𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 101: 𝕿𝖗𝖚𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍.
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Pyke no longer existed.
The harbor had become an expanse of charred wood and unrecognizable bodies, with sunken ships drifting among waters clogged with corpses, while farther inland the ground was split by cracks and fire. The lightning strikes had created small mounds of glass where they hit the sand, leaving the beaches littered with warped crystal monuments.
Anyone who lifted their gaze expecting to find the towers of Pyke standing atop their ancient stone pillars would find nothing, because where walls and bridges had once stood, there now remained only an uneven mass of melted stone, still glowing red-hot, as though the fortress had been nothing more than candle wax left to melt.
Nothing remained that could still be called a castle, only incandescent stone slowly cooling beneath the open sky.
Only a handful of survivors still lived amidst so much death, not by chance, but because Vlad had allowed it. Enough for the story to spread.
Vlad remained suspended in the air above the ruined island, motionless as he silently observed the devastation, fully aware that all of it had been necessary.
He knew it with certainty, because the ironborn would never have accepted peace, never would have abandoned their old ways, their culture too deeply rooted in violence, slavery, and brutality to adapt to anything more civilized.
And yet he still could not shake the unpleasant feeling settling heavily in his chest.
He felt no compassion for Balon Greyjoy or for the cruelty those islands had nurtured for generations, nor did he doubt that Pyke had needed to fall, but looking upon its ruins meant looking directly at the result of his own actions.
Thousands had died because he had decided it.
And though many deserved it, there had been no distinction between guilty and innocent, or those who had simply been victims of circumstance.
Vlad had killed before, by the thousands in fact, but they had always been enemies, clearly defined groups: slavers, Dothraki, mercenaries. He had killed them, but he had felt every death. It had never been trivial to him. Every life he took, he had considered necessary.
But seeing an entire city reduced to ashes…
It felt like a tragedy.
Vlad exhaled slowly, his body still in perfect condition, though mentally exhausted, because even if he knew he could not regret it, he also could not lie to himself.
It had been necessary, but that did not make him any less monstrous.
The only comfort was that the fall of Pyke guaranteed control over the Iron Islands, because after such a display no house could possibly doubt what it meant to defy the Drakuls.
A few steps behind him, suspended in the air by telekinesis, Asha Greyjoy remained unconscious after witnessing the end of her people and her bloodline, while Vlad fulfilled his promise that she would be the last Greyjoy to die.
Around them, several of his childer began gathering in silence, while Daenerys descended from Balerion after the gigantic beast touched down with almost unnatural calmness after such an overwhelming display of destruction.
She was soaked, exhausted, and visibly shaken, with wet silver hair clinging to her face and clothes ruined by the rain, though Vlad understood exactly how she felt. But just like him, Daenerys needed to understand the weight of unleashing fire and blood upon an entire kingdom.
Daenerys studied her husband's expression in silence, noticing how the furrow in his brow and the stillness in his gaze betrayed his inner conflict.
—Was I considered a just man, wife? —Vlad finally asked without taking his eyes off the horizon.
Daenerys, still processing the weight of what they had done, answered almost instinctively.
—Of course —she replied firmly— I've never seen you treat anyone without proper justice.
Vlad kept staring at the ruins, lost in thought.
—And yet look at what I've done —he answered calmly.
Daenerys gently took his hand.
—What we have done, my love. This burden is as much mine as yours —she corrected firmly, intertwining her fingers with his.
Vlad gave her a smile filled with affection, though she could still clearly see the weight lingering behind it.
—We are at war —he said after a moment, his gaze still fixed on the devastation— It was necessary, but I remain the one responsible for so much death.
It hurt Daenerys to see him like this, carrying that burden alone.
—I, a man everyone considered just, am responsible for all of this —Vlad continued, his face serious— Imagine the atrocities a lesser man could hide within his heart.
He fell silent for a moment, took a deep breath, and finally steadied himself again. He would not allow himself to drown in self-pity.
—At least for them, it is over now —he said bitterly— Now they are safe. Safe from the countless agonies of an unjust fate.
She squeezed his hand tightly, fully aware of everything Vlad was sacrificing for her.
—Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves —Daenerys whispered, repeating something Vlad had once told her.
Vlad sighed.
—Yes... I suppose it is —he replied, looking at her with a smile full of affection.
He walked toward a nearby cliff while Asha continued floating behind him.
Cole stood at the edge of the precipice, staring silently toward the horizon as the sky slowly began to brighten and a strip of pale light announced dawn over a sea still covered in smoke.
Dried blood stained his clothes, and his hands hung stiffly at his sides.
Vlad stopped beside him.
—Did you do it? —he asked without harshness.
Cole took a while to answer.
—You were right —he finally said, not truly acknowledging the question— I don't feel any better.
