The scent of burning scrub, baked earth, and dry desert air had long since been swallowed by the choking stench of charred flesh and smoke.
Rain fell steadily across the Dornish wasteland, drumming against cracked sandstone and turning the dusty road into dark, glistening mud. It hissed wherever it touched the sapphire flames below, yet the unnatural fire burned on, untouched by wind or water, as though the storm itself held no dominion over it.
Seven figures climbed from the shadow of a jagged sandstone ravine, emerging onto the ridge like wraiths from the oldest tales of the First Men. Heavy robes of mottled grey and faded brown hung from their shoulders, the coarse fabric stiff with dried sweat, ancient grease, and stains far older than either. Rain soaked the cloth until it clung to their frames, revealing an intricate sigil embroidered across each robe. Pale threads woven into a tangle of entwined roots, twisting through one another like the veins of an ancient tree.
They were no Children of the Forest, nor the dark-eyed smallfolk of Dorne.
They were ordinary men.
But the air around them carried an ancient pressure, faintly metallic, as though every breath tasted of old blood and damp earth.
They halted upon the crest of the ridge.
Below them, the nameless village did not burn as villages ought to burn. Sapphire flames rolled silently through the streets, consuming mud-brick, wood, and bone alike without leaving so much as a trace of soot. Their cold light washed over the rain-swept canyon, painting the cliffs in eerie shades of blue beneath the gathering dusk.
A collective gasp escaped the robed figures.
One stumbled backward, boots slipping in the mud. Another dropped to his knees, clutching at his hood as though he could tear away what he was seeing.
"What happened?" an elderly cultist demanded, gripping a gnarled staff crowned with a jagged shard of petrified weirwood. His voice trembled despite himself. "The artifact... the runes were flawless. The sacrifice was complete. How has it failed?"
"How do we answer to the roots?" another whispered. Bone charms hanging from his sleeves rattled with the trembling of his hands. "The Old Gods demanded a harvest beneath the red sun. Who has stolen their offering?"
A third stepped forward, rain dripping steadily from the edge of his hood.
"Who dares?"
Only then did they notice the lone figure waiting below.
A young man stood in the middle of the rain-swept road before an unremarkable carriage. He wore a long black robe that bore not so much as a trace of damp despite the steady rain. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, though his eyes never left the ridge.
The elder's grip tightened around his staff until his knuckles turned white.
"Careful," he murmured.
His gaze never left the stranger.
"Look at him."
A knot formed in his throat.
"He reeks of danger."
A harsh laugh answered him.
One of the taller cultists strode past the others, broad-shouldered and thickly built, a dagger carved from yellowed bone hanging at his thigh.
"What danger?" he scoffed. "He's a lone boy stranded in the wastes."
A cruel smile spread beneath his hood.
"If he caused this, then his blood will please the Old Gods all the more."
He stepped into the open.
His eyes rolled upward until only milky white remained. Raising both hands toward the stranger, he began to chant.
The words belonged neither to the Common Tongue nor to High Valyrian.
They came in the First Tongue—a harsh language of grinding consonants, guttural growls, and sounds that seemed better suited to beasts than men.
The air grew heavy.
Rain no longer fell naturally. Each drop seemed to hesitate for the briefest instant as an invisible pressure settled across the road, pressing not upon flesh, but upon the mind itself. It sought to smother thought, strip away reason, and leave behind nothing but obedience.
The cultist finished with a sharp bark of command and pointed toward the sapphire flames.
He waited for the young man to obey.
--
"Warning, host! Hostile Mental Intrusion Detected. Occlumency Activated. Intrusion Rejected."
--
Nothing happened.
Thaddues remained where he stood.
The unseen force washed over his mind like a warm breeze against a mountain, leaving no more impression than rain upon stone. He did not blink.
Silence settled across the ridge.
Only the steady patter of rain upon rock and the distant hiss of sapphire fire disturbed the stillness.
One of the cultists swallowed.
"...Brother?"
His voice lacked the certainty it had held only moments before.
"Does your spell only work on frightened shepherds?"
Across the clearing, the corner of Thaddues' mouth lifted into a faint smile.
He could still feel the residue of their spell lingering in the air—a crude enchantment that sought to seize the mind through instinct rather than will. It was neither refined nor subtle. He had expected force, perhaps lightning or flame.
