War-ever since he had come to the Wall, he had known it was nothing like what he had once imagined. There was no glory here, only survival and death; no knightly grace, only mud, ice, snow, and a long, endless watch.
Dennis gave an involuntary, bitter smile and rubbed his aching eyes. On his deeply lined face, that smile looked bitter and fleeting.
He turned and looked down at the scattered fires in the Shadow Tower's courtyard. A few men of the Night's Watch huddled around them for warmth, their figures wavering in the firelight. Compared with the distant Wildling camp, they seemed small and alone.
Just then, a commotion broke out among the men guarding the lift. Someone shouted, amid the clatter of metal, and then hurried footsteps came running toward him.
Dennis immediately straightened his back, set his hand on his sword hilt, and turned a sharp gaze toward the sound.
"Lord Dennis." A man of the Night's Watch ran up beside him, breathless and pale, even his lips drained of color, as though he had just witnessed something terrible.
He spoke urgently, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "The sky, my lord. Look at the sky!"
At those words, Dennis knitted his brows and immediately turned to look in the direction the man was pointing.
Then his entire body went rigid, as though some unseen chill had frozen him solid.
On the southern horizon, the clouds, once dark and heavy, now seemed to have been torn open by some immense force, leaving a savage gash. First came a dazzling shaft of golden light, then a shadow of unimaginable size burst through the clouds.
That shadow had three fearsome heads, each covered in dark golden scales, with flames like molten gold burning in their eyes.
Her wingspan was breathtakingly vast.