No Dawn for the Damned

Chapter 28 –

Thunder rumbled overhead. Lightning crackled ominously illuminating the angry dark sky. The smell of the roiling sea was overpowered by the thick soot and ash that clung to the air.

And yet the roar of the thunder; the crackle of lightning; and the choking green fiery smoke from the burning tower were but mere afterthoughts in his mind.

The screams of terror, pleas for help, the echo of the clanging bells, and the horror in the people's voices from all over the city, wouldn't let him focus on anything else.

It was overwhelming.

He hadn't let go of the tight control he had been maintaining over his hearing, not since the sounds had overpowered him back at the tourney of Harrenhall. He had learned since then to harness that magic, to focus on the quietest of sounds from the thousands, hundreds of thousands of voices in a city like Oldtown.

But this? This was beyond him. The raw horror in their voices almost shattered his concentration, threatening to drown him in their agony.

It had been easy to reassure his friends, to claim that he would be alright, to believe that he wouldn't be hurt. Couldn't be. It had been necessary to make that claim, he couldn't stomach the worry they had for him and hoped his reassurances were enough.

The truth was that he was scared. In his very bones, in his soul he was afraid. Afraid that he would not be there in time, that he would not hear the pleas of the people who so desperately needed help. That people would die when he could do something about their pain, their suffering.

"Somebody! Please, help my daughter! My sons! They're burning! Gods ….! Please! Help!" Another horrified scream from a man reached his ear as he ran, faster than he had run ever before in his life.

That's all he had been doing since he had jumped out from the inn.

Running towards the nearest screams, hoping beyond all hope that he was fast enough, that his magic would not fail him now that he desperately needed its aid. That the Gods above would watch over him as he ran to help all those that he could.

There were too many. He didn't have time to think.

He needed to help them. Do something!

People were dying, they were being burnt alive, being crushed under the feet of others as they ran from the cruel angry hordes of the Ironborn raiders.

The Seven damned raiders charged through the streets; their laughter, the sheer malicious cruelty in it was so jarring that the rage he felt at it almost caused him to lose control over the fire broiling behind his eyes. His world was washed in hues of red.

But he couldn't afford to lose himself in the rage, even as the world tinted a piercing hot red, he kept the fire in check. He would not add to the fires that were already burning the heart of the city with more of his own. And yet the rage-filled heat remained bubbling behind his eyes.

The first house he reached was half-collapsed, fire eating away at its upper floors. The flames licked out of the windows like hungry venomous serpents, while the scorched remains of a wooden beam pinned a man to the ground outside.

He was close to the honey wine and the fire had likely come from one of the many ships that were now lining the banks of the treacherous waters of the oft-gentle river.

The city's streets were a maelstrom of bodies. People fled in every direction; their faces twisted with terror. Innkeepers herded whores and patrons into their cellars, mothers clutched their children, and the Starry Sept's bells rang ceaselessly. Ironborn laughter, their toxic hate-filled jeering, taunting echoed through it all — harsh, cruel, jagged like broken glass.

To Caelum, their movement was slower than even that of a snail. And still, it was not enough.

Hundreds were breathing their last due to the sheer cruelty of the Ironborn around him.

And there were hundreds more of people like the man, who were desperately in need of help but had no one to turn to.

No.

Not when he could do something about it.

His heart hammered against his ribs. Faster than the wind, leaving streaks of blazing heat that still threatened to burst from his eyes, as he arrived by the nearly fainting man's side.

The man's leg was gone from the thigh down, blood pooling beneath him like wine spilled from a cask.

Caelum could see that he would not survive more than a few minutes with the buckets of blood that were threatening to flow from the open stump of his leg. Despite all that, the man was pleading for someone to save his children, not him.

Peering through the walls of the burning house, he could see the two boys and their young sister cowering on the upper floor of the house, near the far wall. The fire had begun to lick the windows, and the door was wreathed in tongues of dancing flames.

They would survive for now. He could save the man, and then run to their aid.

Gods, he hoped he was right.

The pace of the world resumed as he assessed the man closer, searching for ways to properly aid him. He tried not to think of the hundreds of similar pleas that were still pounding away in his head.

"My boys! My daughter!" The man was hysterical, nearly out of consciousness. The loss of blood was threatening to take him away. The man hadn't noticed Caelum standing over him, by his side. His ashen, nearly pale face was streaked with tears. "Gods…. please save my children!"

Finding a good place to hold onto the beam that had the man pinned, and with the barest of his overwhelming strength he hefted the weighty thing off the man. The rubble from the burnt and collapsed part of his house flew away in the process.

As the weight lifted, the man's gaze found Caelum, his cracked lips moving to plead. "Oh, Gods… Boy, leave me! I am a dead man! Save my-" he paused, his pained and panicked eyes focusing on the fiery blaze of Caelum's own.

Caelum needed to stop the man's bleeding. When he had removed the beam, what little pressure had slowed the flow of blood keeping him alive had been removed and blood had begun to flow freely. The man would die if nothing was done.

"Clench your teeth, please!" Caelum pleaded to the man, as he focused his gaze on the man's bleeding stump. "This will hurt!"

"No…, no. NO. NOOOO! S-stay away!" The man begged, clawing at the ground, "Gods, Demon! Help! HELP! STAY WAY YOU HELL BORN WRETCH!"