Instead, they had reached for dominion.
It fit what he had learned of this world.
Magic here was seldom shaped through discipline alone. It was borrowed. Bargained for. Mortals knelt before powers older than kingdoms, feeding them blood, memory, and life in exchange for miracles.
"It's useless," Thaddues said.
His voice carried across the rain-soaked ravine with effortless clarity.
The cultists shifted uneasily.
"Is he a sorcerer?" one muttered, drawing a black iron sickle from beneath his robe. "Did he summon the blue fire?"
"It matters little," another snapped, though the edge had gone from his voice. "Kill him before the blood dries."
Thaddues regarded them for another heartbeat.
A calm smile remained on his face.
"Can you?"
Before another word could be spoken, Thaddues raised his right hand.
A wand slipped into his grasp as naturally as drawing breath. His wrist moved in a single, effortless motion.
"Bombarda."
The air itself cracked as an invisible force tore through the dusk.
The spell crossed the distance before any of the cultists could react.
It struck the heart of their formation with the crack of thunder.
The ridge erupted.
Earth, shattered sandstone, and muddy rainwater burst skyward in a violent spray. The two cultists nearest the blast vanished within the explosion, their bodies torn apart before a scream could escape them. Fragments of flesh and broken stone rained across the hillside, mingling with the storm as blood washed through newly formed gullies in the soaked earth.
The remaining five were hurled from their feet.
For a moment, the ridge disappeared beneath a cloud of dust, steam, and shattered rock. The falling rain quickly beat against the drifting debris, dragging it back toward the ground until the choking haze began to thin.
Then came the coughing.
The elder scrambled backward through blood-soaked mud, staring at the smoking crater where two of his followers had stood only moments before.
"What... what sorcery is this?"
His voice had fallen to little more than a whisper.
"No sacrifice..."
"No prayer..."
Rain streamed down his weathered face as his horrified gaze found Thaddues once more.
"It is a demon."
The words had scarcely left his lips when another cultist slammed both palms against the rain-soaked ground.
A thick stream of greasy black smoke poured from his mouth, spreading over the ridge with unnatural speed. It rolled downhill like a living tide, swallowing stone, road, and starlight alike.
The rain vanished into the smoke.
Every droplet that entered the black mist disappeared without a trace, devoured before it could reach the earth.
Whispers followed.
Some sounded like weeping children.
Others resembled dying wolves carried upon the desert wind.
Within moments, the road disappeared beneath the unnatural shroud.
----
"Warning host! Visual obstruction detected. Multiple hostile presence lost. "
----
Thaddues remained where he stood.
His expression never changed.
The whispers circled him from every direction, trying to confuse distance and direction alike. Shadows danced within the smoke, while unseen footsteps seemed to echo from every side.
He simply lifted his wand.
With a lazy turn of his wrist, he traced a slow circle through the air.
"Ventus."
The answer came at once.
A powerful gale erupted from his position, spiraling outward with tremendous force. Wind and rain became one as they surged across the road and climbed the ridge together.
The enchanted smoke twisted violently beneath the blast before tearing apart into ragged strands. Rain poured through the gaps, washing away what remained until the black mist scattered into the evening sky.
The whispers died with it.
When the wind finally settled, the ridge stood exposed once more.
The cultists had not wasted those precious seconds.
Four of them stood shoulder to shoulder, robes plastered against their bodies by the rain. Their arms stretched forward as blazing spheres of orange-red fire gathered between their hands.
The storm hissed wherever rain touched the flames.
But the fire refused to die.
With a single cry, they hurled the fireballs down the slope.
They roared through the rain, trailing sparks and clouds of white steam across the darkening sky.
--
"Host! Four hostile magical constructs detected. Estimated Impact: 2.1 Seconds."
--
Thaddues watched them approach.
A flicker of curiosity crossed his face.
"So," he murmured, "you can manage more than tricks of the mind."
He raised his wand.
A protection charm shimmered into existence before him.
The four fireballs struck simultaneously.
The impact burst into a blinding shower of sparks and flame. Steam exploded outward as rain crashed into burning magic, briefly cloaking the road in a veil of white vapor.
The shield did not so much as ripple.
The flames shattered harmlessly against the invisible barrier before dissolving into drifting embers that vanished beneath the relentless rain.
