The lead bullet melted into a ball of liquid metal in the light, then cooled quickly and turned into a small dark gray ball. It fell on the stone steps with a clang, bounced twice, and rolled to the feet of Redd.
Everything happens in less than a heartbeat.
Redd looked down at the still smoking lead bullet at his feet, then raised his head and looked at the black-robed leader.
The leader in black robe was holding the still smoking gun, his finger was frozen on the trigger, and his whole figure seemed to be petrified.
He saw the tiny golden light.
I saw the moment when the lead bullet melted in the light.
I saw the trajectory of the liquid metal falling from the sky.
He saw it all, but his brain couldn't process it. Because it didn't make sense.
This does not conform to physics, does not conform to logic, and does not conform to all his understanding of the world.
Dragon's Breath can burn down a city. Dragon's Breath can melt steel.
Dragon Breath can reduce a battleship to ashes from a few hundred steps away.
But dragon's breath - how can dragon's breath accurately hit a lead bullet less than the size of a fingernail within one foot without hurting the person standing behind the lead bullet?
Unless the dragon had been watching him from the beginning.
Unless the dragon had predicted his move before he pulled the trigger.
Unless there is a tacit understanding between the dragon and its owner that goes beyond words and gestures and is almost telepathic.
The black-robed leader's gun slipped from his hand and fell on the stone steps, making a dull crashing sound.
The sound of metal and stone colliding echoed in the empty foyer, like the palace's last sigh.
Redd bent down, picked up the lead bullet that was still slightly hot, put it in the palm of his hand and looked at it.
The surface of the silver projectile still has traces of re-solidification after melting, like a miniature, crumpled planet.
"Citadel." He said the word again, this time in a very soft voice, so soft that only he and the black-robed leader could hear it.
Then he raised his head and looked into the eyes of the black-robed leader.
The light in those eyes is going out.
It is not the kind of extinguishment of death, but something deeper and more essential - hope.
The hope that there was at least a chance, that I could at least give it a try, that I could at least pull the trigger, was completely extinguished at this moment.
"You are not the one who can kill me." Redd repeated what he had just said, and then put the lead bullet into his cuff.
He turned around and walked down the steps. The cloak fluttered behind him, and then fell down quietly.
"Dawg ras."
"I'm here!" Dawg Las's legs were still shaking, but his voice was steady.
"Tie this man up. Don't let him die." Redd walked out the door without looking back, "I want to know everything about Citadel.
Guns, artillery, men in black robes - I want everything in his head."
"Yes!"
Dawg Russ waved his hand, and four soldiers rushed forward and pushed the black-robed leader to the ground.
He didn't resist or even struggle.
He was pressed on the cold stone steps like that, his cheek pressed against the gravel and dust, his eyes empty as he stared at Redd's leaving figure.
The back figure paused for a moment in the light at the door.
Redd looked back at the corpses at the top of the stairs - the corpses of the men in black robes and the corpses of the governor's men.
His eyes finally fell on the black-robed leader who was pushed to the ground.
"You just said 'for Seven Kingdoms'."
The black-robed leader's pupils shrank slightly.
Redd raised the corners of his mouth slightly, revealing a biting smile.
Seven Kingdoms doesn't need you to rescue her." He said, "What Seven Kingdoms needs is a new owner."
Then he turned around and walked into the sunshine.
King Ghidorah was waiting for him in the square. The three heads of the giant beast were raised at the same time, emitting a low, chest-shaking roar.
Redd jumped onto the dragon's back, its cloak fluttering like a flag in the sun.
"Let's go." He patted King Ghidorah's neck, "There is still a dragon we haven't found."
King Ghidorah's wings spread out, covering the sky and the sun. The huge body soared from the square and flew towards the port.
On the ground, Dawg Russ looked at the figure that was gradually going away, took a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled.
He lowered his head and glanced at the black-robed leader who was pinned to the ground. The old man had no expression on his face, as if he was dead.
But Dawg Lars knew he was alive. Not only alive, but there was much left unsaid.
"Take it away." He said, "Find a quiet place and ask slowly."
The soldiers dragged the black-robed leader from the ground and escorted him through the ruins, through the foyer, through the still smoking rubble, and towards the sunny world outside the palace.
When the black-robed leader was dragged across the threshold, he looked back at the palace for the last time.
He thought of that autumn morning, the plane trees at Citadel, and the names carved on the stone walls.
He closed his eyes.
The road is over.
At this time, no one noticed when the ground began to rise suddenly.
Everyone's attention was focused on the black-robed leader who was pushed to the ground, on the back of Redd turning away, and on the giant beast outside the door that was folding its wings.
The soldiers were counting the prisoners, the logistics staff were carrying the bodies, and Dawg Russ was wiping the sweat from his forehead, muttering about how to interrogate the tough-talking old man when he returned.
No one looked down at their feet, and no one noticed that the marble tiles laid on the floor of the foyer were arching up at an extremely slow speed, as if something was turning over under the ground.
The crack started at the bottom of the stairs.
A crack as thin as a hair appeared at the root of the third step, extending to both sides along the gap in the mortar, and then branched, like a dead tree that was growing rapidly.
Where the cracks passed, the mortar fell from the cracks in the stone, revealing the dark gaps underneath.
A stream of hot air gushes out from the gap, carrying a strange, sweet smell - like burnt almonds, like melted candles, and an inexplicable chemical smell that makes people instinctively want to retreat.
Dawg Russ's nose twitched.
He smelled the smell, but couldn't connect it to anything specific in his mind.
His attention was still on the black-robed leader who was dragged away, and he was still thinking about the word "Wildfire" - where had he heard of this smell, and when?
When listening to the old sailor bragging in the tavern? Or in some legend about the Targaryen Dynasty?
Before he had time to think about it, the ground exploded.
Not from the bottom of the stairs. From the entire underground of the palace, from all directions, from every corner.