Once Theon had thought it all through, a shudder of grief and understanding swept through his entire body. He suddenly sprang to his feet, but the numbness from before left him unsteady.
He did not look at the gaping breach again. Instead, he turned aside and stumbled over the rubble and ash toward one edge of the opening.
A sturdy wall should have stood there, on the seaward side of Pyke, towering and imposing, guarding the pride of House Greyjoy.
But King Ghidorah's devastating strike had reduced it to dust as well, leaving only a sheer drop, the exposed rocks along its edge gleaming coldly.
He lowered his head. Below lay the familiar yet unfamiliar sight of the Iron Islands. Furious waves surged, and black seawater battered the jagged bedrock of Pyke, throwing up pale sprays of foam with thunderous roars.
Then he raised his head and looked back at the sky above Pyke. Two figures, smaller than the terrifying three-headed beast from before but still enormous, still embodying absolute power, continued their rampage.
They circled overhead, spewing searing dragonfire that set the surviving towers and houses ablaze. The flames reflected in Theon's eyes, yet stirred nothing in him anymore.
Their shadows swept across the earth, carrying the breath of death and destruction.
Yet Theon could no longer summon even a trace of resistance or hatred toward them. He truly could not imagine any way to fight such beings.
All that remained within him was a cold exhaustion, as though all his former resolve and struggles had vanished with the fall of Pyke.
Standing at the cliff's edge, he turned toward the sea and mustered the last of his courage. In a hoarse whisper, he said, "Drowned God, your cold waters once granted me rebirth. I have received your baptism."