As night fell, the ruins of Ny Sar took on a haunting presence. Sounds that had seed ordinary during the day now carried an unsettling edge, making the atmosphere all the more eerie.
“Spending the night in the ruins is really not a good idea,” Marwyn muttered, lighting so insect-repelling herbs he had gathered earlier. As he waved the smoke around to ward off the swarming mosquitoes, he cast an envious glance at Lynd.
Though the weather had cooled, the Norvos Hills blocked the northern winds, keeping Ny Sar warm. This climate, combined with the stagnant water collected in the city's nurous fountains, created the perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes. The mont night fell, they sward in overwhelming numbers, blanketing the city in a dense, buzzing cloud.
For Lynd, however, this was a non-issue. Using the frozen dragon rune, he ford a chilling aura around himself. The sudden drop in temperature drove the insects away, and those that didn’t flee were instantly frozen the mont they ca into contact with the icy air. A thick carpet of frozen insect corpses had already begun to pile up around him.
Marwyn coughed twice as the thick smoke from the repellent herbs stung his throat. Seeing how the mosquitoes continued to buzz around despite his efforts, he scratched at a fresh bite swelling on his face and turned to Lynd, who was watching the river.
“Lord Lynd, could you add so protection for as well?”
Lynd glanced at the disheveled Maester and the smoke-filled air around him. Without a word, he activated the power of the storm dragon rune, combining it with the frozen dragon rune. A dense, frigid mist rapidly spread across the ruins of Ny Sar.
In an instant, every mosquito was frozen solid, their lifeless bodies falling to the ground like black snow.
“My lord, if you had such an effective thod, why didn’t you use it earlier?” Marwyn grumbled, scratching at the bites on his skin as he watched the swarm vanish before his eyes.
Lynd remained impassive. “I needed to conserve my magic in case the Old Man of the River appeared. Wasting power on mosquitoes wasn’t an option.”
The mont his words fell, a disturbance rippled across the surface of the Noyne River. It was subtle, barely noticeable in the darkness, but Lynd's sharp eyes caught it imdiately. The movent suggested sothing large was gliding beneath the surface, making its way toward the docks.
Lynd turned to Marwyn. “It’s here. Get to safety—I might not be able to protect you if a fight breaks out.”
Marwyn shook his head. “No need. I’m a capable warrior. I’ve fought my fair share of battles across Essos,” he said, grabbing the axe at his waist and pulling a shield from his pack. “Lord Lynd, don’t mistake for one of those soft Maesters from the Citadel.”
Seeing Marwyn’s determination, Lynd didn’t argue and let him stay.
Though he couldn’t see underwater, Lynd could sense the powerful magical energy radiating from whatever was approaching. It was far stronger than the Cannibal.
Faced with such a creature, Lynd wasn’t about to take chances. He placed his hands on the greatsword of the Banished Knight. While he hoped to ta the Old Man of the River, as he had with the Cannibal, he was prepared to destroy it if necessary. If he was serious about rebuilding Ny Sar, the creature lurking in these waters would be a major obstacle.
Just as Lynd braced himself, a towering wave suddenly rose from the river’s surface. Like a wall of water, it surged toward the deepwater bay, sweeping up the wreckage floating above and dragging the shattered hulls back into the depths.
The wave didn’t strike the pier. Instead, it crashed down just short of the docks, sending a massive spray of water hurtling toward Lynd and Marwyn.
Before the wave could reach them, a powerful gust of wind whipped through the air, diverting the spray to either side. The sa gust caught a small boat lifted by the wave, spinning it around before gently settling it back onto the churning river.
Lynd gestured for Marwyn to stay where he was, then stepped forward onto the stone platform at the water’s edge, eyes locked on the restless surface.
Suddenly, the river went still.
The waves that had churned monts ago vanished, leaving the water as smooth as a mirror, perfectly reflecting the night sky above.
Then, the river in front of Lynd suddenly parted to the sides, and from beneath the water, a massive one-horned turtle erged.
In appearance, this giant turtle was not too different from the river turtles Lynd had seen before, aside from the sharp horn protruding from its head and several smaller horns along its shell.
But in terms of size, it was a completely different beast—thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of tis larger than an ordinary turtle. Roughly estimating, without counting its head and tail, its body alone spanned over twenty ters in diater and towered more than ten ters high. From a distance, it resembled a small mountain.
Although its size was considerably smaller than that of the Cannibal, for a creature inhabiting an inland river, it was colossal—an unrivaled force in these waters.
Yet, despite its imposing presence, the giant turtle did not attack Lynd. Instead, it lowered its head slightly, moving closer to him, observing him with eyes that held an unmistakable spark of curiosity—one that seed distinctly human.
If, when eting the Cannibal for the first ti, Lynd had sensed nothing but primal, animalistic instinct, then from this turtle, he felt sothing entirely different—an awareness, an intelligence. He could tell, with absolute certainty, that this creature possessed a keen mind, at least on par with, if not greater than, the Cannibal's.
With that realization, Lynd took the initiative to bow and, using the pure Rhoynar tongue he had learned from the orphans of the Greenblood, greeted it with respect.
“My respects to you, child of Mother Rhoyne, Old Man of the River.”
The turtle's expression shifted into sothing resembling human astonishnt. It was clear this was the first ti anyone had ever addressed it with such courtesy. Everyone it had encountered before had either scread and fled, branded it a monster, or attacked it outright.
Just as Lynd had suspected, this one-horned giant turtle was intelligent—exceptionally so. Its ancestral mory allowed it to understand the ancient Rhoynar language, and from Lynd’s tone and actions, it could recognize his goodwill.
But alongside that goodwill, the turtle also sensed a threat.