As the last traces of heat faded into the storm, Thaddues lowered the shield without taking a single step.
Instead, his attention settled upon the four surviving cultists.
Something had changed.
Their breathing had become ragged.
One leaned heavily against another to remain standing. Rain plastered dark hair against their foreheads, revealing streaks that had turned stark white within moments. Faces that had merely appeared weathered now seemed burdened by decades. Deep wrinkles spread across their skin, while hollow eyes stared back through masks of exhaustion.
Thaddues used Analysis in silence.
The answer revealed itself almost immediately.
--
"Analysis complete Host, Hostile spellcasting sustained through Biological Vitality. Observed cost is accelerated aging."
--
"They spend their lives to cast."
It was not a question.
His eyes lingered on the eldest among them.
"No wonder your gods always ask for blood."
The words struck harder than any spell.
The four cultists exchanged weary glances, each recognizing the truth in the other's face.
One reached trembling fingers toward his hair.
When he drew his hand away, several white strands clung to his fingertips.
No one spoke.
They had measured the price long ago and they had accepted it.
The youngest among them turned toward the man beside him.
Their eyes met.
Neither needed words.
Together, they bowed their heads.
"Hail the Old Gods."
The two cultists remained bowed for a long moment, rain cascading from their hoods as though the heavens themselves mourned what was to come.
Then one stepped behind the other and pressed a trembling hand against his brother's back, directly over the spine.
A low hum escaped his throat.
The sound was unlike any chant Thaddues had heard before. It was deep and resonant, vibrating through the rain-soaked earth until even the puddles scattered across the road quivered in silent rhythm.
At once, a pale radiance bloomed beneath the other man's skin.
His veins shone like molten silver beneath flesh drawn taut across bone. Every muscle in his body locked as his mouth fell open in a soundless scream. Something within him stirred, pushing against flesh that had never been meant to contain it.
Slowly...
Painfully...
A sphere of swirling light forced its way through his chest.
It emerged inch by inch, leaving neither blood nor torn flesh in its wake.
Rain struck its surface only to vanish into wisps of steam before ever reaching the ground.
Beside Thaddues, the air shimmered.
Rowena's spectral form emerged from the curtain of rain, her translucent robes untouched by wind or water. Her eyes narrowed the instant they settled upon the glowing sphere.
"Be careful," she said quietly. "I know this power."
Thaddues never looked away from the ritual.
"So do I."
"It bears the same corruption I extracted from your body when we first met. Unknown. Unstable. It devours as much as it obeys."
Thaddues heard the system.
--
"Warning host! Unknown magic detected. Energy density exceeds standard defensive thresholds. Recommendation is to avoid direct contact."
--
"I see it."
The cultist behind his brother cried out one final time.
With both hands, he tore the sphere free.
The other man's body collapsed instantly.
His flesh withered into grey dust before it touched the ground. Rain carried the ash away almost at once, leaving only a heap of brittle bones beneath empty robes. They cracked beneath their own weight as though centuries had passed in the span of a heartbeat.
The surviving brother staggered backward.
His hair had turned completely white.
Blood seeped from his gums, mingling with the rain as it ran down his chin. His hands trembled violently beneath the weight of the glowing sphere, yet his grip never loosened.
"Kill him!"
His scream echoed across the canyon as he hurled the orb down the hillside.
It shrieked through the night.
Heat rolled before it in suffocating waves, turning the falling rain into clouds of hissing steam. The air itself warped around the spinning sphere, while the ground beneath its path blackened as though scorched by the passing of a fallen star.
Thaddues watched its approach without haste.
This was no crude fireball.
Nor was it a spell woven through discipline.
It was magic drawn from sacrifice—years of stolen life compressed into a single violent act.
--
"Host! Threat analysis initiated..... complete. Magical signature is extreme.Ordinary shield charm will not suffice. High-level counter-charm recommended."
--
A faint smile touched Thaddues' lips.
"So... even your gods have teeth."
He turned his wand toward the ruined village behind him.
The sapphire flames answered at once.
Rain hissed against the unnatural fire, yet not a single blue flame diminished.
"Incendio Dominare."
The burning village responded.
Sapphire fire surged from shattered homes and collapsed roofs like a rising tide, racing across the flooded road in answer to his will. As his magic seized the flames, their brilliant blue darkened into an oily black.
