Chapter 667

The city-state of Braavos—more precisely, Braavos the Freehold, the heart of the Braavosi Republic—was encircled by a natural ring of mountains that shielded it from the open sea. Within this stone barrier, the city itself was a patchwork of islands, both large and small, scattered across its vast inner waters, forming the world-renowned City of a Thousand Isles.

These encircling mountains did more than separate Braavos' inner waters from the open ocean; they also worked in tandem with the city’s other great defensive wall—its powerful and disciplined navy. Together, these stone and wood barriers had ensured that, since its founding, Braavos had never suffered the horrors of foreign invasion, nor the wrath of a storm-driven tide.

As winter finally receded and the world bled from endless conflicts—Westeros still trapped in perpetual civil war, the other Free Cities quarreling over an anti-Targaryen alliance—Braavos alone stood untouched. Frozen solid for months, the City of a Thousand Isles slowly began to thaw. The proud and contented Braavosi emerged from their homes, calmly exchanging their sleds and boots for small boats, breathing in the salty sea air once more, and preparing to welcome the coming summer.

And yet, in this peaceful and idyllic scene, the citizens of Braavos bore witness to something they had never seen before—not in all the long years since the city’s founding.

The Braavosi garrison, in full force, descended upon the southern shores of the Isle of Gods, surrounding the House of Black and White upon the Isle of the Many-Faced God. Their decree was unprecedented:

"The Faceless Men have become a threat to the security of Braavos! They are to be expelled from the city—permanently!"
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As absurd as it seemed, the reality was undeniable: the armed forces of Braavos had indeed prepared for such an event.

Like all major structures within the City of a Thousand Isles, the House of Black and White occupied an entire island of its own. And though none had ever expected the plan to be used, the Keepers’ Council had long devised an emergency contingency for the scenario:

"If the House of Black and White ever refuses control and openly rebels, then the Faceless Men must be eradicated from Braavos."

It was a simple plan. The city guard needed only to hold the one and only bridge connecting the Isle of the Many-Faced God to the mainland, while ships deployed massive nets to seal off the waters above and below. Trapped on their island sanctuary, the Faceless Men would have nowhere to flee.

Could they use their shapeshifting skills to slip away?

No matter. The solution was simple: arrest everyone. Treat all within the temple as suspects. The Iron Bank’s Special Operations Division had interrogation specialists who would separate true Faceless Men from the innocent.

Would they fight back?

Let them try. No matter how sharp their daggers or how potent their poisons, they were still assassins—not warriors. Against the full might of the Braavosi military, against well-trained soldiers wielding spears, shields, crossbows, and plate armor, what could a scattered band of killers do?

As for their supposed supernatural tricks?

Braavos had prepared for that as well. The Special Operations Division, though not as infamous as the Faceless Men, had access to far more resources—recruiting mages, alchemists, and shadowbinders well beyond anything the House of Black and White could muster.

And then, of course, there were the Moonsingers—practitioners of their own ancient magic, fellow refugees from Valyria’s shadow. Unlike the Faceless Men, the Moonsingers had been true architects of Braavos’ founding. They would not allow the House of Black and White to plunge their city into chaos.
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But despite all this preparation, despite all this force, the result was…

Nothing.

The temple was empty.

When the first warriors stepped inside, expecting to meet resistance, they found only silence. The House of Black and White had already been abandoned.

The Faceless Men, their priests, everyone within had already vanished.

While the Keepers’ Council had been preoccupied with plotting against the Dragon Queen, the Faceless Men had used the same afternoon to slip away unnoticed, dispersing into the thousands of lives that made up Braavos. There was no grand battle, no confrontation. The city guard found itself chasing ghosts.

The men of the Special Operations Division had the means to detect a disguised Faceless Man, but how could they find them when they had already dissolved into the city like drops of water into the sea?

Gordon Gallonier arrived by ship, expecting to oversee the aftermath of the purge.

Instead, he stood at the waters of the Isle of Gods, watching as his soldiers milled about the empty temple, completely and utterly defeated before the fight had even begun.

The plan—to expel the House of Black and White as a guise for extermination—had collapsed before it even started.

They had tried to rid themselves of an infestation, but the rats had simply vanished into the walls.

And now, instead of a clean execution, Braavos had entered a far more dangerous game—a war against an enemy that had melted into the very city itself.

The game of a thousand days of vigilance had begun.
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The House of Black and White had severed its ties with Braavos.

And Braavos, at last, had chosen its side in the great war.

Word of these two events spread rapidly across the known world.

And in a curious twist of fate, across the Narrow Sea, in Westeros, Aegor West, the very man Gordon Gallonier had marked as his greatest enemy, found himself in an eerily similar predicament.
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Aegor’s Western Expeditionary Army had advanced through the Reach with astonishing speed.

In just two weeks, his forces—over 30,000 strong—had marched from King’s Landing, crossed the Bridge of Bitterbridge, and pushed deep into the heart of the Reach. The campaign had progressed even faster than anticipated.

And that was precisely what worried him.

The Reachlords were not fools. They would not attempt to meet an army wielding gunpowder and dragons in open battle. Aegor had expected a long series of siege battles, a slow and methodical campaign of fortress-taking.

After all, aside from the natural fortresses of Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, no castle in Westeros could withstand modern firepower.

The plan had been simple:

1. Conquer key strongholds.
2. Subdue nobility through force and diplomacy.
3. Reshape the political landscape to suit the new order.

He had already devised a three-tier strategy for dealing with Reachlords:

Preservation: Those who had supported the Night’s Watch, traded with the Gifted Lands, or declared loyalty before his arrival would be spared. They would be escorted to King’s Landing, given new roles in Daenerys’ government, and used to convince other lords to surrender.

Eradication: Nobles who resisted too fiercely—forcing the use of gunpowder and dragons—would face annihilation. Their lands and titles would be stripped, and their deaths would be made an example of.

Exile: The final group—the remnants, those who refused to surrender but were too numerous to slaughter—would be banished to the far North, beyond the Wall, to be forcibly settled among the Free Folk.

Aegor had expected to fight his way through the Reach.

Instead, the Reachlords were fleeing before he even arrived, burning fields, abandoning castles, and pulling back westward.

They were not broken. They were regrouping.

They were preparing for a decisive counterattack.

And just like Gordon Gallonier in Braavos, Aegor West found himself standing on the battlefield, watching the enemy slip between his fingers—knowing full well that the real battle was yet to come.