At the same time, on the continent of Westeros.
A red priestess stood motionless before the brazier, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames, as if they were whispering secrets no mortal should ever know. Smoke rose in slow spirals, wrapping around her figure until it became blurred, almost unreal, like an apparition born of the fire itself.
Her crimson robe swayed gently, alive, as if responding to the pulse of the brazier. She was dressed in red from head to toe: a long silk gown that shimmered with every reflection of the fire, resembling an eternal flame that refused to be extinguished.
She was Melisandre. Priestess of R'hllor. Woman of Asshai. Bearer of a faith as searing as it was dangerous.
Her copper-red hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, framing a beautiful, sharp, heart-shaped face. Her eyes, of a strange pinkish-red hue, seemed to burn with an inner light. At her throat, the ruby set in her necklace pulsed slowly, like a living heart, feeding on the power that flowed between the world and the beyond.
She followed the revelations of the True God… and yet, she had stumbled again and again.
The prophecy was clear.
"When the Red Star bleeds and darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be reborn amid smoke and salt."
"He shall wield Lightbringer. He shall be the prince that was promised. He shall awaken the dragon from stone and lead humanity against the monsters of the long night."
For years, Melisandre had believed with absolute certainty that Stannis Baratheon was that hero.
Then her heart trembled.
A wave of heat ran through her body and she turned her head sharply to the north. Her lips barely moved as she murmured:
"The fire of Stannis has gone out… and a new light will be reborn in the land of smoke and salt."
The flames of the brazier suddenly surged upward, twisting violently. Melisandre slowly fell to her knees, pressing her hands to her chest. The ruby glowed with a deep red, almost bloodlike.
"A warrior will come…" she whispered, her voice trembling with revelation. "He will ride a giant, furry beast with a single horn. But…"
The ruby burned with intensity.
Her breathing became uneven as a new vision cut through her like a burning blade.
"Five demons from another world will go after the Lightbringer."
Her voice broke.
"They will bring false gods. They will use unnatural abilities to compete with the magic of fire… and they will seek to bring the eternal night."
Silence fell over the temple.
Melisandre raised her gaze to the flames once more. This time, there was no doubt in her eyes. Only fanaticism… and hope.
"But the sacred fire will protect the believers."
"And it will purify all evil."
At the same time, in the Westerlands, near Lannisport.
Not far from the bustling port rose a gray stone castle, crude and menacing, like a scar embedded in the land. Atop its walls flew a great black banner, marked by a terrifying emblem: a ferocious three-headed dog, baring its fangs.
The banner of House Clegane.
Gregor Clegane watched the fields from a nearby hill. Below, several farmers harvested wheat under the watchful eye of armed soldiers. The giant smiled, a twisted grin that rarely foretold anything good.
A soldier approached and spoke cautiously:
"My lord, the cannons are ready."
Gregor's smile widened.
"Good. I can't wait to try—"
A scream interrupted him.
A shadow lunged toward him.
Gregor turned just in time to see a man wrapped in red robes, his eyes crazed with fury, a dagger wreathed in flames. Without hesitation, Gregor knocked him aside with a single kick.
The attacker's body was hurled away and smashed against a rock with a dull sound.
But the man in red got back up.
Howling with rage, he raised the burning dagger and charged again.
"Now you die, Demon!"
A thunderous sound shook the air.
"Bang!"
A column of smoke burst from the weapon of one of Gregor's men. The priest dropped the dagger and clutched his stomach, gasping, eyes bulging.
"Cursed demon…" he managed to spit.
"Bang!"
This time it was Gregor who fired.
The body fell heavily to the ground. Even so, the priest continued staring at Gregor with absolute hatred, spitting blood as he screamed:
"You think you can defeat me with tricks and false gods! The punishment of R'hllor will fall upon you! All enemies of the light will be consumed!"
Gregor did not respond.
He simply stepped forward, bent down, took the man's face in one hand… and crushed it as if it were a ripe fruit.
No one understood why the priest had called him demon.
Nor why he had tried to assassinate him.
Some whispered that it was punishment for Gregor's sins.
But everyone agreed on one thing.
Blood would soon flow.
And it would not be little.
Unsatisfied even after that, Gregor drew his massive sword and hacked the red priest's corpse apart until nothing recognizable remained.
The chaos had already begun.