Winter's massive body tore through the clouds, surging into the sky with unstoppable force.
Gale winds howled in Lynn's ears, whipping his black hair into a frenzy.
Winterfell beneath him, along with the endless snow-covered mountains, rapidly shrank until they blurred into a haze of silver and white.
He raised his head, fixing his gaze on the blood-red trail at the edge of the heavens.
The Red Comet.
Like a wound that would never heal, it hung in the twilight sky, radiating an ominous, deadly allure.
All three of Winter's heads rumbled with excitement, and every beat of the dragon's wings left a wake of turbulent air.
The dragon flew with astonishing speed, like a bolt of black lightning cleaving the skies over Westeros.
They flew west, toward the setting sun.
Soon, a rugged coastline appeared at the edge of their vision.
Beyond it lay an endless expanse of deep, violent blue.
The Sunset Sea.
The end of the world as the people of Westeros knew it, a graveyard that had buried countless ambitions and dreams.
The scattered accounts of these waters that Lynn had read in the Citadel's books flashed through his mind.
An ancestor of House Stark, Brandon the Shipbuilder, had once sailed west, never to be heard from again. He and his vast fleet had vanished into these mists.
An ancestor of House Lannister had also boasted of sailing to the end of the world and bringing back untold riches in gold.
But later generations preferred to believe it had merely been a drunken tale.
Then there were the Ironborn, who proclaimed themselves the finest sailors on the seven seas. Generation after generation of men called "Crow's Eye" and "Red Hair" had steered their longships out to conquer this ocean, only to become food for sea monsters.