon looked down and saw a small boat moored in the middle of the lake. A woman in a green dress leaned against the gunwale, the moonlight shining on her unusually voluptuous breasts, as if they were coated with a layer of silver frost.

The outline of Isle of Faces appeared faintly in the distance. The island was covered by a dense forest, with glimmers of light shining through the tree canopy, as if countless eyes were peering into the darkness.

The Glutton landed on the beach at the edge of the island, and the crisp sound of its dragon claws crushing seashells startled a flock of waterbirds.

Daemon walked to the shore, Blackfyre hanging at his waist, its hilt hotter than usual.

Alys Rivers had already disembarked and stepped ashore, her bare feet sinking into the wet sand, the silver chain around her ankle jingling softly with each step. "You're half a day later than I expected."

"I need to make sure Gael and the others won't be worried about being found out." Daemon's gaze swept across the island's forest, the tree silhouettes distorted like ghostly shadows in the night. "Is this the place you were talking about?"

"Isle of Faces." Alys Rivers raised her hand, pointing deep into the forest. "The place where the First Men swore an oath with the Children of the Forest. The future you saw that day was too heavy for me to explain. Everything has a price, so I must bring you to see the true Oathkeeper —the prophet's spokesperson."

As we walked through the dense woods, the air became damp and sticky, filled with the scent of moss and decaying leaves.

The soil beneath my feet was as soft as a sponge, and the occasional crunching sound of stepping on a dry branch would startle nocturnal animals in the trees into letting out short screams.

Daemon noticed that every weirwood tree here was carved with faces—some crying, some laughing, some angry, some sad, their features distorted like a dreamlike illusion, with some kind of glowing moss embedded in the eyes, shimmering with a ghostly green light in the darkness.

"The blood and fire of the Dawn Era are etched on these faces." Alys Rivers ' voice was low, as if afraid of disturbing something. "The First Men burned too many weirwood trees, the Children of the Forest shattered the Arm of Dorne with magic, and the war lasted for centuries until the oath was signed here." She stroked the face of a Heart Tree, her fingertips tracing the twisted corners of its mouth. "Every face is a witness, a witness to peace, and a witness to betrayal."

Daemon stopped in front of the thickest weirwood tree. The tree's face was particularly menacing, with sunken eye sockets, a mouth that stretched to its ears, and glowing moss that made it look like it was shedding green tears.

"What does this have to do with what I saw?" He thought of the blood at the Trident, of the ashes of the Red Grassland. "Can the peace between the First Men and the Children of the Forest explain the future civil war?"

Alys Rivers did not answer, but instead whistled into the depths of the woods. The whistle was sharp and long, like the cry of some kind of bird.

A moment later, the rustling of leaves came from ahead, and a small figure emerged from behind a tree, stopping about ten paces away.

Daemon gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

Is this a Children of the Forest? He is smaller than he imagined, barely reaching his waist, with doe-like spots on his dark brown skin, half-hidden by a cloak woven from leaves.

Her ears were large and pointed, trembling slightly like a startled fox. Most peculiar were her eyes—narrow like a cat's, with pupils that were a blend of gold and green, gleaming with an eerie light as they moved in the darkness.

Her messy hair was tangled up in a ball, entwined with grapevines, twigs, and a few withered wildflowers, displaying the distinctive brownish-red and golden hues of autumn.

"Her name is Leaf," Alys Rivers introduced softly, her tone unusually emotional. "She is the Oathkeeper of this island, the spokesperson for the Greenseer, and... the only Children of the Forest who speaks Common Tongue."

Leaf didn't speak, but looked at Daemon with her cat-like eyes, her gaze sweeping over his silver hair, his purple eyes, and finally settling on the brand on his right shoulder.

Her nose twitched, as if sniffing for some scent, then she suddenly spoke, her voice high-pitched like a child's, yet carrying a quality incongruous with her age. "The Black Dragon the Greenseer spoke of? It carries the bloody scent of that future Red Grassland."

Daemon raised an eyebrow. "You know me?"

