11

I was Torano of Lys, a sworn sword under Craghas Drahar, and I stood on the deck of the Star Serpent with salt spray on my lips. Our fleet, nearly a hundred ships of the Triarchy, stretched wide across the Summer Current, sails fluttering in the strong breeze. This was our domain. We had come here to end the menace of the Ironborn once and for all.

I had never seen so many ships assembled beneath one banner, not even during the battles for the Stepstones. Great war galleys from Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh, each bristling with soldiers and ballistae, converged under the will of the Crabfeeder.

We had laid this ambush with cunning and patience. For months, we had lost men and ships to that Ironborn scourge, that wretched woman who prowled too close to our waters. Rumors said she was the daughter of a lord. Some whispered she was a goddess of death incarnate. Others claimed her cruelty was greater than the most cruel Dothraki Khal. I had believed none of that. To me, Hela Greyjoy was merely a savage from the Iron Islands, albeit a cunning one. Yet here we were, prepared to pounce.

I stood near the prow, gripping the damp railing, scanning the sea for movement. The sun was high, glinting off the water like shards of glass. The wind howled across the deck, tugging at my hair. My mouth felt dry.

"Look there," one of my mates said, pointing to the horizon.

I followed his gesture. Far off, just visible through the haze, an array of ships advanced in formation. They were spread in a loose crescent, two lines on either side trailing behind a central craft far bigger than the rest. The Stormrider, I thought, recalling the name we had gleaned from spies. A new vessel rumored to be unstoppable, sailing with some Ironborn invention or sorcery. Our captains had debated whether it was all hot air. But we had come prepared regardless.

Craghas Drahar himself stood on the quarterdeck of his flagship, the Blood Wraith, directly to our stern. I could see him if I turned and squinted: a tall, gaunt figure, hair stringy, arms folded, the outline of his distinctive crab-mask perched at his belt. He often wore it into battle to strike fear into the hearts of men. We called him the Crabfeeder for the horror he unleashed upon prisoners. He commanded our fleet with a silent menace, rarely shouting, yet always making his will known.

We had the advantage of numbers. One hundred ships to their lesser squadron. We were certain they would run. They had to. Ironborn thrived on quick raids, not pitched battles. And any that didn't run would be crushed. Or so we believed.

As the Stormrider's fleet drew closer, I realized they were no ragtag band. The Stormrider itself gleamed with reinforced plating, and behind it, a swarm of Ironborn ships fanned out in an organized line. My stomach knotted. We outnumbered them thoroughly, but my gut told me this wouldn't be as easy as we had hoped.

I took a breath. The wind carried the stench of brine and something else, something heavy and metallic. I glanced at my fellow sailors, seeing the tension in their faces. They'd heard the same tales as I: The Ironborn had some monstrous vessel called The Doom, and its captain was the dreaded Hela Greyjoy, the Red Scourge, rumored to be unstoppable, rumored to be unbeatable.

Those stories always contradicted themselves. Some said she conjured black blades from thin air. Others insisted she commanded sea creatures the likes of which no one had ever seen. A few sailors swore that she commanded the wind and the tide, and called krakens from the deep to do her bidding. I had dismissed those rumors as tavern talk. But a shiver crawled down my spine as I recalled how many Triarchy ships had vanished in these waters, their wreckage found with no survivors.

We had all come here thirsting for vengeance, thinking to drown that savage in our numbers. One hundred ships of Myrish crossbowmen, Tyroshi spearmen, and Lyseni sailors. It had to be enough.

"Be ready," I murmured, clenching my jaw.

The Triarchy's signal horns sounded from the Blood Wraith. They let out three piercing notes, short and urgent, telling us to close ranks. Our ships began to sweep forward, forming a wide, encompassing net. The Stormrider's flotilla was almost within range of our ballistae and scorpions.

I grinned, imagining their fear as they realized the trap we had set. We had arranged ourselves in a crescent, each flank pushing in, leaving them little room to escape. The wide sea might have offered them flight, but we had the speed and the numbers to chase them down.

"Archers, ready!" barked our ship's captain. His name was Merisso, a Lyseni noble's bastard. He wore bright turquoise silks beneath his leather harness. Even in battle, he refused to dress plainly. But he was lethal with a crossbow and cunning with naval maneuvers. "Ballistae crews, stand by!"