Caelum ignored the pain the man's fear caused in his heart. He focused on the wound and hoped to the Seven above that he could stop the bleeding. Releasing the tight control he had kept on the wrathful fire in his eyes, the scorching flames burst forth.

The man's guttural scream ripped through the air as his body jerked beneath Caelum's grip. Flesh blackened, blood boiled, and he was reminded of Ser Elmar. He felt bile rise in his throat at the horrific reminder of what he had done to the Knight.

It was over in an instant. The man would survive.

Miraculously, he was still holding onto consciousness, whimpering and muttering in pain "Save my children…. Please…...!"

Caelum nodded, now he could focus on the man's children. "I'm so sorry." He didn't have time to waste, there were hundreds more that needed him.

Peering up again into the house, the fire was slowly threatening to gulf the room. One of the girl's older brothers was shielding her from the smoke, while another tried desperately to fight the flames with the covers of their straw bed.

It wouldn't work. The straw was just feeding the flames as it burnt hotter, higher.

Steeling himself, Caelum rushed up the demolished section of the house toward the flames, the debris crunching beneath his feet.

The world slowed around him again, and he thanked the Gods for their aid as he rushed as fast as he could.

Willing the icy chill to fill his lungs, he let the frost from his breath battle the flames. He hadn't practiced this form of his magic with as much zeal as he had done to tame his strength. He could feel the strain from the effort now.

His lungs worked powerfully, the chilly wind from his breath settling a lot of the fire instantly, but the fire was proving to be untamable. It had spread along the houses lining the bank of the river. That was feeding this flame constantly and he couldn't fight them all at once.

It was fortunate that most of those houses had already been abandoned.

Or the people who lived in them were already charred corpses.

He tried not to think of that.

Making his mind and hoping to the Gods that the fire wouldn't damage him like the arrows hadn't, he readied himself.

He darted forward, embers flashing around him. The flames lapped at his tunic, singeing the edges, but the heat was nothing. Thank the Gods for yet another miracle.

His eyes flicked from wall to wall. The fire had spread to every side. He couldn't waste time picking his way through. He'd have to make his own path.

He stepped back, bracing himself. Then, with every ounce of power in his body, he charged forward. The wall buckled, cracked, and then exploded in a storm of shattered wood and stone. Rubble scattered around the children. The older boy threw himself over his siblings, shielding them from the debris.

Smoke filled the air. His tunic had caught fire, but he smothered it with a sweep of his hand. His eyes scanned the children. Their faces were wide with terror, but they were unhurt.

The oldest of the boys was older than Caelum, while the girl seemed younger.

They were all screaming in terror at the sight of him.

"Oh, Gods! No! Father have mercy!" The girl was praying hysterically, sobbing uncontrollably.

The older boy readied himself as if he was going to attack Caelum. But before he could the wood beneath their feet creaked ominously. The three stumbled, as the floor just in front of them collapsed, and hot tongues of flames separated Caelum from them.

Without wasting another second, Caelum breathed frosty air on the flame. Fortunately, this time it proved sufficient to snuff the fire out.

After taking a moment to understand what he had done, the teary-eyed little girl asked almost hesitantly "A-are you …the son of the …the Warrior? Did you come here… for us I mean?"

Caelum paused; he didn't really think he was some sort of a child of the Gods. The fact that his father found him cradled in the lap of a star that fell from the very heavens was of no consequence, he didn't believe that he was of divine blood.

He didn't like contemplating the nature of his being. Didn't like the idea that Gods had sent him with some grand purpose, or had something that he must face in the future. Why else would they grant his magic, The kinds of Power that beggared belief?

There wasn't time to be distracted. He gulped and put it out of his mind.

Shaking his head briefly, he replied "I am here to get you to safety. Your father is wounded down below, I have treated him the best I could. We need to leave."

All three of them looked at him briefly. After a while, the little girl made to approach Caelum, but her elder brother kept her back, "No, Ellyn! S-stay back! Can't you see his demonic eyes?! He… He could be a demon! STAY BACK!"

Caelum was beginning to feel frustrated; he wasn't some damned demon. He understood that people feared what they didn't understand. But all he wanted was to help them.

There were so many voices pounding his head, pleading for help just like these three had been. He couldn't afford to waste time. He needed to get these three to safety and help all the others in similar or worse situations throughout the city.

He decided he didn't care what they believed him to be, all that mattered was that them being safe.

Faster than they could react, he moved like a streak of fiery red. Crossing the broken gap in the floor in a single leap.

The eldest of the three reacted first and began to swing wildly at Caelum with his fists "By the light of the Seve-"

But before he could connect the swing, Caelum quickly took hold of the little girl, and the younger of the boys and hoped that his estimate of the strength of his grip was accurate enough to not break their bones.

At speeds, that Caelum was now certain were magical; he moved again swiftly dodging the blow from the older boy, and rushed with his younger siblings out of the burning house. At the speed he was moving he was trying his damned best to be careful not to break them as he dragged them out.

He had worked tirelessly to tame that unbridled magical strength of his, Archmaester Marwyn had been extremely thorough In helping him, but with the state of the city as it was, he wasn't being as careful as he would have preferred.

Within just a few moments, there were outside the blazing hot house, beside the children's wounded father.

