Embers in the Sand || Book I

Prologue

—————————THE MAN drove the sword into the child's fragile body, each thrust more brutal than the last.

The blade, slick with her blood, slid in and out with a sickening squelch, as her tiny form convulsed beneath his weight. Her gurgling sobs grew weaker, each sound a pitiful plea that fell on deaf ears. The crimson tide that spilled from her mouth mixed with the tears on her palid brown cheeks, painting a gruesome picture of innocence lost. Her small hands, once so full of life, now twitched feebly, clutching at the air as if grasping for a salvation that would never come.

He remained emotionless as his eyes glazed over as he withdrew the blade one final time, leaving her to choke on her own blood, the life slowly draining from her tortured body. The chamber grew silent, save for the faint, dying whimpers of the child, whose suffering had finally come to an end.

Then came the haunting wails of an infant, his fragile skull meeting the unforgiving force of the stone wall again and again, as his mother, consumed by fury and sorrow, fought her captor in a desperate bid to save him.

Elia Martell stood frozen, her once bright brown eyes now veiled in despair. The flicker of hope that had once danced within them was extinguished, leaving only hollow sockets staring into the abyss.

She had become an empty vessel, drained of strength and will, powerless against the savage brutality unfolding before her. As the monstrous assailant violated her, she could only whimper as the cold blade traced a path of gore across her trembling form, each stroke cutting deeper into her pallid brown skin.

Finally, she took her last, labored breath.

When awareness returned, she was engulfed in a realm of desolation, where colors bled into a haze of gray. A bitter coldness seeped into her very soul.

Before her lay a scene of raw agony: a young girl, barely more than a child, writhing in the throes of childbirth. The air was thick with the scent of blood and sweat, and the girl's pained cries sliced through the stillness.

Recognition dawned, bringing memories long buried to the surface.

Lyanna Stark.

The spark that ignited the inferno, the architect of their shared tragedy.

"His name shall be Aegon, Aegon Targaryen."

"Promise me, Ned. Promise m———"she pleaded, her voice a fragile whisper on the brink of oblivion.

Elia stood frozen, disbelief gripping her like icy fingers. "How could this be?!" she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. Her mind screamed in rejection, desperate to deny the horrifying truth. This had to be a lie, a delusion. The girl must have lost her mind!

But as the reality began to sink in, Elia trembled with a mix of fury and anguish. Her eyes blazed with rage as she took a step forward.

"How dare you?!" she spat at the ghost before her, her voice rising with each word. "How dare you use the name of my son!"

But as the reality sank in, so did the agony. Rhaegar wouldn't betray her like this. He couldn't.

"Yes, he would," a sinister voice hissed, repeating in the chambers of her mind. It was the voice that haunted her dreams, mocking her fears, feeding her doubts. "Burn! Burn!" it cackled, a maddening chorus.

"He is my son after all," it continued, each word dripping with venom. "A true dragon."

Elia's breath caught in her throat as she struggled to comprehend the enormity of the betrayal. Each word from the insidious voice felt like a blade twisting in her soul.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. She didn't need Aerys's voice to convince her of Rhaegar's actions; from the moment he crowned that girl with winter roses, she had known it was a dire omen.

Every fiber of her being screamed for justice, for retribution against the man who had shattered her dreams and the girl who had stolen her children's birthright. Yet as her strength ebbed away, all she could do was weep silently.

Was this her sin?

Had her ancestors condemned her by binding her to a dynasty that had once threatened to reduce Dorne to rubble and ash if they refused to bend the knee? Was it Queen Rhaenys's blood that cursed them all?

With what little strength remained, she unleashed a primal scream, a haunting lament which vibrated through the desolate chamber, reaching out to the heavens in a desperate plea for mercy. Each cry was a raw expression of her shattered soul.

She screamed for her children, for the innocent lives stolen before they had the chance to grow. She screamed for the dreams that would never be realized, for the laughter that would never fill their halls. She screamed for the futures snuffed out in a cruel twist of fate.

Her voice cracked and faltered, the rawness of her grief threatening to consume her. But still, she screamed, her cries carrying the weight of a thousand sorrows, a testament to the depths of her anguish.

In that instant, standing at the edge of the abyss, all she could do was scream. Scream until her voice gave out, until her lungs burned with the effort, until the overwhelming pain was drowned out by the sheer force of her despair.