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The ship sailed through the sea, its wooden frame creaking as the wind pushed it forward. Stannon stood near the captain, gripping the edge of a rough wooden table where a map of the Crownlands and the nearby waters was spread out.
Ragnok, Hilda and Colen stood close, while the other loyalists kept watch, making sure no threats appeared. Stannon's eyes moved across the map, looking at the places they could sail to—Dragonstone, Whispers, Claw Isle, Sharp Point, and Stonedance. Any of them could be a good hiding place, but every time he thought about going to one, a instinctive jolt of danger would crept up his spine, warning him to not to go there.
It was his Lightning Reflexes ability.
Every time he seriously considered one of those locations, his instincts screamed danger. It felt as if a certain death was waiting for him at every one of them.
"These bastards must have set their traps everywhere," Stannon muttered under his breath.
The ship's captain, Ser Davos Waters, was an experienced sailor loyal to House Velaryon. He had streaks of gray in his beard and sharp eyes that had seen many battles. He looked at Stannon closely. "We can't stay in open water for long, my Prince. If we're spotted, the Lannisters will send their fastest ships after us."
"I know," Stannon said with a sigh. He looked at the map again, this time stopping at Pentos, a Free City far across the sea. It seemed like a safe place. He had men there who could help him. He could regroup, make plans, and prepare for what came next.
But the moment he thought about going there, his gut twisted. The warning from Lightning Reflexes was even stronger than before.
"Pentos is a trap," he muttered suddenly.
Ragnok frowned. "How do you know?"
"I just do," Stannon said, shaking his head not wanting to explain more.
His mind raced. Every logical choice had been cut off. He needed a place the Lannisters wouldn't expect. Somewhere hidden, difficult to reach.
His eyes landed on Crackclaw Point.
It was a rough land filled with thick forests, hills, and scattered noble houses. The people there were independent and proud, and the terrain was difficult for outsiders. It was the perfect place to hide.
He focused on the idea for a few moments. No warning. No surge of fear from his instincts.
That was all he needed.
"We're heading to Crackclaw Point," Stannon said firmly, tapping the location on the map.
Davos raised an eyebrow. "Crackclaw Point?" He glanced at Ragnok and Hilda. "It's mostly wilderness. No real ports to dock."
"Exactly," Stannon said. "They won't expect us to go there."
Davos rubbed his chin. "We might find shelter with one of the noble families there—House Crabb, Hardy, or Brune. But if they see us as a threat..."
"We're not going to any of the noble houses," Stannon interrupted. "Too risky. If any of them are already loyal to the Lannisters, we'll be walking into another trap. We'll first head into the forests instead—find shelter deep inland where no one will think to look for us."
Davos exhaled through his nose, considering the plan. "You're asking for rough living, my Prince. The forests there are thick, full of caves, old ruins, and not much else."
"Good," Stannon said. "It's the last place anyone will expect us to hide."
As the orders were given, the crew moved about the deck, adjusting the ship's course. The sea breeze carried hushed whispers as some sailors exchanged uneasy glances. They were warriors and seafarers, not woodsmen. But none dared voice their concerns—except one.
Hilda who too had her doubts hesitated before stepping forward. "If you don't mind me asking Stormblade....why Crackclaw Point? Wouldn't Pentos be safer?"
Stannon's wondered how he should explain it to her and after a moment he spoke. "It's an instinctive decision and it hasn't failed me yet."
"Pentos is a death trap, my instinct warned me" Stannon continued. "If we go there, we might as well sail straight into the Lannisters' hands. I don't make decisions without thinking them through, Hilda."
Hilda quickly replied," I wasn't doubting you, Stormblade. We have chosen to follow you and we trust you the most. I was just curious."
Stannon patted her shoulder and walked away to the edge of the ship, his mind filled with thoughts of his people—Arvid, Varek, Tyr, Birna, and Yrsa—whom he had left behind and the fate that awaited them.
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Meanwhile a few minutes ago,
A loud caw broke the calm of the cove as a raven swooped down, its black wings cutting through the salty air. It landed on the railing of the Storm's Wrath, scanning the deck as if searching for someone.
Arvid spotted the bird immediately—Ghostwing. A message from Stormblade.
He stepped forward, steady hands untying the parchment from the raven's leg. As he unrolled it, a heavy feeling settled in his stomach. The others—Varek, Tyr, Birna, and Yrsa—gathered around, sensing something was wrong. Arvid read the message quickly, his grip tightening with every word.
Stannon's warning was clear. The Lannisters were waiting. The waters were blocked. The only way out was to create a distraction—fire, chaos, and deception. They had to make the enemy believe they were escaping from another route, even if it meant risking their own lives.
Arvid took a deep breath and turned to the rest. He didn't lie to them. He told them everything.
A heavy silence followed. The truth hit them like a wave—there was no safe way out, no easy escape. They had been cornered, and the only way to survive was to fight their way out.
Birna's expression turned cold, her sharp eyes looking toward the docks where seven Velaryon guards stood watching. They had believed the Velaryons were on their side, but now, every face felt like a threat. Yrsa's knuckles turned white as she gripped her bow tightly, her body trembling with anger.
She hated these nobles to bone except for Stannon and now that the Velaryons had betrayed them, the hate in her towards them intensified even more.
Tyr just looked at the sky, but his face remained expressionless. After a few seconds his eyes became firm and he stopped looking up.There was no time for doubt. No second chances. They had been betrayed, and if they hesitated, they would all die.
Varek let out a slow breath, an ugly smile appearing on his face. It wasn't amusement—just acceptance. He had seen enough battles to know that waiting meant death. If they had to burn Driftmark's docks to let Stannon escape, so be it. He had trust in his leader and he wouldn't doubt that Stannon would take care of his family even after his death and thinking that was one way of him reassuring himself.
As for Arvid, he was ready as ever as if this was an usual thing he would go through each day.
He quietly signaled the Wildlings, giving them a look that said everything without speaking. They understood right away. Moving naturally, they spread through the crew, quietly passing on the plan. Each sailor listened without showing any reaction, keeping their faces calm as they continued working. There were no sudden moves or nervous glances—just quiet preparation. The Velaryon guards didn't notice anything, still watching the docks, unaware of the danger building around them.
In no time the crew sprang into action, no longer pretending to be calm. Weapons were checked, ropes tightened and everything required was readied.
Arvid crushed the parchment in his fist and looked up at the sky one last time.
Then, with a single and silent command, the storm began.
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