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The Bronze Kraken swayed and danced over the tall and dark waves, as thunder and lightning and rain crashed above them. Howling, ice-cold winds dragged the ship forward, the crewmen rowing and holding on for their lives as seawater exploded all around them. Men screamed and prayed, even the Ironborn. This wasn't the sort of storm to celebrate. This was the Storm God, bearing his might upon the children of the Drowned God in an effort to send them into the murky depths. The eternal battle between storm and sea.

The Storm God would not win. Yarek Greyjoy had faced down many a storm and laughed in the face of the winds and the waves. He'd not fallen. His ship hadn't fallen. Still, this sort of storm was the death of many. The land beneath the waves was littered with the skeletons of both men and ships alike, sent to a murky doom by a storm such as this. Yarek couldn't afford to underestimate it. Already, two of his sailors were sent hurling into the sea, screaming as the waters swallowed them. They were dead already.

Despite the loss and despite the sea's unusual turbulence, Yarek was confident that he and his crew would be able to weather this storm as they had many times before. Besides, they were nearing their Their goal, quite simply, was to raid a pirate cove in the Stepstones that Yarek had spotted some moons ago, where the sea rats unloaded their cargo and redistributed their stolen goods, a portion of which went to their masters, the Triarchy. The cove itself was well-hidden, but its position was precarious and difficult to defend; a force of hardened reavers, attacking hard and fast, should be more than capable of breaking through their paltry defenses.

And Yarek's men were truly hardened, indeed. The success of his raids meant that each and every one of his warriors were well-armed and properly armored, head to toe, as opposed to the pirates of the Stepstones, many of whom wore only rags and carried chipped spears to battle.

Yarek turned his attention to his niece, who'd been strangely calm and quiet as she squatted at the center of the quarterdeck, unfazed and unbothered by the storm, the howling winds and the ice-cold spray of the thrashing sea. She did not open her eyes, but Yarek knew she wasn't asleep. How she managed to stay in place the whole time, he didn't bother asking. His brother, Valon Greyjoy, claimed his daughter was blessed, indeed, by the Drowned God, and seeing her, now, utterly uncaring for the might of the storm, Yarek was tempted to believe just that. Many of his sailors, Yarek knew, already looked upon Hela Greyjoy as though she were the daughter of the Drowned God himself.

For only the divine could face such a storm and remained undisturbed and unmoved.

Yarek saw the little girl for what she truly was, however, a monster.

He'd seen her eyes, those malevolent green eyes; and those were not the eyes of one who was chosen by the Drowned God, but one who was chosen by demons.

They found refuge from the storm in a nearby island, south of Dorne, likely closer to the Summer Islands than he'd like, like somewhere in the middle of the Summer Sea. Blasted fucking hells. But, it was a lot better than staying out in the open waters, facing the storm head on. Yarek might've been brave, but he was not foolish. The island itself was a rocky place, barren and dead, but was covered in enough caves for his crew to hide in and wait out the storm. There was even a half-submerged cave that was just large enough for the ship to be hidden in.

Yarek had no idea where Hela went after they disembarked, seeing as not a single one of his sailors even had the remotest idea as to where the little demon could've been. But, honestly? Yarek didn't care. If she could kill a Kraken with her bare hands, then there was nothing on this island that could possibly hurt her. The little demon was likely just out exploring, searching for anything that caught her interest.

With a shake of his head and a final sigh, Yarek leaned against the cave wall and drifted off to sleep. In the dark, Yarek dreamed of queer, fish-headed folk from the depths of the sea, large-eyed and ugly, misshapen and misbegotten, crawling to the surface from the dark depths of the sea.

Morning came quickly enough. And Yarek would've preferred to stay asleep for just a little longer if he hadn't heard one of his sailors scream.

"Swords! Draw swords!" Yarek didn't know what was going on, but it was always better to be prepared. He and his warriors drew their weapons immediately, and they all stood up at once, ready for battle. His entire crew huddled together inside a single cave with only a single entrance. Yarek chose this position, specifically because it had only a single entrance. If pirates came and found them and attacked them, then it'd be possible to set up a line of defense. The Bronze Kraken itself was hidden far enough away that it should be safe, though nothing was ever truly guaranteed. "Shield wall!"

His mind was dulled by his awakening. His sleep had been difficult. Yarek didn't know which among his sailors screamed and awakened them. It didn't care. He could investigate later, when he was absolutely certain that this wasn't an attack.

"Does anyone fucking see anything?!"

"I can't see a bloody thing!"

"The sun's in our face, you daft little shit!"

"Quiet!" Yarek commanded. And it was true. The sun was rising right in front of them, shining so brightly and so intensely its presence was almost blinding. And so, he squinted. And what he saw on the other side of the shield wall made him pause. Bodies... there were bodies out there, hundreds of them. But, as his eyes adjusted to the light, Yarek saw that these were not the cadavers of dead men, but of... creatures. Not men. Not human.

Yarek took a tentative step forward, his eyes narrowed. He did not lower his shield or his sword. Yarek recognized these creatures. He'd seem them once or twice, lingering about atop barren islands that overlooked the sea. He'd never fought them before, but some of the older Ironborn were known to have done so. They said the half-men were notoriously hard to kill, vicious, and fearless; their sinewy bodies were packed with dense muscles, their skin covered in hard scales, and their teeth sharp enough to penetrate padded cloth. "Fish men!"

