Even so, the Golden Ray struck the top of the Sea Dragon Tower with unerring precision. A dazzling light erupted on contact. It was not a warm light, but a white-hot golden radiance laden with destructive energy.
A visible shock wave of energy spilled outward, spreading wildly in every direction. Wherever it passed, the banners of House Greyjoy turned to ash in an instant.
Balon Greyjoy, the king who had ruled the Iron Islands with iron and blood, vanished utterly into that pure golden light, along with the Sea Dragon Tower beneath his feet, the symbol of House Greyjoy's power and history. Not a trace remained.
All that remained was a vast, blackened crater several feet deep, surrounded by clouds of dust thrown up by the shock wave that lingered in the air.
It was as though nothing but rock had ever existed there.
Theon Greyjoy stood on the cold, slippery wharf outside Pyke's rear gate, tightly gripping a longsword that was hardly finely crafted, but sharp enough.
Though he was doing his best to grow accustomed to life on the Iron Islands, the weapon he knew best was still a knight's longsword, something few of the Ironborn used.
After all, in the cramped confines of a ship, short swords and short axes were the weapons best suited to their fighting.
Theon stood there and watched helplessly as the nearby Sea Dragon Tower, the symbol of his family's authority, was swallowed by golden light and disappeared before his eyes.
Farther away, within the castle, streams of crimson and orange-yellow dragonfire continued to rain down. Each impact brought a thunderous roar, flashes of flame, and the faint, agonized cries of Ironborn begging for help.
The dragonfire was rapidly turning Pyke into a burning hell.
Someone was tugging hard at the sleeve