Its gaze swept over Lynd’s form, pausing multiple tis on the greatsword of the Banished Knight at his waist.
It could feel the danger radiating from the blade. That weapon exuded a power unlike anything it had encountered before. The last ti it had felt such a sense of danger was long ago—when it had stood in the shadow of dragons. Yet, the aura emanating from this lone human before it felt even more nacing than that of the great winged beasts.
Because of this, the turtle's deanor beca markedly cautious. Almost imdiately after Lynd bowed, it leaned in slightly and gave a subtle nod in return.
Unlike with Glory or the Cannibal, Lynd could sense the turtle’s intelligence, but he found no way to establish a ntal connection with it. Whatever form of communication was possible, it would not be through thought alone.
Just as he was contemplating how to bridge the gap between them, the turtle suddenly raised its head and let out a deep, reverberating sound—sothing akin to the piercing whistle of a steam engine.
Instantly, the lingering mist of frozen air that Lynd had conjured dissipated without a trace. The ruins of Ny Sar returned to their natural state.
Lowering its head again, the turtle closed its mouth and let out a low, rumbling hum directed at Lynd.
Lynd observed the powerful fluctuations of magic rippling through the creature as it vocalized, but he sensed no hostility. So, he stood his ground, listening carefully to the deep resonance of its voice.
Then, suddenly, as if the aning had been delivered directly into his mind, he understood.
It was asking why he carried the scent of a queen.
Lynd considered the question for a mont before responding in Rhoynar, “Queen? Do you an Queen Nyria?”
The giant turtle nodded.
Lynd explained, “My wife is also nad Nyria, and she is a descendant of Queen Nyria.”
The giant turtle nodded again, then let out another low, magical hum, transmitting a new ssage to Lynd: “Are you here to fulfill the queen’s vow?”
“A vow?” Lynd was montarily taken aback. “I’m sorry, I only ca because I was curious about the reports of the Old Man of the River. I don’t know what vow your kind made with the Queen of the Rhoynar.”
As he spoke, he subtly tested whether the one-horned giant turtle was part of a group or a singular entity.
The turtle showed no reaction to his phrasing when he referred to the Old n of the River as a collective. However, it was also possible that its focus was entirely on its disappointnt that Lynd was not here to fulfill the ancient vow, leaving it oblivious to his deliberate probe.
Disheartened by Lynd’s response, the giant turtle lost interest in continuing the conversation and prepared to leave.
“Wait! Hold on a mont,” Lynd called out quickly. “What is this vow you speak of? I may not know the details, but my wife is a descendant of Queen Nyria, and I have a duty to uphold her oaths.”
At Lynd’s words, the giant turtle stirred with excitent. Its massive body rocked the river, sending waves rolling outward before it gradually settled again.
Then, in another deep, resonant burst of magical sound, it revealed the story behind the oath.
Long ago, the Rhoynar had made a pact with the Old n of the River—offering them worship in exchange for their aid in governing the Rhoyne’s waters.
This agreent lasted until the ti of Nyria. When the Rhoynar were defeated, Nyria was forced to flee Essos, but before she left, she made a solemn vow to the Old n of the River as their leader.
The vow was simple: Nyria believed that one day she would return to Ny Sar and reestablish the Rhoynar city-states. Until that day, she asked the Old n of the River to guard Ny Sar, to preserve it until she could reclaim it. Once she returned, she and her people would resu the traditions of worshipping them, as they had for countless generations.
At the ti, Nyria must have still had faith in her eventual return. But that hope was soon crushed by the overwhelming power of Valyria. She fled all the way to Dorne, and in the end, to ensure that no Rhoynar would attempt to return to Essos, she ordered the burning of their ships—severing any possibility of their people reclaiming their lost holand.
“Why didn’t Nyria take you with her when she left?” Lynd asked, curious after hearing the story.
The one-horned giant turtle responded quickly. Its kind were freshwater creatures, highly sensitive to seawater. Exposure to salt water caused them imnse distress, making survival in the ocean impossible. Even approaching the sea was beyond their capabilities.
When Prince Garin led his army of 250,000 to attack Volantis, he had requested the Old n of the River to aid him—just as they had when they unleashed a flood upon Volon Therys. He wanted them to do the sa to Volantis.
However, Volantis stood at the mouth of the Rhoyne, where seawater mingled with freshwater. The presence of salt in the water made it nearly impossible for the one-horned turtles to function, let alone fight or wield their magic. In the end, none of them could participate in the battle, and they instead returned to Ny Sar.
Without their aid, and against the overwhelming might of Valyria’s dragonlords—who unleashed over a hundred dragons—Garin’s army was annihilated outside the gates of Volantis.
From the turtle’s words, Lynd could tell that it had personally fought in the war between Valyria and the Rhoynar. That ant it was at least a thousand years old, if not older. It also explained why the magical energy radiating from it was so much stronger than that of the Cannibal.
“I can fulfill Queen Nyria’s vow,” Lynd declared. “I will rebuild Ny Sar and restore the Old n of the River’s place of honor.”
At his words, the giant turtle trembled with excitent once more, causing the river to churn around it.
Lynd quickly used his wind magic to sweep away the splashing water, lifting himself into the air until he was level with the turtle’s massive head. eting its gaze, he continued, “But I have a condition.”
The turtle stilled, its gaze locked onto him, waiting for him to speak.
“I want to forge a new pact with your people—the Old n of the River. But this ti, it will not be with the Rhoynar. It will be with , my wife Nyria, and our descendants.”
The giant turtle fell silent for a long ti.
Eventually, it looked up at Lynd, sensing the imnse, ancient power that lay within him. Finally, it bowed its head slightly.
Then, instead of using magical resonance, it spoke in a voice audible to all.
“I humbly obey your decree, Ancient One.”
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