The Sorcerer’s War

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The Messenger of Doom

The war horns echoed across the valley, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened warriors. The sun had barely risen, its pale light struggling to pierce through the thick fog rolling in from the east.

At the edge of the war camp, a lone rider approached.

He was clad in dark silver armor, his helm shaped like a snarling wolf's head. The black banner of Lord Vaelor the Hollow fluttered behind him, its sigil—a twisted skeletal hand clutching a bleeding heart—glowing with ominous magic.

Harry, Jon, Daenerys, and the gathered war council stood waiting. Soldiers lined the perimeter, hands gripping sword hilts and spear shafts, their breaths visible in the cold morning air.

The rider reined in his black stallion, his piercing yellow eyes scanning the group before settling on Jon Snow. He pulled a scroll from his belt and spoke in a harsh, guttural voice.

"Lord Vaelor offers you one last chance to surrender."

His voice carried an unnatural resonance, as though something ancient and foul whispered beneath his words.

Jon stepped forward, his face cold as the northern winds. "We do not kneel to tyrants."

The messenger smirked. "Then you kneel to the grave." He unrolled the scroll, reading aloud:

"At the fall of the second sun, our army will march upon your walls. Your warriors will drown in their own blood. Your mages will watch their spells unravel. And when the dust settles, only the crows will remain to speak of your folly."

He snapped the scroll shut. "You have until sundown to reconsider."

Before anyone could respond, Arya moved—a blur of motion. In an instant, her dagger was at the rider's throat.

But he didn't flinch.

Instead, his body dissolved into black mist, reforming a few feet away. His smirk widened. "Your tricks mean nothing against true power."

Harry's wand was already raised. "Then let's see how it holds up against mine."

He flicked his wrist. "Stupefy!"

A scarlet bolt of energy shot toward the rider—only to pass through him, striking the ground behind. The earth hissed and cracked, but the messenger remained untouched.

"A shadow," Daenerys murmured. "He's not truly here."

The rider laughed. "Perceptive, Dragon Queen. But it will not save you."

Then, without another word, he turned his stallion and rode toward the horizon. Within moments, his form faded into the mist, vanishing entirely.

Jon clenched his fists. "It's begun."

---

The Final Stand

The war camp erupted into action.

Scouts were dispatched to track enemy movements.

Messengers were sent to the remaining allied houses, urging them to march with haste.

Siege weapons were positioned along the valley ridges.

Harry stood alongside Tyrion and Davos at the war table. The map of the valley was spread before them, marked with red and blue sigils.

Tyrion tapped his fingers against the table. "Vaelor's forces outnumber us three to one. But if we position ourselves strategically, we can force them into a bottleneck."

Davos stroked his beard. "Aye, but only if they take the bait."

Harry studied the terrain. "They will. Their arrogance will be their downfall."

Jon joined them, his face set with determination. "We hold the valley entrance. If they break through, we retreat to the second line and force them into the marshlands. That's where we make our stand."

Daenerys placed a hand on the table. "And Drogon?"

Tyrion met her gaze. "We hold him back until their necromancers reveal themselves. Their army isn't just flesh and blood. They're using dark magic, and we need to counter it at the right moment."

Harry nodded. "I'll be ready."

---

Nightfall Approaches

As the sun dipped below the mountains, the first torches of the enemy army became visible in the distance—thousands of them, stretching across the valley like a sea of fire.

The ground trembled beneath their march.

Harry stood atop the western ridge, his wand in hand, his heart pounding. Despite everything he had faced—Voldemort, the Death Eaters, the horrors of Westeros—this battle felt different.

Darker.

Jon stood beside him, watching the approaching army with steely resolve. "We fight for the living."

Harry took a deep breath. "Then let's make sure we win."

The war horns sounded.

The battle had begun.