His soldiers stirred. Most of them, Yarek mused, would've seen a Fish Man at least once in their miserable lives. Every single Ironborn did. Fish Men were notorious little freaks. Legends spoke of how they'd emerge from the sea in the dead of night, stealing children from their homes, kidnapping women to breed, and eating the flesh of whoever was left. But those were just stories. Yarek saw the creatures plenty enough. But they never attacked. Not once.

"Look over there!" One of his men pointed out. And, through the tiny gaps between their shields, Yarek saw her. Sitting atop a small mound's worth of fish men corpses, a look of melancholy on her pale face. She'd gathered their fish-like heads and skewered them all, one by one, onto a wooden pole, which she'd placed upon the edge of the shoreline. The rest of the bodies, she left to rot. There must've been hundreds of the fish men, their bodies either torn or hacked apart. And Hela Greyjoy killed them all. "It's Hela Greyjoy!"

She was there, the little demon, she was right there, seated upon a carrion throne.

And she looked bored.

Impossible.

Madness. Absolute bloody madness. Valon Greyjoy's daughter was either the bravest or the maddest among the Ironborn – or both. It was usually both. Was this why no one could find her? Yarek mused. Was she looking for something to kill? Was she looking for more trophies to add to her already monstrous collection?

Yarek stepped forth, his eyes wide with fear, horror, and awe as he and his men beheld the true scale of the carnage. A few of the dead fish men, he noted, were riddled with black knives, like dragon glass, but even smoother. Were the rumors true, then? Hela Greyjoy could spawn daggers and weapons from her bodice?

"Hail the Lady Reaper!"

One by one, his men lowered their weapons and, one by one, they walked out of the cave. And, one by one, they knelt before her, bowed their heads, like a bunch of fucking greenlanders. Hela stood up and it was only when she stood up did Yarek notice the still-intact fish man in her grasp. She held onto an orange crest in its head as she dragged it behind her, on the way down. They called her the Lady Reaper, a title not used since the Old Days, before the coming of the Andals, when the Ironborn ruled the seas and the rivers of the Westeros. 'Lady Reaper' was a title held by Ironborn Queens who left mountains and valleys of corpses in their wake, who drowned their enemies in blood and painted the seas red.

There hasn't been a Lady Reaper for thousands of years.

The little demon walked past the kneeling Ironborn, dragging the crimson-crested fish man behind her as though it weighed nothing at all. She walked up to him and threw the wretched half-man creature on the sand at his feet. She'd broken all its limbs. Her green eyes were filled with boredom. "Uncle. This one's alive. I want to keep it as a thrall... provided it actually survives this journey. We have plenty of shackles on the Bronze Kraken, yes?"

"What good is a... broken fish man for a thrall, dear niece?" Yarek asked and, for once, he was genuinely curious. This wasn't like Hela's usual preference for trophies. She usually preferred body parts, armor pieces, or weapons. He wasn't about to complain or deny her; he wasn't mad enough for that. But, still, he just had to know. This one was also different from all the other fish men. It was larger. And it would've stood taller, too, if it could still stand at all. The bright orange crest marked it as some form of leader.

"I want to watch it suffer," Hela answered, smiling. Her smile made him shudder. "I want to break its mind. Its limbs are broken. It cannot walk or swim. It will flop around, helpless, until its mind breaks. When that happens, I wish to speak with it. I will ask questions."

"If the stories are true, then the fish folk should know where the Drowned God sleeps," Hela's grin was manic, her emerald eyes ablaze with malice and desire. "I wish to look upon the god of the Ironborn and see if he is truly worthy of that title. If not, well..."

She shrugged. "I'll kill him."

Madness... absolute fucking madness and heresy. If a Priest of the Drowned God heard her words, they would've denounced her. But only he, Yarek Greyjoy, was close enough to hear what she just said. Yarek wasn't a particularly devout man. He believed in the Drowned God, but the more rational side of him recognized that, at the end of the day, there was no real evidence that any of the gods existed at all. He knew magic existed as an arcane force in the world. But... magic was magic; they weren't miracles. They weren't the works of the divine. There was no such thing as a work of divinity. The Drowned God probably existed, but he'd be a silent god who did nothing to be worthy of worship, the same with the Seven, or all the other gods in the world.

"As you say, niece of mine," Yarek shrugged. If the little demon wanted to dive into the depths of the sea, assuming she could even communicate with a fish man, then who was he to stop her? Who was he to tell her that she'll probably never find the Drowned God's watery halls? No one. He was no one. And, Yarek knew, Hela would do whatever she wanted to do, anyway. Nothing and no one could stop her. Not even an army of monstrous half men, it seemed. "We have plenty of shackles aboard the Bronze Kraken, though I worry about this wretched creature's... health. Will it even survive if separated from the ocean for too long?"

Hela nodded at that, brows furrowed as she considered his words. She reached a conclusion a moment later. "Very well, let us drag it behind the ship. If it dies, then I'll simply find another one."

"Of course." Yarek sighed. "Let's hope it survives the raid. The storm's passed and the sea is calm. The Stepstones await."

"Uncle," Hela spoke in a tone that seemed to make the whole world freeze. Yarek did not move. He didn't even blink. Hela then held out her right hand and, from her palm, a smooth, black dagger emerged. She then offered it to him. "For you. A reward."

Yarek nodded as he accepted the accursed weapon. He wanted nothing to do with it. And yet, to deny her was death. And Yarek still had plenty to live for. It was heavier than he expected. And it wasn't made of metal. Like the daggers still embedded in the bodies of the fish men corpses, it seemed to be made entirely of dragon glass – or a material that was close to it in texture. "Thank you, niece of mine."