The Sorcerer’s War

The Fall of Volantis

The city burned.

The great Temple of R'hllor, once the largest in the world, collapsed in a wave of black fire. Its towering spires crumbled as molten rock spewed from the earth, turning the streets into rivers of liquid flame.

Screams filled the air as the citizens of Volantis ran for their lives, but there was nowhere to go.

Above the city, the sky itself was on fire.

At the center of the destruction, in the ruins of the temple, it stood.

The Shadow Wyrm.

It was not a dragon, though its form was vast and terrible. It was a thing of living darkness, its body shifting like smoke, its eyes like two burning stars. It had no wings, yet it moved through the air as if the world itself bent to its will.

It opened its maw, and the fire priests who had gathered to confront it simply vanished.

Their bodies were not burned.

They were devoured.

Their power, their very essence, was stripped from them, fed into the beast.

The Red Priests, those who had once wielded the magic of fire, were nothing but hollow husks before they even had time to scream.

On the outskirts of the city, a lone rider watched in horror.

Varys, the Spider.

He had returned to Volantis to seek answers. He had come to learn the secrets of fire magic, believing it might help in the coming war.

Now, he watched as everything burned.

His hands trembled as he pulled his cloak tighter around him, stepping backward into the shadows. He had spent a lifetime navigating the dangers of kings and warlords—but this was something else entirely.

Something unstoppable.

He turned and fled.

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Winterfell – The Council's Choice

"The Shadow Wyrm has already begun its destruction," Bran said, his voice calm despite the horror his visions had shown him.

Daenerys, standing at the head of the war council, clenched her fists. "Then we don't have time to waste."

Harry sat beside her, rubbing his temples. "You're talking about flying straight into Valyria. That place is cursed."

Arya smirked. "So are we."

Tormund chuckled, shaking his head. "Madness."

Daenerys turned to Bran. "Can it be killed?"

Bran hesitated. "Not by ordinary means. Not by swords, or dragons, or wildfire."

Sansa frowned. "Then how?"

Bran's voice was distant, as if he were speaking from another time. "The Valyrians tried to control it once. They failed. But before their fall, they crafted something… a weapon."

Harry straightened. "Where is it?"

Bran's eyes flickered with strange light. "Lost. Hidden beneath the ruins of Valyria. Waiting for those who dare to seek it."

Daenerys glanced at Harry. "We leave at dawn."

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Flight to the Doomed City

The journey to Valyria was swift but uneasy.

Drogon carried Daenerys, Harry, and Arya over the open sea, his wings cutting through the mist. Behind them, a second dragon—Rhaegal—carried Grey Worm and a small force of Unsullied.

As they approached the ruins, a sense of wrongness filled the air.

The ocean below was unnaturally still, its surface dark as polished obsidian. The ruins themselves—twisted spires and shattered palaces—rose like the bones of dead gods.

Arya gripped the hilt of her dagger. "I don't like this."

Daenerys guided Drogon lower. "Neither do I."

Harry raised his wand, muttering a detection spell. The air around them shimmered, as if unseen forces were pressing against reality.

"We're not alone," he muttered.

And then—

The whispers began.

Faint at first, then growing louder. Voices from the past.

Daenerys clenched her teeth. She knew these voices.

The Valyrian dragonlords, the ancestors of her house, their souls still bound to this place.

And then—

The ruins moved.

A massive shadow shifted beneath the surface of the water.

A presence, older than time itself, stirred.

And then, from the depths of Valyria, the Shadow Wyrm rose.

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The Battle Begins

The beast erupted from the sea, a storm of darkness and fire. Its form was ever-shifting, its body both smoke and steel, its eyes burning with ancient hunger.

Drogon roared and wheeled back as a blast of black flame shot toward them.

Harry barely managed to throw up a shield, but the impact sent them spinning.

Arya gripped Drogon's scales, cursing. "How the hell do we fight that?"

Grey Worm's forces landed on the ruins below, their spears ready—but as they took position, the shadows themselves attacked.

Creatures, twisted and formless, rose from the ruins, clawing their way toward the Unsullied.

Daenerys gritted her teeth. This was not a battle they could win with steel alone.

"Harry," she called. "Find the weapon."

Harry met her gaze, then nodded.

He turned to Arya. "Let's go."

Without hesitation, Arya leapt from Drogon's back—vanishing into the ruins below.

Harry followed, his wand raised, his heart pounding.

Daenerys turned back to the Shadow Wyrm.

"Come then," she whispered. "Face me."

Drogon roared, his fire lighting the sky, and the battle for Valyria began.