The waves lapped softly against the shores of Essos, a cruel and bittersweet contrast to the sinister sound of ice and wind theyād grown used to. The sea murmured its indifference, as if mocking their misery.
Daario Naharis was waiting at the port. There were no embraces, no smiles, no words of comfortājust a resigned, bitter look that sealed a shared defeat. He didnāt ask anything. They didnāt answer.
āCome,ā he said, his voice hollow, without warmth. āIāll give you shelterā¦ for now.ā
He led them through what was left of the city. The streets were deserted, facades crumbling, lamps unlit. Everything smelled of dust and abandonment. Each step echoed like a ghost in a world that no longer made sense.
Sansa walked with her head bowed, holding the child tightly to her chest. Tyrion, Davos, and Sam flanked her, empty-faced, aware of nothing but the weight of their failure.
They were housed in a wide, cold hall, where old oil lamps cast long, misshapen shadows on the walls. No one spoke. Words meant nothing now. Silence weighed more than any scream, more than any tear.
Samwell sat apart and opened an ancient book heād brought with him, trying to find some sliver of hope among the words of men dead for centuries. But even the letters seemed to stare back with contempt: a tangle of hollow symbols, as useless as the promises of the gods.
In the hall, the last candle flickered before surrendering to darkness. The light went out. And with it, the final flame in their souls.
Shadows cloaked the room. No one spoke. No one dared imagine a tomorrow that no longer belonged to them.
And in that silenceādeep as an open graveāthe final truth was etched: there were no heroes, no songs, no lessons learned; only ash, cold, and a void that devoured all meaning. Every sacrifice had been consumed, useless, irreparable. Even memory would be swallowed by the night.
And in the silence, not even the wind dared to move.
But though none of them knew it, though despair wrapped everything like a shroud, something still remained. Small, fragile, asleep in Sansaās arms: the last legacy of Jon and Daenerys.
A son of ice and fire.