Chapter 737

The morning mist shrouded the Hidden City as it always did, but on this day, Braavos—normally a bustling metropolis—was deathly silent.

Everyone was terrified.

Jaqen’s words aboard the Queen Daenerys had been incomplete. The Titan of Braavos was not just a landmark—it was also the city’s most important watchtower, lighthouse, and fortress.

The great statue could roar to announce the hour or signal approaching ships. Its beacon guided vessels safely through the archipelago’s treacherous waters at night. And in wartime, it was a fully armed defensive bastion—its hollow metal structure housed multiple levels of fortifications. The openings in its chest plate and battle skirt, the void within its skull where flames normally burned, could all serve as artillery platforms, allowing defenders to rain death upon invaders from above.

After the failed attempt by the anti-Dragon Queen alliance to seize Dragonstone, the Free Cities had become painfully aware of the vast disparity in firepower between their weapons and the enemy’s. They had rushed to improve their cannon designs and powder mixtures—but they had also sought other ways to counter Targaryen firepower.

One of Braavos’s chosen solutions had been to mount cannons inside the Titan.

Though its hollow body could not accommodate enough guns to rival an entire fleet, any enemy foolish enough to sail within range would be in for a nasty surprise. Even if the Titan’s cannons did not cause devastating losses, they could still disrupt an attack—buying precious time for the city’s defenders to organize their resistance.

But Aegor had struck before they could put that theory to the test.

Yesterday—on the very afternoon that marked the first time in centuries that an enemy fleet had reached Braavos’s doorstep—he had ordered the bombardment of the Titan’s foundation.

For hours, the relentless thunder of over a hundred cannons filled the sky.

By sunset, the great stone legs of the Titan had been reduced to fractured rubble.

And under the stunned, horrified gaze of an entire city, the Titan of Braavos—the eternal guardian, the pride of the Free City—collapsed into the sea with an earth-shattering crash.
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The psychological impact of the Titan’s fall was beyond even the attackers’ expectations.

First, the Braavosi fleet—their proud wooden wall—had been shattered.

Now, the Titan—the centerpiece of their archipelago defenses—had crumbled.

With nothing left to stop them, the enemy would soon push directly into the city’s heart—into the islands themselves, where no foreign army had ever set foot.

As panic threatened to consume Braavos, as people whispered that all was lost, one legendary figure finally emerged from the shadows.

Gordyn Gallonier.

The former Sealord of Braavos.

A ghost of an era long past, a man who had stepped away from power—but now, when his city stood on the brink of annihilation, he returned.

Galloneir wasted no time.

First, he ordered two large merchant ships to be filled with stones and sailed under cover of night to the Titan’s ruins. There, at the very breach where the Titan had once stood, the vessels were scuttled—sacrificed to create a makeshift blockade, sealing the only passage from the outer sea into the inner lagoon.

Next, he delivered a fervent speech to both the military and the citizenry, rallying them to the city’s defense. He declared that every island and every ship in Braavos must be armed, preparing for a desperate, last-ditch resistance.

Not a street battle.

A canal battle.

Lastly, he led by example—donating vast sums from his own estate, along with every scrap of metal his household could spare, to the city’s forges, demanding that new cannons be cast immediately.

With this living legend at the helm, the city did not collapse into chaos.

Braavos did not fall apart in a single night.
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Unlike Volantis, Aegor’s fleet did not bombard the city through the night.

The darkness passed in eerie silence.

And when the sun rose, the proud people of Braavos faced a new day.
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At the ruins of the Titan, two Braavosi scouts maneuvered a small boat through the mist, carefully rowing toward the reef. They secured their vessel and crept onto the rocky outcroppings, moving with the utmost caution.

Peering over the jagged rocks, they strained their eyes toward the western horizon—toward the Targaryen Imperial Fleet, basking in the golden light of dawn.

“…Fuck.”

The first scout, Vittin, swore under his breath and immediately ducked back down.

“Quiet!” The older scout, Ilfo, shot him a glare before cautiously climbing up beside him. He poked his head over the rocks—then stiffened.

There, just beyond the ruins of the Titan, lay a Targaryen warship.

It was so close that the men on deck were clearly visible.

Too close.

They pressed themselves flat against the rock, holding their breath.

The rest of the Queen’s fleet remained anchored about a thousand feet away, silent and unmoving.

Only this one ship had advanced.

A scout vessel, no doubt. Its crew had come to inspect the newly created blockade.

Good.

And yet—something was off.

Rather than immediately returning to the fleet, the warship lingered, sailing at a leisurely pace past the wreckage. When it reached the Titan’s fallen legs—where the waters had been sealed by the sunken merchant ships—it slowed further, its crew observing the new obstruction.

Then…

Instead of turning back, it adjusted course, remaining within sight of the reef.

It dropped anchor.

A strange decision.

It had become an isolated forward position—the lone ship now standing between the fleet and the ruins.

The scouts frowned.

What was the enemy doing?

Had the Braavosi built coastal batteries atop the reefs, this vessel would have been an easy target. But Gallonier had rejected that plan—choosing instead to fortify the islands themselves.

“…What’s that?”

Vittin whispered again, his eyes narrowing.

Ilfo lifted his spyglass, watching as the sailors aboard the enemy ship unfurled a massive white cloth.

He blinked.

The fabric was laid out flat at first—then, as the crew worked in tandem, it inflated.

Slowly, it swelled, taking on a rounded shape.

A great white sphere began to rise above the warship’s deck.

Beneath it, hanging from ropes and pulleys, was… a basket?

Ilfo’s mouth went dry.

Neither of them had ever seen such a thing before.

But even without understanding, they both felt it—

Something new was about to begin.