The Ironborn stared at the dried-out corpse on the ground, a crow-shaped hole burned through its chest. Fear drowned every trace of greed and savagery in their hearts.
Euron Crow's Eye.
The madman they had forgotten for years had announced his return in the most direct, most terrifying way possible.
Theon Greyjoy stood among the crowd, his body trembling uncontrollably.
Euron rested the sinister horn on his shoulder. He surveyed the captains and leaders on the hill, all of them terrified out of their wits, and the mad smile on his face grew brighter.
"The old gods are dead, and the Drowned God has rotted."
"I shall be your new god."
"I shall lead you in planting the banners of the Ironborn across the world!"
No one dared object.
Asha's face was pale, and the hand gripping her battleaxe trembled slightly.
For the first time, awe appeared on Victarion's face, which had always been a picture of fierce courage.
Euron's gaze swept over the crowd like a hawk's.
At last, it settled on Theon.
His nephew in name, the "weakling" raised in the North.
Euron smiled.
He began walking slowly toward Theon.
The crowd parted for him of its own accord.
Every Ironborn he passed instinctively lowered their head, afraid to meet his eye.
Theon felt as though his heart would leap out of his throat.
Euron stopped before him.
"My dear nephew."
Euron reached out and brought his black-gloved hand down heavily on Theon's shoulder.
The force made Theon sway.
"I'm sorry about your father's death."
There was no regret in Euron's voice, only a hint of amusement.
"He was a great Ironborn. A pity... his vision never reached beyond these few barren rocks."
Theon gritted his teeth and said nothing.
"I hear you grew up in Winterfell."
Euron