"I recognize your blood." Leaf's finger pointed to the weirwood trees etched with faces. "The trees remember everything. Your ancestors rode dragons here, the Greenseer foresaw that your family would sweep across Seven Kingdoms in Dance of the Dragons, that your bloodline would be extinguished by a rain of arrows on the Red Grassland... The trees remember it all."

Alys Rivers interjected at the opportune moment. "The Leaf, those Greenseer, can see the pulse of time. What you saw in the Godswood that day was merely a fragment of the future; perhaps she can tell you more."

"Was what I saw real?" Daemon pressed, his voice tense. "The war at the Trident, a world without dragons, and that silver-haired, purple-eyed prince..."

Leaf shook her head, her golden and green pupils narrowing to slits. "The future isn't a single road, but countless rivers. What you see is just one; it may happen, it may not." She turned and walked deeper into the forest. "Come with me. The Greenseer told me the answer isn't in words, it's in dreams."

Daemon looked at Alys Rivers, the witch shrugged, her ample breasts swaying in the moonlight. "Trust her. The dreams of the Greenseer, the Children of the Forest, are more honest than fire."

They came to a clearing in the woods, in the center of which was a spring, its water a jade-green hue, reflecting the starry sky.

Leaf stood by the spring, plucked a withered branch from her hair, and threw it into the spring water.

The withered branch didn't sink; instead, it swirled on the water's surface, creating ripples. "Lie down," she said to Daemon, "And look at the water."

Daemon hesitated for a moment, then lay down by the spring. The cool earth seeped into his skin through his clothes, reminding him of that desolate grassland.

Alys Rivers walked to his side, her voluptuous figure blocking some of the moonlight. Her hand gently pressed against his forehead, her palm carrying a familiar warmth. "Relax, Black Dragon. This time, it's not a dream I guided."

The ripples in the spring grew larger and larger, and the reflected stars began to distort and rotate, eventually merging into a blurry mass of light.

Daemon's gaze was drawn to the light, his eyelids grew heavy, and the Glutton growls in the distance, the rustling of leaves, Alys's breathing... all the sounds gradually faded away.

In his dream, Daemon stood amidst burning ruins on a grassland. Ashes fell like snowflakes, and the air was thick with the smell of sulfur.

A silver-gold haired girl stood barefoot in the fire, the flames licking at her skirt but not burning her in the slightest.

Her hair was singed and curled by the flames, with a few charred strands sticking to her cheeks, but her purple eyes shone with an astonishing brightness, like two gems tempered in fire.

Daemon wanted to ask her who she was, but found himself unable to make a sound.

The girl slowly opened her arms, and suddenly three young dragons emerged from her bosom and behind her—one as black as asphalt, one bronze with emerald green, and one milky white with gold.

The young dragons let out sharp cries and spewed out tiny Dragonfire, burning the surrounding ashes to ashes.

The image suddenly shattered, like a mirror that had been struck by a stone.

Then Daemon stood in a vast expanse of ice and snow, the biting cold instantly enveloping him. The ice beneath his feet was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting his face, which was purple from the cold.

The distant glaciers pierced the sky like the fangs of a giant beast, and the cold wind whipped up snowflakes that stung my face like knives.

He saw a strange "man" standing on the ice mound, his skin as pale as moonlight, his eyes a pure blue, like two frozen stars.

The creature's skin was as cold as ice, and it wore the fur of some unknown creature. In its hand, it held a long spear made of ice crystals. It walked toward a simple altar, on which lay a crying infant.

The eerie creature bent down and gently touched the baby's cheek with its icy fingers.

The baby's crying stopped abruptly. His eyes slowly opened, turning a deep blue like the eerie creature's, and his skin became as pale as paper.

The eerie creature straightened up, suddenly turned its head, and its blue eyes precisely locked onto Daemon's location.

Daemon felt his blood freeze. It wasn't a human gaze; there was no anger, no curiosity, only an unchanging, ancient coldness, as if looking at an insignificant insect.

"You've come..." A whisper echoed across the icy plains, indistinguishable from the voice of White Walkers or the sound of the wind.

Daemon sat up abruptly, his chest heaving violently, his underwear soaked with cold sweat.