We rushed to our positions. I readied a crossbow, though we were still out of range. My heart thudded in my chest. This moment felt surreal, like a silent calm before a raging storm. The Ironborn should have turned or scattered. But they pressed forward, especially that massive flagship. The Stormrider glistened under the sun, sails taut with the wind.

Then something odd happened. The Stormrider's fleet slowed, and from behind its lines, a smaller shape darted out. Well, smaller than the flagship, but still large compared to most standard war galleys. A sleek, jagged silhouette rose in stark relief against the water, black as midnight. It cut away from the others, turning directly toward us, leaving the rest of the Ironborn behind.

My breath caught. Was this Hela's rumored vessel? The dreaded Doom?

"Gods," muttered the man to my left. "Is that it?"

Thelor raised a brow as the monstrous ship advanced alone. Its hull looked like shards of obsidian fused together, the edges bristling with spines that jutted outward like the ribs of some unholy beast. Where the prow should be, I glimpsed a gaping maw of iron teeth, carved in the shape of a kraken's jaws. The black sails, though furled partially, revealed runic designs that seemed to shimmer even in the daylight.

The deck of that ship looked twisted and unnatural, like it had been grown rather than built. The masts angled in weird, almost organic curves. A swirl of faint mist clung to its sides, as though the waters around it steamed. My hands shook on the crossbow's grip. My stomach lurched. The sight was... wrong.

Merisso cursed softly. "She dares to come alone?"

At first, I thought it was a trick of the light. Perhaps they had more ships hidden behind it. But no. We watched as The Doom veered away from the Stormrider's flotilla, heading straight toward our center ranks, intent on taking us all by itself.

Fury flared in my chest. The arrogance! One ship against nearly a hundred. Who did they think they were? Did they truly believe they could match the Triarchy's might alone? My lip curled as I spat over the side.

"Prepare to fire!" Merisso shouted.

Our catapults and scorpions turned, creaking as they aimed. The rest of the Triarchy fleet followed suit, shifting their formation to envelope The Doom. It was a prime target. We had the advantage.

Yet a whisper of doubt gnawed at me. The vessel drew closer, and I could see shapes on its deck. Figures shrouded in black, standing at rigid attention. Some wore helmets shaped like twisted horns. Others clutched strange weapons that glinted like black glass. My mouth went dry.

As The Doom's sails caught the wind, it surged forward with impossible speed, almost as though it was galloping across the open water. I heard the gasps of the men around me, saw their uncertain glances. Our catapults launched, hurling flaming pots. They arced high, trailing smoke, then crashed down toward The Doom's deck.

My heart pounded. Impact was certain. No ship could outmaneuver mid-flight catapult shots at such a short distance. But The Doom moved with an uncanny grace. Half the projectiles splashed into the water. The rest slammed into the black hull and burst into flames... that quickly sputtered, as though something on the wood smothered them. The hull itself seemed to reject the fire, leaving barely a scorch mark.

A tremor ran through me. This was no ordinary ship. It glided closer, unscathed. Our scorpions fired next, thick bolts the size of spears. I saw two slam into the prow, only to glance off, as if the hull was iron plate. Another lodged into the side but did not penetrate deep. The anchor rope trailing the bolt simply snapped as The Doom pressed on.

"They're mad," someone hissed behind me. "They've come to die."

Another volley soared from our ships. More arrows, more bolts, more pots of burning pitch. Most landed short, or angled off the black plating with dull clangs. Those that hit deck rails inflicted minimal damage. Was it the swirling mist, or some enchantment? My eyes watered. I rubbed them, trying to keep my focus.

Then the shrieking started. From The Doom's deck came a chorus of roars and howls. I saw them then: the Einherjar, if the rumors held true. Hela Greyjoy's chosen warriors. A mass of them stood lined at the rails, their armor a patchwork of black leather and scaly plating. Their eyes seemed to gleam red in the half-light. Some brandished long spears with wicked hooks. Others clutched swords of the same obsidian hue as their ship's hull, blades that shimmered with an eerie luminescence.

My mouth felt like sand. This wasn't normal, and I realized that we were gazing upon something far darker than we had anticipated.

"They're not human," one of my mates whispered in a trembling voice. "They can't be."