The inferno twisted upon itself.
It rose higher and higher until it resembled a monstrous beast crowned with curling horns, its burning maw opening toward the oncoming orb.
Water vanished into steam wherever it brushed the cursed fire.
The rain did nothing to slow it.
The two forces met midway across the valley.
The collision split the night.
Black fire and sacrificial light ground against one another with a shriek like rending iron. Waves of blistering heat rolled through the canyon, filling the rain with clouds of white steam until the battlefield became a haze of fire and mist.
Neither force yielded.
Thaddues stood unmoving beneath the downpour. His wand remained perfectly steady, feeding power into the Advanced Fire-making charm as the horned inferno wrestled against the sacrificial orb.
Rowena's voice cut through the roar of colliding magic.
"Behind you!"
Almost at the same instant he heard the system.
--
"Host! Three hostile entities detected. Origin confirmed: Rear arc. Distance: Seven meters."
--
From the long shadows cast by the canyon walls, three dark shapes peeled themselves away from the earth.
They were neither men nor beasts.
Only living darkness.
Long, skeletal arms stretched toward Thaddues as featureless heads drifted silently through the rain. They moved without sound, gliding across the soaked ground as though the shadows themselves had come alive.
High upon the ridge, the gaunt cultist who had conjured the smoke bent double.
Blood poured freely from his mouth.
Even so, he forced the spell onward with what little life remained to him.
The shadows lunged.
Thaddues never turned.
His left hand swept lazily to one side.
"Fulmen Arcus."
Blue lightning erupted from his fingertips.
It spread outward in a perfect ring, crackling through the rain with a deafening hiss. Bolts danced across the flooded ground before surging into the approaching shadows.
The shadows never reached him.
Light consumed them instantly.
They unraveled into wisps of black vapor before dissolving into nothingness.
On the ridge, their master convulsed violently.
His eyes rolled back into his skull.
The last of his strength abandoned him.
He collapsed face-first into the mud, the rain falling silently upon his lifeless body.
Silence settled over the battlefield once more, broken only by the patter of rain and the distant roar of black fire wrestling against sacrificial light.
Only one cultist remained.
The elder.
The elder stood alone amid shattered stone and broken bodies, leaning heavily upon his gnarled weirwood staff. Rain ran in crimson streams over his robes, washing the blood of his followers into the cracked earth. Yet there was neither fear nor despair upon his weathered face.
Only conviction.
He looked upon Thaddues as a devout man might look upon an altar.
"We have not failed," he whispered.
Though weakened by age and grief, his voice remained steady.
"We have merely been tested."
His fingers tightened around the ancient staff.
"The Old Gods have shown us the path."
He drew a slow, ragged breath, lifted the staff high above his head, and cried into the storm,
"Consume me."
The words echoed through the canyon before he drove the staff into the rain-soaked earth with every ounce of strength left in his body.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the ground trembled.
Cracks raced across the clay in every direction. Rainwater disappeared into widening fissures as pale roots burst from beneath the earth, slick with black, sap-like fluid. One became three. Three became dozens.
They writhed like serpents before burrowing deep once more.
The earth split open.
A trunk erupted from the wound in the desert.
White as ancient bone, it thrust toward the darkened heavens with impossible speed, its branches twisting and clawing at the rain-filled sky. No tree should have survived in such barren land.
Yet this one did more than survive.
It fed.
The elder screamed.
His boots rooted where he stood.
Bark crawled over his legs, climbed his torso, and spread across his chest. His fingers stretched into brittle branches while his flesh fused seamlessly with the growing trunk.
The tree drank deeply.
Marrow.
Blood.
Soul.
Nothing was spared.
The rain struck its pale bark, yet the droplets seemed to vanish before touching it, swallowed by an unseen force.
A bitter cold swept across the canyon.
Not the welcome chill carried by rain after a hot day.
Something older.
Something that had never belonged beneath the southern skies of Dorne.
The very air grew heavy. Invisible currents of magic bent toward the newborn weirwood like rivers drawn into a whirlpool.
Thaddues narrowed his eyes.
He felt it immediately.
This was more than a summoned tree.
It was establishing dominion.
A fragment of the Old Gods' authority was taking root in the mortal world.
He heard the system again.
