The Sorcerer’s War

The Ruins of Valyria – After the Battle

The fires still smoldered.

The battle against the Shadow Wyrm had raged through the night, and though it had not been defeated, it had retreated, vanishing into the depths of Valyria once more. The land bore the scars of its awakening—cracked stone, melted towers, and the remains of shadowy creatures that had been burned to ash.

Now, in the eerie silence of dawn, the survivors gathered to recover.

Harry Potter sat against a fallen column, rubbing his temples. His magic was drained—the sheer effort of keeping the wards up during the fight had left him exhausted.

Across from him, Arya Stark inspected her Valyrian steel dagger. Though she had fought shadows before, these creatures had been different—twisting, shifting things that refused to die unless struck with magic.

Nearby, Daenerys Targaryen stood atop a broken staircase, gazing at the ruined city below. Drogon rested behind her, his great wings curled close to his body. He had taken wounds, but he had survived.

Grey Worm and his Unsullied were tending to the injured, their numbers fewer now, their once-pristine armor covered in soot and blood.

And Bran Stark's raven circled above, watching.

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Reflections and Regrets

As Arya finished cleaning her blade, she glanced at Harry. "You look like hell."

Harry smirked, though it lacked his usual energy. "I feel worse."

Arya sheathed her dagger and sat beside him. "That thing… we didn't even scratch it."

Harry exhaled. "We weren't meant to. We're not ready yet."

Arya was silent for a moment. "You really think we'll be ready?"

Harry hesitated before answering. "I don't know."

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Arya broke the silence. "Do you ever wonder why we keep fighting?"

Harry glanced at her, surprised by the question.

Arya's expression was unreadable. "I've spent my whole life fighting. From Winterfell, to Braavos, to the War of the Dead. And now this. It never stops."

Harry nodded slowly. "I understand."

Arya turned to him. "Then why do you still do it?"

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Because if I stop, people die." He paused, then added, "And because I don't know how to do anything else."

Arya studied him for a moment, then smirked. "That makes two of us."

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Daenerys and the Weight of the Past

Daenerys stood alone, her thoughts tangled.

She had come here for answers, for a weapon, for a way to end this war—but Valyria had given her nothing except another enemy.

Her fingers traced the worn edges of the stone railing. This was her ancestors' home. A place of glory, power, and ruin.

She thought of her brother, Viserys, and his endless, foolish dreams of reclaiming their "birthright." This was his dream. To sit on a throne built from the ashes of Valyria.

And yet, now that she was here, all she saw was death.

She felt Harry's presence before he spoke.

"You should rest," he said, standing a few feet away.

She didn't turn. "I don't rest."

Harry hesitated, then stepped closer. "Drogon needs you to be strong."

Daenerys exhaled slowly. "Drogon is the only thing I have left of my family."

Harry nodded. "I know the feeling."

Daenerys finally looked at him, her violet eyes searching his. "Do you?"

Harry met her gaze. "I lost everyone too."

She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Then you understand."

For a while, they simply stood there, two people who had lost too much, standing in the ruins of the past.

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Bran's Warning

Bran's raven landed on a broken archway. Its dark eyes glowed faintly, and then—it spoke.

"The Shadow Wyrm is not gone."

Every head turned toward the bird.

Bran's voice, distant and calm, echoed through it. "It waits. It watches. It knows you are here."

Arya frowned. "Then why did it retreat?"

The raven tilted its head. "Because it does not need to fight you now."

Daenerys stepped forward. "What does that mean?"

Bran's voice was steady. "It is waiting for something."

Harry exhaled sharply. "What?"

The raven's beady eyes gleamed. "For the right moment."

Silence settled over the ruins.

Finally, Daenerys spoke. "Then we don't have much time."

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The Road Ahead

As the sun rose over the ruins of Valyria, the survivors began their preparations.

The war was far from over.

But before they could fight again, they had to understand what they were truly up against.

And for that, they needed knowledge.

Harry turned to Daenerys. "The Citadel."

Daenerys nodded. "We leave at first light."

Arya smirked. "Guess we're heading to Oldtown, then."

The battle had ended, but the war was only beginning.

And somewhere, in the shadows of the ruined city, the Wyrm watched.