Closer still. I could see each figure now, each face a mask of deadly calm. Their mouths contorted as they let out war cries, short and guttural. My crossbow shook in my hands. I'd survived battles in the Stepstones, faced pirates and sellswords, but nothing had ever radiated this sense of... dread.

A hush fell over our ship, a momentary paralysis. Then Merisso roared orders, snapping us out of our stupor. "Fire again! Ready the grapnels! Ram if you must, but bring that cursed ship down!"

Our rowers below deck responded to the drumbeats, pushing the Star Serpent forward. Around us, the Triarchy's lines tightened, seeking to encircle The Doom. I saw other ships move in from the flanks, their sails billowing, their ballistae angled. The air smelled of salt and fear.

Craghas Drahar's horn sounded again, urging us to converge. I glimpsed his flagship, the Blood Wraith, pivoting to block The Doom's path if it attempted to flee. We had them. We had to.

Yet The Doom did not slow. Its prow parted the waves. The Einherjar unleashed a volley of black spears that arced through the sky. They struck with astonishing force. A nearby Triarchy galley took several hits along its deck. I heard shrieks as men collapsed, punctured by spears that punched through armor as though it were cloth.

Shaking, I raised my crossbow and loosed a bolt. It hissed across the gap, striking one of those black-armored shapes. The figure twisted, the bolt deflecting off his chest plate. He barely staggered. Then he let out a snarl, pointing a sword at our ship. A surge of panic spiked in me.

Now The Doom was upon us. The Star Serpent's captain shouted for ramming speed, hoping to smash their hull. Our rowers rowed faster, and we angled to strike The Doom's flank. I gripped a harpoon rope, heart pounding. We had the advantage of momentum.

We collided. Our prow scraped against that black plating. A horrid screech of tearing wood erupted, and I lurched forward, nearly losing my balance. Sparks flew where iron braces collided with The Doom's shell-like hull. For a moment, I thought we had them pinned. Then, with a guttural groan, The Doom pulled free, as though our timbers were little more than driftwood.

Our ship rocked violently. I saw a chunk of our prow tumble into the water. The black spines along The Doom's side had ripped through us as it twisted away. Our starboard flank gaped with a ragged hole, water rushing in. Cries went up as men scrambled to seal the breach.

Shaking, I turned to see The Doom sliding past our stern, unscathed. Another Triarchy galley tried to block it, but The Doom pivoted with uncanny agility. Its hull seemed to bend and shift with the waves. The Einherjar hurled grapnels, hooking onto the galley's rails. Instantly, a wave of them leapt across, swirling black blades cutting down the defenders. Screams and clash of steel filled the air.

I felt bile rise in my throat. This was no ordinary fight. This was slaughter.

The Star Serpent listed, still afloat, but wounded. Merisso cursed. "We're taking on water! Pump, you dogs! Patch that breach!"

I stumbled along the deck, grabbing a bucket to help, but my eyes kept darting to The Doom, which had already disengaged from the galley it ravaged. The unlucky galley drifted, deck aflame, men leaping overboard to escape. The Einherjar returned to The Doom by swinging on ropes, their kills complete. Another Triarchy vessel, a Myrish war dromond, tried to come up behind it, but The Doom's captain - she had to be Hela Greyjoy - maneuvered expertly, slipping away from the dromond's ramming angle.

I glimpsed her on the quarterdeck, a figure with long black hair, cloak billowing, standing beside a helm shaped like a monstrous kraken's maw. Even from this distance, I saw her eyes gleaming with a cold light. She raised one arm, and the Einherjar roared in unison. Then they surged into another attack.

One ship, one monstrous creation, was ripping through our lines, leaving a trail of broken hulls and battered men. How was this possible?

I swallowed, my throat tight. The rest of the Triarchy tried to converge, each captain seeking to pin The Doom down. But every time we encircled it, that black hull slid through a gap, or battered aside a smaller ship. The spines along its sides acted like rams, shredding anything that dared come too close. Our numbers began to matter less as panic spread.

"Torano!" Merisso hollered. "You're with me. We board the next time they come close. Understood?"

I looked at him, wide-eyed, but managed a stiff nod. Board that... thing? My heart pounded. But I had no choice. That was the Triarchy way. If we couldn't sink it, we had to board and kill its crew.

Men around me readied grapnels, swords, and axes. Their faces were pale. I could see the trembling in their hands.