"Wait here, I will go and get your brother!" Caelum tried his best to seem commanding. The fiery red eyes that his roiling rage had created seemed to have helped him succeed.

Within the blink of an eye, he was sprinting up the broken house and was back with the older boy who seemed to have just finished the swing he had launched at Caelum.

The boy spotted Caelum return and spun into a terrified fit of rage, his siblings had seemingly been taken from him; as he tried to charge him. "GIVE THEM BACK! GIVE THEM BACK!"

Caelum effortlessly dodged the charge that felt extremely slow to the magical speeds that Caelum was quickly learning to adapt to. Within one moment and the next, he secured a firm grip on the tunic of the older boy and dragged him out to the rest of his family as well.

The boys and the little girl were disoriented, their breaths coming in sharp gasps as they swayed from the abrupt stop. Their eyes blinked in rapid succession, their minds struggling to catch up with the world that had seemingly shifted around them.

Ellyn's gaze fixed on something behind Caelum. Her eyes widened in horror. "Father!" she cried, darting toward the crumpled form of her father lying in a growing pool of blood. The two boys followed after her, their faces a mix of fear, urgency, and utter confusion.

It seemed like the older boy was debating whether to try yet another attempt at fighting Caelum.

The man's eyes fluttered open, barely a crack, clouded with pain and exhaustion. But when his gaze fell on Ellyn, something in his eyes shifted. Recognition. His cracked lips moved, breath wheezing as he whispered, "Ellyn... I see you... I see you. Gods above… please, you're safe. I hope you're….!"

Tears welled in her eyes as she fell to her knees, clutching his hand. "Father, we're here. We're all here! We're alright…" she said, her voice breaking into sobs.

"'m so happy," the man muttered, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. His eyes glistened, one final tear rolling down his soot-streaked face. With a deep, shuddering breath, he pulled his daughter into his chest, his arms trembling from the effort. His head drooped as his eyes closed, his body going slack.

"Father!" Ellyn's voice was shrill, her hands shaking him, her sobs breaking into panicked gasps. "Please, wake up! Wake up!"

"He's alive," Caelum's voice cut through, calm but firm. He could see the faint beating of the man's heart. "He's unconscious but alive. You need to move him now if you want to keep him that way."

The oldest boy's head snapped up at Caelum's words. His face hardened; his fear slowly overtaken by grim determination. He wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his sleeve, straightening his posture as best he could.

"Pick him up," Caelum ordered as commandingly as he could, stepping forward, his eyes blazing red with barely contained heat. "Carry him to the Starry Sept. You'll be safe there."

The boy's gaze flickered to Caelum's eyes. His throat bobbed as he swallowed his fear. Slowly, he nodded, eyes darting briefly to his unconscious father. "Earl," he said, turning to the younger of the two boys. "Take Ellyn. Carry her on your back. We're going to the Sept."

Earl's lower lip quivered, but he wiped his tears on his sleeve and gave a firm nod. "Alright," he said with surprising resolve. He turned to Ellyn, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Ellyn. I'll carry you."

"But Father —" Ellyn's eyes darted between her father's limp form and her brothers.

"We're bringing him too," the older boy said, his voice carrying a weight it hadn't had moments before. "Trust me, we'll bring him. But we must go."

Ellyn's face scrunched as fresh tears spilled over, but she nodded, clinging to Earl's neck as he lifted her onto his back. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, her small fingers clutching his tunic. Earl's legs shook for only a moment before he set his jaw and started forward.

"Thank you…. m'lord. I thank the Gods for sending you to us," the older boy said, his voice thick with emotion. He glanced at Caelum, eyes filled with something between awe and fear. "Thank you for saving us."

Caelum's gaze stayed steady on him. "Run. Don't stop. Get to the Sept and don't look back. Stick to the back alleys, and stay away from the river."

The boy bent down, grunting as he hefted his father's arm over his shoulder and slowly lifted him.

With a pained grimace, he staggered forward, step by step, toward safety. Earl followed, carrying Ellyn as best he could. Their father's weight was too much for the older boy, but he moved anyway, slow and steady.

"I knew you were the Warrior's son," Ellyn's small voice drifted back, barely louder than the crackling fire. "You are, aren't you? Please, please …. please, make the bad men go away? You will, please tell me you will?"

Caelum's breath caught in his chest. He stared at the small girl's tear-streaked face, the red tint of the world softening just a touch. He didn't give her any reply and turned his back to the slowly leaving family.

He didn't have time to dwell on her words.

There were more voices in his head. More screams. More pleas for help.

His feet moved before his mind did. He'd already broken into a sprint, a fiery red blur cutting through the chaos as he shot toward the next voice crying out for help.

The voices struck him like hammer blows. Hundreds of them, crashing into his mind with the force of a storm—shouts, screams, sobs, and prayers.

He was getting closer to the docks. The Ironborn had set the entire damned fleet docked there on fire. The voices were getting louder, more terrified.

"Help us! Please, someone, they're breaking down the door!" A woman shrieked in terror.

And another man from a few houses down, "My son! My son is still inside! Please, gods, save him!"

"Get away from her, you squid bastards!" A young boy's angry voice, followed by the slashing and squelching of rent flesh.

