The fortress of the Iron Isles did not just sit upon the rock; it seemed to have been vomited forth by the tectonic fury of the deep. It was a jagged cathedral of basalt, slick with a perpetual coat of frozen brine. Inside, the silence was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic, mournful thrum of the sea beating against the subterranean foundations—a sound the Islanders called the "Drowned God’s Heartbeat."
Sienna walked through the Hall of Ash, her boots clicking with a hollow, lonely sound. She was surrounded by the Gray Walkers—warriors whose skin was the color of slate and whose eyes were clouded with the milky film of those who had seen the bottom of the world and forgotten the sun. They did not breathe in unison; they did not breathe at all.
Valerius waited for her at the Edge of the W