"Hold steady!" Merisso barked.

It wasn't steady. The Star Serpent rolled from the water pouring in, though our men worked desperately at the pumps. Still, we had enough fight left for one last stand.

The Doom carved a path through the Triarchy, heading straight for our line once more. Alongside it, battered ships from our alliance flailed, trying to ram or harass it with arrows. The Doom responded with savage bursts of speed and monstrous collisions, each one sending splinters skyward. Its deck was an orchestra of shrieks and clangs as the Einherjar rained death on any vessel they latched onto.

I felt an almost supernatural dread. The hull glowed faintly, or maybe it was the reflection of the midday sun off that obsidian plating. My head throbbed.

Then The Doom angled toward us again. My mouth went dry. Merisso shouted for rowers to hold, letting the battered Star Serpent drift, hoping to lure The Doom in. The swirling wind carried the stink of smoke and blood. Bodies floated in the water, bobbing like broken dolls. The Triarchy was losing morale. Some ships had begun to withdraw, battered and burning. Others circled uncertainly, not sure how to approach this unstoppable monster.

I could see no sign of the Stormrider or Hela's main fleet. They had drifted further back, letting The Doom handle the Triarchy alone. The arrogance - and yet, they were winning.

The noise of battle roared in my ears. I saw The Doom's prow coming at us, raking across a smaller Tyroshi brig. The brig spun away with a shattered hull, sinking fast. A wave of water and debris hammered into the Star Serpent's side, jolting me off my feet. I landed hard on my knees, gritting my teeth.

"Boarding party, ready!" Merisso shouted.

I scrambled up, crossbow in hand. My heart hammered. This was madness. Then I saw The Doom pivot. Now it was gliding past our starboard side, near enough to throw grapnels. The Einherjar stood at the rails, hooking lines and spikes into place. They intended to board us. Or we would board them. It hardly mattered. War cries echoed across the gap.

A hulking figure among them let out a guttural yell and leaped the few feet to our deck. I stared in shock as the man landed like a beast, black blade in hand. He wore half a helmet shaped like a snarling kraken's visage, and his eyes glowed with an unsettling fervor.

Our men rushed him. He moved faster than any warrior I'd seen. His sword cut through two sailors in a single swing, blood spraying across the timbers. I raised my crossbow and fired. The bolt struck his shoulder, but barely seemed to slow him. He locked his gaze on me, snarling.

Before he could charge, Merisso lunged, thrusting his rapier. The black-armored man twisted, deflecting the blow, but Merisso's speed forced him to step back. More Einherjar flooded over the rails, clashing with our men. A single one of them, I noted, held the strength of at least ten men. The deck became a swirling melee of steel and screams.

A grapnel rope soared overhead, lodging in the mast. I saw more of them sliding down, landing with heavy thuds. They wore those same twisted armors, brandishing blades that glinted in a dark shimmer. Some of those swords extended unnaturally from their hands, as though the steel was alive.

My mind reeled. This was not normal weaponry. Was this the rumored sorcery of Hela Greyjoy?

I ducked behind a crate, reloading my crossbow. An Einherjar landed behind me, flipping over the crate to slash at my head. I rolled aside, heart racing, and fired a bolt into his chest. He jerked, staggering, but still advanced. I yanked a dagger from my belt, bracing for a final stand.

Then one of our spearmen skewered the Einherjar from behind, piercing a gap in his strange armor. The monstrous warrior collapsed, letting out a final rasp. I let out a shaky breath, then stumbled to my feet.

A clang of metal to my left made me whirl. Another Einherjar was pressing two of our archers into a corner. He smashed their bows aside with a single sweep of his blade, chopping one man's arm clean off. My gorge rose. The second archer fled, dropping everything, tears streaming down his cheeks. The Einherjar kicked the first man's body aside, searching for a new target.

I felt helpless. Everywhere I looked, Triarchy sailors were dying or retreating, the deck slick with blood. Above us, The Doom's dark sails loomed, blotting out the sun, or so it seemed.

Suddenly, an eerie hush descended. I realized the Einherjar had stilled. They parted, forming a path. My heart pounded as I followed their gaze. There, crossing from The Doom's deck, came a solitary figure. A woman with black hair and pale green eyes. She stepped onto our ship as though she owned it. Her armor was neither plate nor leather but something twisted and black, curving around her limbs like living shadow. In her hand she carried a sword—no, it was more like an extension of darkness given a deadly edge.