Alys Rivers was in his arms behind him, her full breasts pressed against his back, her warm breath brushing against his neck. "What did you see?" she asked urgently, the hem of her green dress damp with the scent of spring water.

Leaf stood by the spring, her cat-like eyes gleaming with a golden-green light that seemed to burn brightly. "You saw him?"

"What was that?" Daemon's voice was hoarse, his whole body still trembling with fear. "That creature from the ice field, his gaze..."

"The White Walkers." Leaf's voice was unusually solemn, its high-pitched childish tone carrying an unprecedented seriousness, "The dead from the Lands of Always Winter."

"The legendary White Walkers?" Alys Rivers was also taken aback, her ample bosom heaving slightly. "Legends are just First Men myths, stories used to frighten children."

"It's not a story." Leaf shook her head, pointing north as if she could pierce through a thousand forests to see the frozen wasteland. "They were the losers of the Battle for the Dawn, driven back to the Lands of Always Winter. But they never disappeared; they were just waiting." She looked at Daemon, her golden-green pupils contracting. "What you saw were White Walkers two hundred years in the future."

Daemon's heart sank. "Two hundred years later?"

"But he came ahead of schedule." Leaf's gaze fell on the brand on his right shoulder. "Because of your arrival, Black Dragon. Your rebirth is like a stone thrown into the river of time; the ripples it created not only changed your future but also awakened him from his slumber."

"When will he begin to recover?" Daemon pressed, recalling the infant touched by the White Walkers, and those deep blue eyes.

"A decade or two? A few decades? Or a century or two?" Leaf's voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable power. "His awakening requires a process, it requires cold, it requires sacrifice. But one thing is certain—" She paused, her gaze sweeping over Daemon, then looking towards the distant sky, as if searching for the dragon's shadow, "Once the dragons of this world become extinct, no one will be able to stop him from reviving ahead of schedule and crossing the the Wall."

Daemon fell silent.

The shadow of the Dance of the Dragons had not yet dissipated when an even larger and more distant threat loomed ahead.

He originally only wanted to stop the civil war and preserve his family's bloodline, but now it seems that what he needs to protect may be the future of the entire Westeros.

Alys Rivers gently took his hand in hers; her palm was warm and soft. "Now you understand, don't you? What a scene I saw of you in the fire?"

The Leaf have disappeared back into the woods, leaving only a whisper drifting on the wind, "The prophet said that the dragon's fire might melt ice, but only if the fire doesn't go out on the battlefield of self-destruction..."

Daemon looked up at the night sky, where the outline of Isle of Faces was reflected on the surface of Gods Eye, like a Leaf floating in ink. Tonight, he not only did not get the answer he wanted, but he also foresaw an even more terrible crisis.

The Glutton dragon's roar echoed from the shore, carrying with it an uneasy restlessness.

He knew that from this night onward, the burden on his shoulders had become even heavier—not only had he to stop the Dance of the Dragons and preserve the dragon's bloodline, but he also had to be wary of the threat from the ice plains that might prematurely awaken two hundred years in the future.

Alys Rivers nestled beside him, her full figure bringing a touch of warmth. "Go back, Daemon Harrenhal is waiting for you."

Daemon stood up, his Blackfyre gleaming coldly in the moonlight. He took one last look at the spring; its surface had returned to calm, reflecting the starry sky as if those eerie illusions had never existed.

But he knew those images were real.

The White Walkers ' icy gaze, the girl in the fire's purple eyes, the blood of the Trident... all the fragments point to an even more turbulent future.

He needs to quicken his pace.

As the Glutton carried him and Alys Rivers into the air, Daemon looked back. The forest of Isle of Faces was silent and enigmatic in the night, with countless weirwood faces shimmering among the trees, as if silently proclaiming the oath of the Dawn Era, or foretelling the coming Storm.

The waters of Gods Eye flowed gently beneath his feet, emerald green and warm, yet seemingly concealing countless cold secrets. Daemon gripped the Blackfyre tightly, a resolute glint flashing in his purple eyes.

No matter how many threats there are in the future, he will face them one by one.

Because he is Daemon Blackfyre, the Black Dragon who returned from the Red Grassland.

His flame will not be extinguished easily.