Vlad sighed, because he knew vengeance never brought true relief. It did not restore what was lost or heal wounds. It merely prevented the one who had destroyed you from continuing to enjoy peace while you carried the suffering, an imperfect and bitter way of balancing pain.
—I thought that when it was over, something would change —Cole admitted, placing a hand over his chest— But I still feel the same. This pain doesn't stop. I can't run from it, and I can't fight it. So what do I have left?
Vlad rubbed the bridge of his nose, because he knew perfectly well what was happening to Cole and why he could not move on.
The Embrace was not simply becoming a vampire. It amplified everything a person already was, both the good and the bad, meaning a vampire still felt, remembered, and suffered.
Change was possible, but it required conscious effort or the passing of many years.
Above all, the Embrace caused every emotion to be experienced with far greater intensity. Overcoming trauma was not impossible, but when a feeling became too strong, leaving it behind could become extraordinarily difficult.
For a vampire, even a casual encounter could end up becoming the greatest love of their life or descend into the deepest hatred imaginable, and there was rarely any middle ground.
And that was exactly what kept Cole trapped in his pain.
Cole closed his eyes.
—I'm never going to move on from Alice —he murmured in exhaustion— I think I always knew that, but I needed to prove it to myself.
The wind carried the smell of ash and burned stone.
—You kept your word —he continued after several seconds— You destroyed this rotten place, but you also promised me that if I ever wanted to leave, you would let me. Is that still true?
Vlad took a deep breath.
—It is —he answered regretfully— You've been a good captain, Cole. I won't keep you against your will.
Cole gave a faint smile, sad and exhausted.
—Thank you, Vlad, and I hope you achieve your goal, but I... I'm tired —he said while looking at his bloodstained hands— I don't want to keep living this borrowed time, a life that should have been hers.
For the first time, he turned to look directly at him.
—Please —he asked as he fell to his knees— Give me rest.
Vlad watched him in silence, feeling through the blood bond the true weight of that suffering.
—Don't you think Alice would have wanted you to live? —Vlad asked calmly— To be happy?
Cole let out a brief, hollow laugh, slowly shaking his head while tears of blood once again ran down his cheeks.
—Does that even matter now? —he replied bitterly— She's dead, and I'm still here. The ironborn bastard who pillaged, murdered, and raped is still breathing, while she lost her life without ever doing anything to deserve it.
He slammed his fist against the ground in anger.
—I spent years being part of the same thing that destroyed her, doing the same things, and only when Alice was taken from me was I finally able to understand how disgusting my actions truly were —he confessed, his voice tight.
His breathing became uneven, though he did not look away.
—I told you when you found me: I wanted every last ironborn on Pyke dead —he continued, clenching his jaw as his words came out full of conviction.
He lowered his gaze for a moment.
—Now Pyke no longer exists, so only I remain —he admitted with obvious disgust toward himself.
His fingers dug into the damp earth.
—And every second I continue breathing in her place disgusts me —he concluded, his voice breaking.
There was a bitter irony in all of it, and Vlad knew it. But Cole had been a good captain, a loyal ally, and a valuable companion for years, and losing him was still a tragedy.
Even so, Vlad always kept his word.
—I grant you true death, Cole —he finally said, placing a hand on his shoulder— I don't know what awaits you in the afterlife, but if your sister is anything like you, you'll find her waiting for you wherever you go.
Cole smiled. He truly wanted to believe it.
—Watch the sunrise —Vlad added softly— Like you used to do with her.
In silence, Vlad withdrew the immunity to sunlight that his blood had granted Cole, and with it, he also removed his ability to feel pain, granting him one final act of mercy.
The light of dawn began spreading across the horizon as Cole looked upon the sea one last time. He watched the first colors of the new day before his body crumbled into ashes, scattering into the wind.
And when his consciousness finally faded, in that last instant of darkness, he thought he felt a small, warm hand holding his once again.
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As Vlad watched Cole turn to ash, Daenerys took his hand while tears of blood silently ran down her face.
Vlad nodded with sorrow, because he had lost his first childe, and it had not been war or death that had taken him, but pain. It was a reality that reminded him that no matter how strong someone was, life always found a way to balance its own gifts.
Even so, as the wind carried away the last traces of Cole's ashes, Vlad promised himself he would do everything within his power to ensure that the eternity of those under his protection contained more happiness than suffering.
His thoughts were interrupted by a rough gasp when Asha Greyjoy awoke on the ground several meters away.
She was still alive, but she had witnessed the absolute destruction of everything she had ever known, and when she lifted her gaze toward the place where Pyke had once stood, she found nothing but melted rock and ashes.
For several seconds she remained motionless, too broken or too stunned to react even to the dragons, Daenerys, or the figures surrounding her.
Vlad watched her with a furrowed brow. He knew perfectly well that killing her would be easy, even prudent, but after all the blood that had been spilled, he discovered he had already seen enough death for one day.