Hela Greyjoy.

A hush fell as she scanned the carnage. Her eyes were cold, her expression calm. She flicked her gaze at the few of us who still stood, then turned her attention to a cluster of men who had huddled near the stern. My throat tightened. This was the dreaded Lady Reaper, the Red Scourge. Her presence exuded an almost supernatural aura.

Time seemed to still as she spoke, her voice powerful and resonant. "Who commands here?"

Merisso, battered and bleeding, spat onto the deck, sword still in hand.

"I do," he growled. "You'll find no easy victory, wench."

Hela's lips curved in what might have been a smirk. "I already have."

In a blur, she moved. I only caught the motion out of the corner of my eye - her blade cutting through the air like a raven's wing. Merisso raised his rapier to parry. For an instant, I thought he had succeeded. Then his rapier snapped like a twig, and her blade cut diagonally across his chest. Merisso staggered, dropping to his knees with blood gushing from the wound.

My vision swam.

The rest of our men froze, fear etched on their faces. Some dropped their weapons outright, trembling. Hela locked her gaze on them, her expression dispassionate.

"This is done," she said quietly. "Leave, or die."

The invitation to flee was too great. Half our men scrambled to the rails, leaping overboard or climbing ropes to other Triarchy ships. Others simply collapsed, weeping. In the chaos, I found my legs moving, though I wasn't sure if I wanted to stand and fight or run. The fear was overwhelming.

A sudden racket from the starboard side forced my attention away. Another Triarchy ship had rammed us, trying to pin The Doom. But The Doom's hull twisted, groaning as if alive, scraping along the attacker's prow in a shower of sparks. The ramming ship listed, water flooding in through a monstrous gash. The Einherjar howled in triumph, launching grapnels to board that vessel too. And I saw it then… moving beneath the unearthly vessel - limbs of black obsidian, sharp like those of crawling insects, granting it eerie dexterity.

I realized we had lost. The Triarchy was in disarray, many ships battered or sinking. Some had turned to flee. Fear broke them. Craghas Drahar's horns sounded from the Blood Wraith, though I couldn't see how he planned to salvage this. The entire battle was a rout, orchestrated by a single, unholy vessel.

Tears burned at my eyes, half in rage, half in terror. I wanted to curse the gods for letting this happen. Our alliance was broken, scattered. All because we had underestimated one Ironborn upstart.

Hela Greyjoy turned her gaze to me. I stood near the mainmast, crossbow dangling uselessly from my fingers. She paused, regarding me with those cold green eyes. I could hardly breathe.

"Go," she said, flicking her blade downward to fling droplets of blood onto the deck. Her eyes blazed with emerald fires. Her Einherjar had boarded the other vessels, overpowering scores of men with their unearthly rage. Hela Greyjoy stood alone. I could kill her. She was short. I could tackle her to the ground and ram a dirk into her side. "Tell your masters what happened here."

The black sword in her hand pulsed and dark mist curled around it like it was alive. My heart hammered so fiercely I thought I might faint.

No… I couldn't kill her.

I backed away slowly, my entire body trembling. All around me, Triarchy sailors fled or lay dead. The Einherjar prowled the deck, silent as predators after a kill. My mind raced with a single thought: I had to survive, if only to tell them that this was no myth.

Hela Greyjoy was real, and The Doom was unstoppable.

The deck lurched, and I stumbled to the port side, where a boarding plank had once been. Now the wood hung splintered, bobbing in the sea. Without thinking, I leapt over the gap to a drifting piece of wreckage. The water soaked my boots, chilling me to the bone, but I clung to the flotsam. I kicked away from the Star Serpent, paddling with all my might, desperate to put distance between me and that damned vessel.

I heard the roars of battle receding behind me, or maybe it was just my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. I forced my legs to move, ignoring the cramps, ignoring the weight of my armor. I had to escape. I had to live.

Eventually, I drifted far enough that The Doom looked like a black spike against the horizon. Other Triarchy ships still floundered, some burning, some canted at lethal angles. Bodies and debris littered the waters, a floating graveyard. My soul felt heavy. This was the worst defeat I had ever witnessed, and it was inflicted by a single Ironborn ship with its monstrous crew.

