The Sorcerer’s War

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The War Council – King's Landing

The great war table of King's Landing was bathed in flickering candlelight, shadows stretching long against the stone walls of the council chamber. The room was filled with tension as Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister, Sansa Stark, Varys, Ser Davos, and Grey Worm gathered around the maps of Westeros. Reports, letters, and messages from spies littered the table, each one carrying grim tidings.

Ser Davos cleared his throat. "The enemy is moving. They've crossed into the Stormlands. From what our scouts report, they number at least fifty thousand, possibly more."

Tyrion leaned over the table, studying the map. "Fifty thousand? That's… unpleasant." His fingers drummed against the wood. "And those are only the ones we can count."

Jon exhaled sharply. "What do we know of their movements?"

Varys, his fingers laced together, spoke with his usual measured tone. "Too slow. Deliberate. They are not rushing toward us—they are waiting. It is as if they want us to prepare."

Daenerys's violet eyes narrowed. "They're baiting us. They want us to strike first."

Sansa, her expression unreadable, studied the letter from the enemy. "Or they are stalling, buying time for something we don't yet understand."

Tyrion scoffed. "Well, if they're trying to stall, they're not doing a bad job. We don't have the luxury of waiting."

Jon shook his head. "We can't attack blindly. Not without knowing what we're up against."

Daenerys turned to Tyrion. "How many soldiers do we have?"

Tyrion sighed, rubbing his temples. "Between the Unsullied, Northmen, and Riverlands, we can field around thirty-five thousand men. The Vale has sent some support, but their knights hesitate to fully commit. The Reach is recovering from years of war, and Dorne remains... uncooperative."

Jon clenched his jaw. "Cowards."

Sansa shot him a look. "Pragmatists. They fight battles they think they can win."

Daenerys turned to Missandei. "What of the Ironborn?"

Missandei shook her head. "Yara holds the Narrow Sea, but her fleet is small. She cannot risk a full-scale naval attack."

Tyrion exhaled. "Then we need an advantage. Something they won't expect."

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The Secret Mission – Arya's Task

While the war council debated, Arya Stark was already in motion.

Under the cover of night, she rode southwest, far from King's Landing. The Reach was quiet, but she knew danger lurked beyond the rolling green hills.

Her destination lay in the ruins of an old Valyrian outpost, a forgotten place where few dared to tread. And waiting for her there was a man she hadn't seen in years.

As she approached, she found a single hooded figure, leaning casually against a weathered stone pillar. The moment he turned, she recognized the Faceless Man beneath the hood.

"You're late," Jaqen H'ghar said, his voice as smooth as ever.

Arya dismounted, stepping forward with quiet confidence. "And you're exactly where I expected you to be."

Jaqen smiled. "A girl seeks something again. A girl cannot stay away from death for long."

Arya's expression darkened. "I'm not here for death. I need information."

Jaqen tilted his head. "And what does a girl wish to know?"

She crossed her arms. "The enemy we face… they are not like the armies of old. They are something else. Something darker."

Jaqen studied her. "And you believe I can help?"

Arya's voice was firm. "I know you can."

Jaqen was silent for a moment, then he smiled. "Then a price must be paid."

Arya's gaze didn't waver. "Name it."

Jaqen chuckled softly. "A girl is impatient." He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"If a girl wishes to learn of death's secrets… then a girl must walk among the dead."

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A War Not Yet Fought – The Shadow's Warning

Deep within the ruins of Valyria, beneath crumbling towers and blackened temples, the Shadow Wyrm stirred.

Its ancient body, armored in obsidian scales, slithered through the darkness. Its eyes, like burning embers, fixed upon the great obsidian throne before it.

The air around it pulsed with an unseen energy. A whisper drifted through the chamber.

"They prepare."

A robed figure knelt before the great beast. "They do not yet understand what they fight against."

The Wyrm's laughter was a low, guttural growl.

"No. But they will."

The figure bowed lower. "What is your command?"

The Wyrm's voice slithered through the darkness, filling the chamber with an eerie resonance.

"Let them believe they have a chance. Let them gather their armies. And when the time is right…"

The shadows trembled as the Wyrm's voice turned into a hiss.

"We will burn their hope to ashes."

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The Calm Before the Storm

As night fell over King's Landing, Jon Snow stood alone on the battlements of the Red Keep, his hands gripping the cold stone. Below, the city stretched endlessly, its streets alive with flickering lanterns and hushed whispers of war.

He felt her presence before she spoke.

"You're thinking too much," Daenerys said softly as she stepped beside him.

Jon didn't turn. "I don't see how we win this war."

Daenerys studied him, her silver hair illuminated by the moonlight. "We've faced impossible odds before. We're still standing."

Jon shook his head. "This is different. The Shadow Wyrm… it's not just a beast. It's something else. Something ancient. Something powerful."

Daenerys was silent for a long moment. Then, she reached out and took his hand.

"Then we fight not just for victory," she said. "We fight for survival."

Jon turned to look at her, the weight of the world in his eyes.

"Aye," he whispered. "For survival."

As the cold wind swept through King's Landing, the two stood side by side, knowing that the war was no longer just coming—it had already begun.

And somewhere in the darkness, the enemy watched, waiting to strike.