"She's a soft one, lads! Jus' look at the breasts on her! We'll savor her tonight! I want a taste of her soft cunt firs'!" A cruel voice, followed by the shriek of a woman, and jeering laughter.

"Hold the door, MEN! HOLD THE DOOR! WE CANNOT LET THEM THROUGH!" Panicked guards from some inn down the street, as they desperately defended against a charging horde of iron born.

"Don't hurt her! Take me instead!" Another girl's scream.

"The fire's too strong! We're trapped in here! We will be cooked alive!"

"Run! Run to the Sept! They'll protect us there!"

"No! No, please, not my daughter! No! Take me, not her!"

The voices spun around him, each one more urgent than the last. It was too much. Too many. He'd wasted too much time trying to talk to that family. In the moments he'd spent convincing them to flee, people had died.

His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.

No more.

He pushed his magic harder, faster, and shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. His legs moved like lightning, his breath steady, his focus sharp as steel. He wouldn't stop. He wouldn't speak. No more delays. No more explanations. If they feared him, so be it. He'd save them anyway.

The world blurred around him, smoke and flame flashing past in streaks of red and black. He honed in on the nearest voice.

There were three in equal distance all around him.

A woman's voice, cracked with grief, calling for the gods, for anyone to answer her. The cries of a little babe muffled by her side.

The screams of an old man, as he tried to carry his dismembered son, and wife out of a nearly collapsed inn.

The cries of huddled children, terrified of yet another fire in some house that was on the brink of collapse.

They were all near him, but he knew in his very soul. No matter how fast he ran, he would have to choose one to save, the rest would die. He would not be able to save all of them in time.

He prayed to Seven. Prayed to them to have mercy on his soul. And made his choice.

Caelum's feet skidded to a stop in front of a burning house. The door hung open, broken, and burnt on one hinge. Inside, the fire had already consumed most of the lower floor. The air was a furnace, thick with heat and smoke. He peered through the flames and spotted her.

The woman cradled her baby to her chest, rocking back and forth beside the charred remains of a man. Her eyes were hollow with shock, her lips trembling as she muttered prayers through clenched teeth.

"Gods, gods, please... What do I do? Wake up! ROLEN! GODS PLEASE WAKE UP!" Her fingers clutched the child tighter, her knuckles white from the strain as he screamed, pleading for the man to wake up.

Her eyes snapped up when Caelum broke through the wall with a shattering crack of wood and stone. She flinched, curling over her baby as if her body alone could shield it.

"H-help!" she gasped, her voice hoarse from smoke and panic. Her eyes locked on his glowing red gaze. "No! What are you?! No! Stay away! Stay away from us!"

Caelum's jaw tightened, as he righted himself; but he didn't stop. He moved straight to her, his gaze locked on her face. "I'm getting you out of here," he said, his voice hard as iron. "Hold on to your child. Hold on tight."

Her breath hitched, her eyes darting from his eyes to the wreckage behind him. "Gods! Demon! HELP! Stay away! Not my baby too! No, please, my husband—" Her gaze shifted to the charred body even as Caelum hefted her easily in his tiny hand before she could react trying to shield her babe properly; as he leapt out of the house through the opening he had created.

It took her a moment to breathe.

"Rolen… Please, not my babe, no…..he… he…" Her sobs came in shuddering waves, as she collected herself from the ordeal, her body folding in on itself. She curled in on herself, covering her babe. Seeming to understand what had happened to her. "Please, my husband is in there! Please!" Her voice cracked, broken by grief.

Caelum's heart ached at her words, but he didn't let it slow him. He crouched beside her, his hands gentle but firm as he took her by the arm. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low, raw with sincerity. "He's gone. You can't help him now. But you can help your child. You have to think of your child."

Her sobs quieted just slightly, her gaze shifting down to the baby in her arms. The little one's cries pierced the air, high-pitched and raw. Her arms shook, but she held him close.

"Go to the Starry Sept or the Citadel," Caelum said firmly. "The streets aren't safe, but the Sept will be. Run. Run and don't stop."

Her breath was ragged, her eyes flicking to the charred remains of her husband one last time. Tears streaked down her soot-stained face. Her lips trembled.

Her arms shifted, cradling the baby tighter.

She rose to her feet on shaky legs, one last, long glance cast at her smoldering home. Her shoulders shook with a silent sob.

"Go," Caelum said, watching her as she stumbled into the street along with the others.

She stumbled again, as she gazed blankly at the rushing and screaming crowd around her, the green blaze from the High Tower, as she tried to comprehend the sudden upending of what was possibly her entire life.

"Gods…." She breathed, clutching her wailing babe closer to her bosom, her eyes lingering on Caelum's fiery red with fear, apprehension, and reverent awe. "Make them pay, m'lord…. Please, for my husband. Make them face the wrath of the warrior himself!"

Caelum didn't know if he had the strength to take all the Ironborn on himself. He didn't even know where to begin.

He needed to move on and hoped the Gods would help him save just one more.

All he could do was nod at the woman, as he watched her stumble along with the fleeing terrified crowd making for what meager safety they could find in the far distance.

Caelum hoped she would make it in time, he needed to keep moving.

He could hear the people dying, as they breathed their last breaths.