I gulped air, my mind reeling with the realization that the stories I had laughed at were but shadows of the truth. The Triarchy believed Hela Greyjoy was a cunning raider, but mortal. We had never imagined the reality would be this nightmarish. The rumors had not been exaggerated - they had been tamed. Watered down.

I spat out a mouthful of saltwater, gritting my teeth. Craghas Drahar would survive, or he wouldn't. My duty now was to crawl back to Myr or Lys or wherever I could and warn them that we faced something far more horrifying than a mere Ironborn. We faced an eldritch force bound to a living nightmare of a ship.

With every stroke, I recalled Hela's eyes and that black, pulsing blade. I recalled her Einherjar, inhuman in their speed and ferocity. And I recalled the faint sound of laughter from The Doom's deck, the laughter of men—or devils—who reveled in slaughter.

The sun began to set, casting long shadows across the sea. My arms ached. My vision blurred. But I swam on. In my mind's eye, I saw Hela turning away, leaving me alive to spread the tale. My tears mixed with the saltwater.

I prayed to whatever gods would listen that I might find a Triarchy boat or a piece of driftwood to carry me to safety. For once, I believed the gods might answer, if only to ensure the world learned of what had happened. Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they relished the terror unleashed by the Lady Reaper and her black nightmares.

Night fell. I kept swimming, the quiet waves lapping at me. The battered remains of the Star Serpent drifted somewhere to the east. Now and then, I glimpsed starlight reflecting on shattered planks, or the pale face of a drowned man bobbing near me. My gut twisted, but I pressed on, ignoring the thirst that scratched at my throat.

Time lost meaning. My arms moved in a slow, desperate rhythm. The image of The Doom burned in my mind, a cursed shape that would haunt my dreams. I recalled the swirling mist along its hull, the sparks of color from runes etched in its sails. I heard the distant roar of the Einherjar and the quiet, deadly voice of Hela Greyjoy. It was all too real.

I couldn't guess how many survivors might remain. Dozens? Hundreds? I suspected far fewer. The Triarchy had come in force, nearly a hundred warships, to slay one monster. We had failed. The remnants of my pride sank to the bottom of the sea, as dead as the men floating around me.

Eventually, I spotted a small boat drifting, perhaps launched by some doomed vessel. Gathering what strength I had left, I swam toward it, arms trembling. Two other men clung to its side, equally battered. They hauled me aboard without a word. We collapsed in a heap, breathing raggedly. Their eyes mirrored mine: hollow, haunted.

No one spoke for a long while, just listening to the quiet slosh of water against the hull. Eventually, one coughed and said, "What was that?"

I closed my eyes, seeing again that black prow.

"The Doom," I whispered.

He nodded, wincing from a gash on his forehead. "It truly was."

The other man shuddered, hugging himself.

"Hela Greyjoy," he said, as though naming a demon.

We drifted in silence. None of us had answers. Our minds refused to process how easily we had been undone. I forced myself to sit upright, scanning the horizon. Dawn was still hours away. The night sky pressed upon us, the stars cold and distant.

In that darkness, all I could think of was how the Triarchy's bravado had collapsed in a single engagement. The sea belonged to her now, or so it seemed. There would be no glory in confronting her again, only terror. But deep down, I knew our leaders wouldn't give up. They would gather more ships, more men, more resources. And she would butcher them again, if we faced her unprepared.

In my mind, I saw the Ironborn goddess standing at the helm, her face calm, her eyes bored with mortal struggles. I remembered her voice: "Tell your masters what happened here."

She had let me live. She had wanted me to be her messenger. I felt a twinge of shame. I was an instrument of her intimidation now, a mouthpiece for her legend.

But what else could I do? If the Triarchy wasn't warned properly, they would send another fleet to die. Part of me wanted to blame the Myrish or the Tyroshi for underestimating her. Part of me wanted to blame the Lyseni admirals for their arrogance. But none of that mattered. We had all shared the hubris that one hundred warships could not lose to a single Ironborn vessel. We had been proven horrifically wrong.

The day would come when we might stand against The Doom again, but it would require cunning beyond measure. Our alliance would have to adopt new tactics, new weapons, or even find some monstrous magic of our own. As I sat in that little boat, drifting among the wreckage, I couldn't conceive how.