Finally, he walked toward her.
—Today I have lost more than you can imagine —he said in a deep voice while studying her carefully— But this is not the time for lamentation. In honor of the blood I have spilled, I will offer you something I rarely offer: an opportunity.
Asha slowly raised her eyes toward him.
—Kneel, swear loyalty to me, and I will spare your life —he declared solemnly— I may even allow the Greyjoy name to survive.
In truth, Asha mattered very little to him.
Pyke had fallen, the Greyjoys were finished, and none of the other ironborn houses represented any real threat anymore, but some exhausted part of Vlad thought that sparing her might prevent him from adding yet another death to a list that was beginning to feel too long even for him.
But, as so many times before, reality proved disappointing once again.
Asha lowered her head, breathing heavily.
—I will bring upon you every form of violence and agony imaginable —she whispered at first, though her voice grew stronger with every word— I will drag your corpse through every corner of the Seven Kingdoms and feed your remains to the vilest savages alive.
Vlad watched her without surprise, only weariness.
—That is the only oath you will ever get from me —she shouted, her eyes consumed by fury.
Daenerys stepped forward, unable to hide her indignation.
—He's offering you life, you stupid girl —she snapped in disbelief.
—He has taken everything from me —Asha replied, her voice broken yet filled with hatred— And you want my servitude? No. I swear I will kill Vlad Drakul, even if it is the last thing I ever do.
Daenerys rested a hand on the hilt of Trueblood, ready to finish her, but Vlad's laughter stopped her. It was not amusement or mockery, but a low, weary, bitter sound.
—I do not doubt that you would succeed —he admitted with a tired smile— I'm certain that if I allowed you to live, you would eventually find some forgotten relic, an ancient temple, or some magical plant capable of killing me.
He fell silent for several seconds. He truly was not lying. The world was vast and endless. And Vlad considered himself many things, but invincible was not one of them. He was simply extraordinarily difficult to kill.
The wind continued blowing through the smoking ruins of Pyke while Vlad looked upon the last Greyjoy. He had wanted the slaughter to end there, to let at least one of them survive as proof that he was still capable of offering something other than death.
But he also knew exactly what kind of woman stood before him.
Asha Greyjoy would never kneel, and if he granted her that chance, sooner or later she would return to fulfill her oath.
Vlad closed his eyes for a moment before letting out a faint sigh.
Then he began walking toward her with steady steps as he unsheathed Scarlet Witch, its crimson blade gleaming beneath the light of dawn.
—What a shame —he murmured tiredly.
And then he fulfilled his promise.
With one swift, clean movement of the sword, Asha Greyjoy's head fell to the ground before her body had even finished collapsing.
Vlad remained motionless for several seconds, silently observing the corpse while the wind slowly stirred his cloak among the burned ruins of Pyke.
—The Drakuls do not give second chances —he finally declared in a cold voice.
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First of all, thank you once again for being here and reading the story this week. I truly appreciate it a lot.
And well, this would be the end of the Pyke destruction arc.
As you can see, Vlad isn't exactly cold or indifferent toward all the death he caused. It's not like he hasn't killed before , obviously he has, many times, but to me there's a very clear difference between killing soldiers in war and directly destroying an entire city like Pyke.
I also didn't want him to react by crying or regretting it to the point of refusing to ever do something similar again. The idea is more that, even if he feels disgusted by what he does, he'll still do it if he believes it's necessary.
At the end of the day, Vlad lives in a world where he feels he doesn't really have many alternatives. If he could ignore the Long Night and live peacefully, he would probably leave Westeros, build his own Castlevania somewhere in Essos, and spend centuries studying magic in peace.
But as I've said several times already: if all of humanity dies, sooner or later the problem will reach him too.
That's why I wanted to make him a bit deeper than the typical cold protagonist who kills thousands without feeling anything at all. Vlad will hesitate, feel uncomfortable or disgusted, but if the moment comes and there's no other choice, he'll still do what's necessary.
As was said earlier in the story: this world does not need a hero. It needs a monster.
And by the way, I hope someone noticed the references to The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. Yes, I'll definitely keep adding scenes and dialogues inspired by those books later on. I recently started listening to the audiobooks and honestly, the Spanish adaptation is incredible. The narrator's voice is absurdly good.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter. The situation with my job is still a bit in limbo, although I hope it won't interfere too much with my writing. Right now, writing is probably the best way I have to relax.
And lately I've also been writing quite a lot for the advanced Patreon chapters, so if you want to check them out, feel free.
Also, people told me that 800 Power Stones was completely insane, so sorry about that. I honestly never paid much attention to how Power Stones actually worked here, so I lowered it to 400. If we reach 400 Power Stones, there'll be another extra chapter this week.
Take care, guys. Hope to see you all here again next week.