He could see the results of the choices he had made; past the throngs of the panicked fleeing crowd being guided along by what few guards were able to do so in the streets. Smoke rose from where the children had been, curling around their charred husks. The old man lay pinned in a ruin of splintered beams, his family's arms still wrapped around.

And from here, he was witnessing some of the most horrifying cruelty he could imagine. People being tortured, women being raped, children being burnt in the most horrifying ways to sate the sick pleasures, and cruelty of the iron born; and he couldn't just not listen.

He needed to keep on moving, keep trying to help whoever he could.

He didn't know if he had the capacity to weigh the value of the lives he had to save.

Should he be rushing straight into battle with the Ironborn?

He had been ignoring the skirmishes in the streets, on the bridges in the honey wine, and wherever open fighting was taking place in the streets and alleys of the city rushing past them, doing what little he could, wherever he felt he had the opportunity to do so.

Till now, all he had done was trip over what little contingent of men had surrounded the guards at the Learned Anchor, with just the briefest of touches as he had rushed out toward the nearest sound of a cry for help and hoped that had been enough for the guards to take them down by themselves.

He had wasted so much time in trying to talk to the people, guide them toward safety. He realized he didn't really have the luxury to do that.

Every moment somebody was dying, somebody that he could have saved if he had been just a little bit more decisive. Just a little faster than he already miraculously was. Smarter in making his actions.

He didn't want to have to choose which lives were more worthy of saving. He had been running toward every single cry for help that he could reach in the shortest time.

Was this what it felt to be a knight?

To weigh the lives of the men and women under your protection? Decide who to protect? Who to serve, and who to let die, and how?

He didn't feel very Knightly in his actions. He felt he could do better.

The problem was, he didn't know how!

What would Luke do?

He would think, slow down, and weigh his actions and their consequences. He was doing that.

Gods he hoped he was doing it well. He didn't think so, people were still dying all around him.

He should stop trying to talk to the people he saved, he could get them to relative safety away from whatever danger is immediately threatening them, and hope they could take care of themselves after the largest of the dangers has been dealt with. Get to safety, follow the crowd, and reach the Sept or the Citadel. Or leave the city entirely.

He could see that looking at someone like him, someone who was so different, so frightening was not helping them much. They all thought he was some sort of a demon from the deepest pits of the Seventh Hell, or a divine being borne from the loins of the Warrior himself.

He wasn't.

It wasn't of any help, and he didn't think he had the time to convince them otherwise.

The deep hot red hue of the world around him intensified as his rage simmered harsher behind his eyes. He seethed with rage — at himself, at the world, even the Gods, and at the Ironborn defiling the city.

Why were they here? The war being fought in the Seven Kingdoms seemed so distant; he hadn't expected an attack so far into the Reach.

Was their aim to encumber reinforcement and resources from the Hightower?

To distract the marching armies making their way for the fields of battle?

Or was this a target of opportunity?

How had they gotten past the chain barricading the Whispering Sound?

No.

That was the problem of more level-headed, responsible men. He did not have the luxury to ponder these questions. All he could do was continue running as fast as his legs, his magic could take him.

He ran like a blur through the city, a horse galloping through the stormy smoky wind. He shouldered past skirmishes in the street, toppling what few Ironborn stood in his way, hoping that was enough for the men around them to overpower them.

He kept leaping through walls of burning homes, half-toppled inns, fiery monasteries, and burning septs in the streets of Oldtown. Saving whoever needed saving inside and leaving them behind before they could even scream and acknowledge his presence.

All the time he felt his soul break inside as he was forced to make the difficult, senseless choice between who to save and who to sacrifice in the heat of the moment.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

For every soul he saved, it seemed two died before he could reach them.

He prayed he'd have a soul left by dawn. But deep down, he knew it was already broken.

If dawn ever came. It didn't feel like it would; the roiling hateful display of abject, senseless cruelty around him didn't make it feel it would.

"YOU'LL NOT TOUCH HER! I WON'T LET YOU-" The roar was cut short abruptly, followed by a gurgled scream and the sound of tearing flesh.

He was very close to the docks now, and he was certain he was near the whore houses. He could see battle isle, and the burning fortress at the base of the Hightower clearly from here. What little reserve fleet that House Hightower had remaining in the bay was now almost entirely ablaze.

Even what little ships they had gotten out to sail when the first ships of the incoming fleet of the Ironborn had been spotted at the horizon beneath the fog of Whispering Sound were surrounded and slowly sinking to depths of the harbor.

He didn't know how many people he had saved by this point. Not enough.

"Oh, we're doin' much more than touch ya old goat! Won't we my sweet?"

He sprinted in the direction of the voices. It was yet another half-burnt building. 

"Hold her down!" a man's voice, guttural and thick with glee, cut through the haze. "Don't let her scratch you, lads! She's a wild little cat, this one!"

"Aye, Goren, you talk too much! I'm gettin' my fill now," another barked, his voice closer. "Ain't had cunt fresh in weeks. Let her scream."

Caelum's heart thundered in his chest. His eyes darted toward the sound. The glow of the burning house made shadows dance across the ground, and within those shifting shapes, he saw them.

The old man knelt in front of them, panting, blood streaking his face, his arms limp like broken branches. Two boys lay beside him, twisted and still, their throats opened wide, their blood soaking the dirt. His sons, Caelum realized with a spike of cold horror. Sons who had tried to fight. Sons who had died for it.

