The snap of fingers was soft.
On a battlefield filled with clashing steel and dying screams, it was as faint as a snowflake landing on ice, almost inaudible.
Yet Victarion Greyjoy heard it.
Or rather, he felt it.
A chill, more biting than the frozen sea beneath his feet, shot up his spine.
His mind, consumed by bloodlust and fury, went blank for an instant.
He kept his battleaxe pointed at the cliff.
The smile on the face of the man above seemed to swell before his eyes.
Mockery. Contempt.
Then he watched the man withdraw his hand and slip it idly back into his pocket, as though afraid of cold fingers, as though he had done something utterly trivial.
The fury in Victarion's heart flared again.
He wanted to roar, to charge over and cleave that posturing northern bastard in two.
But he could not make a sound.
For at that moment, a strange color shrouded the entire world.
Blood red.
At some point, the sky had turned an unsettling dark red.
High above, a tiny red dot plummeted straight toward the frozen battlefield.
At first, no one noticed it.
Everyone was focused on the fighting before them.
But soon, some of the soldiers locked in combat stopped almost simultaneously and raised their heads.
"That... what is that?"
The red dot rapidly grew in their eyes, trailing a long, burning tail.
It was no longer a dot.
It had become a fireball.
A fireball... that kept growing larger.
Even the air seemed to grow scorching hot.
A shriek that tore through the air descended from above, drowning out every sound on the battlefield.
Victarion finally moved.
He stiffly raised his head.
He saw it.
A small sun was hurtling straight down at his head.
Golden flames burned within that