---
"Host, an immature weirwood is taking root. Old Gods magic is rapidly spreading through the surrounding land. Destroy it before the manifestation is complete. Time remaining is less than thirty seconds."
--
Thaddues did not panic.
He simply nodded once.
"So that's your purpose."
"Rowena."
She was already watching the struggle between the sacrificial orb and the black flames.
"The orb," she said without hesitation, pointing toward the violent collision. "It carries the same essence as the tree."
She turned toward him.
"It won't be rejected."
Understanding flashed across his face. "No."
A faint smile appeared.
"It will be accepted."
He made a sharp motion with his wand.
The black Advanced Fire-making charm collapsed immediately, breaking apart into countless black embers that hissed into steam beneath the relentless rain.
Freed from its restraint, the sacrificial orb surged forward once more, screaming across the canyon toward him.
He neither moved nor raised a shield.
Instead, he planted his feet upon the muddy road and lifted his wand like a seasoned duelist awaiting the perfect moment.
The system's warning lingered in the back of his thoughts.
Do not block. Redirect.
His smile widened almost imperceptibly.
"I was planning to."
He flicked his wand.
"Depulso."
The Banishing Charm struck the orb with flawless precision, catching it at just the right angle.
Instead of shattering, the sacrificial orb was violently deflected.
Its course changed in an instant, hurtling back toward the ridge—straight for the half-grown weirwood.
The elder's wooden face twisted in horror.
"No..."
The word escaped as the groan of old timber bending beneath winter snow.
It was already too late.
The sacrificial orb struck the base of the newborn weirwood.
For the briefest instant, the world fell utterly still.
The rain ceased to patter.
The wind died.
Even the sapphire flames consuming the village seemed frozen beneath the darkening sky.
Then—the fading dusk vanished beneath blinding white light.
The collision unleashed a deafening roar that shook the canyon to its foundations. The newborn weirwood was swallowed whole before its roots could fully claim the land. Pale bark, shattered stone, and raw, unstable magic erupted skyward in a storm of splinters and incandescent light.
The ridge itself collapsed.
Great slabs of sandstone sheared away, tumbling into the inferno below as the shockwave raced outward in every direction. The falling rain flashed into clouds of hissing steam before fresh sheets of water descended once more through the boiling air.
A translucent window appeared before Thaddues.
---
"Host, hostile manifestation eliminated. The weirwood conduit is destroyed. The Old Gods Manifestation was Interrupted. Now no hostile magical presence detected."
---
The shockwave reached the road a heartbeat later.
Thaddues calmly raised his wand.
A shimmering barrier blossomed before him and the carriage.
Boulders, shattered timber, and jagged splinters crashed harmlessly against the invisible shield before falling away. Rain drummed steadily upon the barrier, cascading down its curved surface in glittering streams.
Behind him, the carriage lurched violently upon its iron axles. The frightened horses stamped and snorted, but held their ground.
Gradually, the roar faded.
The trembling earth grew still.
Only the steady rhythm of falling rain remained.
Dust drifted through the deepening twilight, mingling with mist and steam until the battlefield disappeared beneath a pale veil.
As the haze slowly cleared, the ridge was gone.
In its place lay a vast smoking crater filled with shattered stone and cooling ash. No trace of the weirwood remained.
No bodies.
No relics.
Only ruin.
The oppressive weight that had smothered the land vanished as though it had never existed.
Even the air felt lighter.
Rain continued to fall, washing blood from the broken earth and carrying black ash into the widening crater below.
Thaddues lowered his wand.
For several long moments, he simply watched the rain cleanse the battlefield.
"So," Rowena said softly as she appeared beside him once more, "the Gods of this world can bleed after all."
A faint smile touched Thaddues' lips.
"No."
His gaze remained upon the ruined ridge.
"Their servants can."
Silence settled between them.
The sapphire flames still burned throughout the ruined village, untouched by the rain. Their cold blue glow mingled with the fading crimson light of dusk, casting long, ghostly reflections across the rain-soaked earth.
Thaddues slipped his wand back into his sleeve. "More entertaining," he murmured, "than some dragon rider."
A faint smile crossed Rowena's face.
"I suspect they'll disappoint you after this."
Her spectral form dissolved into countless silver motes, each fading into the rain before disappearing altogether.
Thaddues remained alone upon the deserted road.
Far beneath stone and root, something ancient stirred and remembered.
TBC
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