The old man's body shook as he dragged himself forward on trembling arms. He clawed at the dirt, toward the girl. She was barely older than Meredith, her face streaked with soot and tears, her dress torn at the collar. Two reavers had her by the arms, their grins sharp as knives as they dragged her to the ground.

"You seein' this, boys?" One of the reavers nudged his companion with a toothy grin. "This old goat's still crawlin'. Ain't that sweet?"

"Aye, it's so sweet, I feel sick..." Another reaver laughed, unsheathing his knife, its edge flashing in the firelight. "I say we cut off his balls, and feed 'em to the girl. Goren, reckon he's got the stones for it?"

The first reaver, Goren, scratched at his beard, sneering. "Let's find out. Do it. That'll shut 'im up."

Caelum's breath hitched.

His legs moved before his mind could catch up, each step striking the ground with the force of a war drum. His eyes locked on the girl's tear-streaked face, her mouth open in a silent scream.

Faster. Faster. He needed to be faster!

One of the reavers grabbed the girl's arm, his fingers curling tight around her wrist as he yanked her down. She twisted and kicked, her foot striking his shin with a dull thud. "She's feisty!" he snarled, yanking her harder. She fell face-first on top of her brother's corpse. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, and she gasped like a drowning fish.

"Just watch her squirm" the man sneered, tugging at the frayed hem of her dress. "Quick boys, I'm hard as a rock, I wanna taste her!"

Not again. Caelum's mind reeled with the memory of the tourney grounds, of Pia dragged into the buttery. His chest burned with fury hotter than the flames licking the buildings. His eyes flared, twin infernos casting the world in crimson.

He was too far. Too far. This horror was happening in too many places.

"Can't wait any longer, Goren," said one of the reavers, his breath ragged with anticipation. "Greyjoy said to not waste time, I'm soaked."

"Piss yourself in front of the old squid, aye?" Goren laughed, nudging him. "Go on then, just leave some for the rest of us."

The old man, battered and bleeding, lifted his head. His voice was a rasp of broken glass. "No… not my girl… not her… please… please..."

The reaver with the knife grinned down at him. "You're lucky, old man. You'll be dead; as we take her on top of your dead sons!" He shoved him flat with a boot to the back.

His brain rattled in his skull. The old man died on impact.

Rage exploded inside Caelum. The world flashed red.

He had been preparing himself to be a Knight, but he had been scared of ever being forced to take a life. It was necessary, he knew. An eventuality that he would have to deal with if he ever did become one.

He had given up on that dream already, his magic wouldn't let him have that luxury. But there was no time to worry about his soul anymore. No time to think about what he was about to do.

There was no time to have doubts. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

No time for mercy.

They didn't hear him coming.

Not until the air itself screamed as he broke through the wall of the burning building.

The closest reaver barely had time to turn before Caelum's shoulder smashed into him like a charging bull. Bones crunched, and the man's scream was short-lived as he was hurled through the air like a child's toy. He struck the wall behind him on the other side, spidery cracks forming immediately, a wet thud echoing as his body crumpled to the ground. He did not move.

The others spun, eyes wide with shock. "What the—"

He didn't stop.

He caught the second reaver mid-turn, his hand closing around the man's throat like an iron vise. For a brief moment, the reaver's eyes bulged with terror. He barely managed to choke out, "No, wait—"

"Not so tough now are you?" Caelum squeezed.

There was a crack, sharp as a breaking branch.

Caelum felt his soul crack further.

He dropped the body before it even hit the ground.

"DEMON!" One of the reavers stumbled back, tripping over the old man's corpse. "DEMON, IT'S A DEMON!"

The nine remaining rapers scattered, scrambling for weapons, for footing, for sense.

Too slow.

Caelum moved through them like a storm, a streak of fiery red, faster than their minds could comprehend. His fists struck like thunderbolts. A jaw shattered. A ribcage crumpled. A heart exploded. A reaver spun wildly, eyes rolling back as his body collapsed. The sharp tang of blood filled the air, fresh and hot.

The walls of the house were shattered completely, the roof standing on the legs of the last two.

A blade came for him from the side. He twisted, the world moving in slow, deliberate snails pace as he watched the blade crawl toward him. His hand snapped out, catching the reaver's wrist mid-swing. His eyes met the man's.

The reaver's face twisted with fear. "No, please, gods—"

Caelum's gaze burned hotter than the flames. His hand wrenched the blade free, twisting it back toward its owner. Steel pierced flesh.

The reaver gasped, his eyes going wide.

Caelum let him fall.

One of the reavers bolted for the door, his boots thundering against the floor. He didn't make it. A rock, hurled like a ballista bolt, struck him in the back of the skull. He dropped face-first into the dirt, limbs twitching once before going still.

Three left.

Two of them backed away, eyes darting toward the exits. The third, Goren, stayed. His lips curled back, revealing yellow, crooked quivering teeth. He drew his axe from his belt, gripping it tight. "T-the drowned gods take you" he growled, his eyes narrowing with a predator's focus. "T-THE DEVIL WILL DIE BY MY AXE!"

"I would like to see you try!" Caelum growled.

The fire behind him framed him like a figure from a nightmare from the depths of the seven hells. The world itself seemed to shrink beneath the weight of his presence, and the light of his fiery eyes, two burning bright red coals, cast long shadows across the ground.

Goren hesitated. He barked a fake laugh to steady himself, taking a step forward. "Y-you think I'm afraid? I will piss on your grave! What is dead may never die!"

He lunged.

Caelum didn't move until the last moment. When he did, it was as though he disappeared. Goren's swing cut through empty air.

The reaver had a second to blink before Caelum was behind him. His foot shot out, a sharp, brutal kick to the back of Goren's knee. The man dropped with a howl, falling to one knee.

Caelum's hand shot out, seizing the back of his head.

He shoved it into the dirt.

"Not so tough now! Are you?!" Caelum said, his voice low, barely more than a growl. He squeezed, blood flowed on his trembling hands, and the man died choked instantly.

The other two reavers ran.

He let them. They wouldn't get far.

The girl was still there.

Her father lay unmoving, the girl sobbing as she cradled his blood-stained head in her lap. "Father! Father, wake up!" Her hands shook him, fingers stained with dirt and blood. Her wide, terrified eyes darted to Caelum. Her gaze lingered on the fiery glow of his eyes.

"Are you—are you the Warrior?" she asked, her voice fragile, a thread stretched too thin. "Please…. Please, help my father! You can, can't you?"

He crouched beside her, eyes softening, the fire in them dimming. He could still hear more screams from the docks. The weight of it all pressed on him, suffocating and endless.

Caelum gulped hard, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His hands shook uncontrollably, stained with warmth that wasn't his own. His palms stung where his nails had dug into them, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Not now.

He glanced down at the girl, still cradling her father's head. Her face was a mask of soot, blood, and tears, eyes swollen and red from crying. She clung to the old man's hand like it was the last anchor in a world gone mad.

"I—" his voice cracked. He swallowed again and forced his words out. "There's no time."

The girl shook her head wildly, tears running hot down her cheeks. "Please, please, please," she sobbed, her voice brittle and broken. Her small frame shook with every word. "He's breathing, he's breathing, he's still breathing—please—"

Her father was not breathing.

Her eyes met his, wide and full of desperate hope. Hope that was already dead.

Caelum's chest ached, a deep, hollow pain that felt like it was digging into his ribs. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. If you think, you'll break. If you think, you'll stop. You can't stop. You can't stop.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

Her face crumpled, the last of her resolve crumbling like a clay figure struck by a hammer. Her sobs were quiet now, choked and uneven, her face pressed against her father's chest. Her fingers wouldn't let him go. She clung to his body with all the might of a child too young to understand why the world was so cruel.

The roof groaned above them, a low, drawn-out creak. Embers flickered down like fireflies, little pinpricks of light drifting toward the ground. The final walls of the house buckled under the weight, smoke billowing out from the gaps. The orange glow of flames cast shadows that danced like specters on every surface.

Move. Move now.

Caelum moved before his mind could argue. He leaned down, his arms sliding beneath the girl's shoulders and knees. She fought for only a moment, gripping her father tighter before her fingers slipped free. Her sobs turned into wailing cries, her legs kicking weakly as she reached out for him. "No! No, no, no! Please, please, please!" she wailed, her voice higher than it should have been, raw from screaming. "Please, don't leave him! DON'T LEAVE HIM!"

Her cries burned deeper than any fire ever could. His eyes squeezed shut for a heartbeat too long. When he opened them, he was already sprinting.

One more. Just one more.

The building collapsed behind him. Fire roared louder than thunder as the last of the walls crumbled into ash and rubble. Black smoke billowed outward, filling the street with choking soot. The girl screamed as she watched it fall, her voice hoarse and wild, like a trapped animal caught in a snare.

Don't look back.

Caelum didn't stop. His legs moved with the same steady rhythm he'd kept all night. Every house, every street, every alley felt the same. The smell of burning flesh. The heat of roaring flames. The cries of men, women, and children. His eyes stayed locked on the road ahead. He didn't wait for her to thank him. He didn't wait for her to say a word. He didn't dare look back.

"Run for the Sept or the Citadel!" he called, his voice rough as sand. "Don't stop! Run!"

He didn't look to see if she obeyed.

The world blurred around him, a collage of flickering orange light and suffocating darkness. His lungs heaved, pulling in air that tasted like soot and copper.

More voices echoed in his head. The screams never stopped.

The docks were worse.

He could hear it all.

Every footstep. Every wail. Every scream. Every cruel laugh of the Ironborn.

"Take 'er to the longship, boys! She's a fine one—give her to the Greyjoy for first pickin'!"

A child's high-pitched wail, barely human in its raw terror.

"Don't cry, girl, you'll be home soon enough. I'll teach you to love it."

The heavy thud of a man being thrown to the ground, followed by the wet crunch of a boot cracking his ribs.

"PLEASE! TAKE THE GOLD, TAKE IT ALL! JUST LEAVE THEM BE!"

He felt like he was drowning in it all.

For every soul he saved, three more were being dragged from their homes, thrown onto Ironborn ships, or pinned to the ground by cruel, cruel men. For every scream he silenced, three more rose in its place.

It will never be enough. It will never be enough.

Caelum's breaths were shallow now. His muscles ached, his legs burned with every push forward. But he didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

Not when he could hear the sound of bones breaking.

Not when he could hear the gurgling chokes of dying men.

Not when he could hear women sobbing, their words broken into incomprehensible pleas.

Not when he could hear the wet slap of flesh.

He ran.

He ran faster than he'd ever run before.

He burst into homes without warning, rubble flying as he barreled through walls and burning timber. He didn't hesitate. He didn't think.

There was no time to think.

Each home was the same.

Fires.

Bodies.

Blood on the walls.

He dragged children from the wreckage. He snatched mothers and fathers from the flames, from the bodies of their children. Children from the corpses of their mothers. He threw men to safety. Saved holy men from burning monasteries and septs.

Every face blurred into one. They were all the same. They all had the same wide, tear-streaked faces. They all cried. They all begged for loved ones they would never see again.

Each time, he told them the same thing. "Run for the Starry Sept or the Citadel. RUN!"

And every time, he didn't wait to see if they listened.

The fights were harder now. slower.

He clashed with the Ironborn directly.

They were cruel men, laughing as they killed, grinning as they fought. All their faces twisted to pure abject terror at the sight of him.

Each time he met them, his hands moved faster than thought. Bones shattered beneath his fists. His arms swung like battering rams, his strength barely held in check. He didn't stop.

Every punch crunched through bone.

Every swing ended with a body crumpled at his feet.

He felt each impact like it was his own soul breaking.

He felt every bone snap, every chest cave inward, every lung collapse. He heard every crunch, every gurgle of blood. His hands were red and slick with it.

I'm dirty.

He clenched his fists, squeezing his fingers until his knuckles cracked. It's their blood, not mine. Their blood, not mine. Their blood. Not mine.

He crushed their ribs.

He snapped their necks.

He twisted their arms until they broke.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He wasn't saving people anymore. He was killing men.

He wasn't sure when it had started. He wasn't sure when he had decided it was necessary. But now his hands moved before his mind did. His heart pounded with every blow. His breathing was shallow and quick, the heat of his rage radiating from his eyes like a furnace.

His soul felt heavier now. He could feel the weight of it. Every life he took, every breath he ended, it pulled him further and further down.

I'm not the Warrior. I am not his son.

He stared at his hands, fingers trembling, palms stained red.

I'm not a knight. I will never be one.

He could hear them still. Screaming. Pleading. Dying.

They called him "Demon." They called him "The Warrior." They called him "Savior." They didn't know what he was.

He didn't know what he was.

His gaze turned toward the heart of Oldtown. Toward the Hightower, its green flames spiraling upward like a beacon of ruin. Lit up alongside the burning fortress at its feet.

Toward the burning ships in the harbor. Toward the men dying on the bridges.

This has to end.

He didn't know if he could end it.

But he knew he had to try.

The fires of his rage burned hotter. I need this to end. I need it to end.

He shot forward, a streak of red and gold. His eyes were brighter now. His world was red, and the flames looked so much like home.

Caelum scanned the bay. There were no boats across.

The Honeywine churned with wreckage, its black waters swallowing debris, bodies, and flames alike. Every ship that wasn't already burning was an Ironborn vessel.

His gaze lifted to the Hightower. Its flames spiraled into the storm, a pillar of green fire at the heart of the city. Battle Isle lay just beyond, surrounded by raging water. He could hear the clash of steel from behind its walls.

Screams. Shouts. Orders to get the flames under control.

He had to get there. Free the main garrison. Help them somehow.

His eyes darted down the main street. The cobblestones were slick with rain, blood, and ash. Skirmishes raged around him. Ironborn cut down Hightower guards. Civilians ran, trampled, or fell. His path was clear — a straight shot from here to the docks where Lord and Lady Hightower's ship once docked.

The river is too wide. No boat. No time.

His hands clenched into trembling fists. His blood-soaked fingers flexed. His legs tensed.

He needed to jump.

His heart pounded.

Could he make it? There was no time to doubt. No time to think.

His breath shuddered as he took a step back, eyes locked on the far shore. His chest heaved. His blood roared in his ears. The storm rumbled above, thunder rolling like a drumbeat for war.

Run. Run and don't stop. Don't think. Just jump.

He bolted. Faster than he'd ever run throughout the night. He was certain he could match a galloping horse in speed.

His feet struck the ground like thunderclaps, each step faster than the last. The world slowed around him. Skirmishes blurred into red and steel. Rain froze midair. Flames bent and stretched like streaks of light.

The edge of the dock rushed toward him. He didn't slow. Didn't hesitate. His legs coiled, muscles tight like a spring drawn to its limit. His eyes fixed on the far shore.

Jump.

He leapt.

The world fell away.

x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x

(A/N)

I AM BACK!

Well. I have been back for a while... I just graduated.

And have been job hunting. Rejection sucks.

Anyway!

This chapter is half complete! I am working on the other half. I wanted to write the entire thing in a single night. But there is so much to cover. A lot of this, I felt was necessary

I am expecting some people will have issues with Caelum killing in this chapter. I feel everyone knew that was coming. I mean, in MoS Clark was forced to Kill General Zod, when he felt he had no other choice.

There is a reason I chose that version of Superman for this. But trust me, I have a plan for him. I have a plan to deal with that.

I will have the next part of this chapter out soon. I promise I won't take as long as I did to get this out.