POV: Jon Stark:
I disposed of the mouse humanely and used biomass to create a small sample of the fire catalyst I'd observed in the dragon embryo.
The problem was finding someone who could help me understand these structures better.
Alchemy dealt with transformation, with changing one substance into another. True alchemists should understand catalysts, even if they didn't call them by that name.
I sent a message to the Sealord requesting an introduction to Braavos's finest alchemist.
His response came the next day: "None of the alchemists I consulted understand the specific catalysts you seek. The concept appears to be beyond their knowledge. I will continue making inquiries."
'Dead end,' I thought, staring at the fire catalyst. Maybe I'd have to reverse-engineer the principles myself.
I needed a break anyway. I hadn't eaten properly in days. The Merchant's Rest near the Moon Pool had decent food and privacy. I could clear my head and think through the catalyst problem.
Someone called me as I entered inside the city. "Jon Snow?"
An old man stood in my doorway. He wore maester's robes and chains, though both looked travel-stained. Short and squat with enormous hands, white hair sprouting from his nose and ears.
"Jon Stark," I corrected curtly.
He frowned as if the distinction confused him. "I heard you—"
"I'm busy." I had no interest in talking to a maester, it not first time either.
I brushed past him and left.
I ordered roasted duck with plums and the most expensive wine.
"Mind if I join you?"
I looked up, irritated.
The same old man from before. But now he carried a staff of Valyrian steel, its dark surface rippling in the lamplight.
Chains hung from his neck; I caught the distinctive sheen of Valyrian steel links among them. Ring, rod, and mask, all made from Valyrian steel.
Marwyn the Mage. One of the few maesters who openly admitted magic was real.
"Archmaester Marwyn," I said slowly, gesturing to the empty seat. "I apologize for my rudeness earlier. I didn't recognize you without your staff."
"Most don't." He sat down.
Behind him, I noticed another figure lingering near the entrance. Young, slim, dressed in Dornish clothes.
Alleras the Sphinx, if I remembered the descriptions correctly, though I knew from my past life's knowledge that "he" was actually Sarella Sand, one of Oberyn Martell's daughters in disguise.
Spying on me, most likely. Reporting back to… Doran Martell?
"You're hard to find, Jon Stark," Marwyn continued, waving a server over and ordering wine. "I've been in Braavos for three days, asking about the northern boy who makes life. Everyone knows of you, but nobody seems to know where you actually are."
"I value my privacy."
"Sensible." Marwyn's eyes gleamed. "Especially given what you can do. I've heard remarkable stories."
"Stories are often exaggerated."
"Are they?" Marwyn leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Tell me, how does it work? Your power. Is it an instinct, like the greenseers? Or something more deliberate, more controlled?"
I took a sip of wine, buying time to think. Marwyn's questions were probing but misguided, he was trying to fit my abilities into frameworks he understood. Blood magic, greenseeing, skinchanging.
"It's not something I can easily explain," I said finally. "The mechanisms are… complex."
"But you can create life? Modify it? Even revive the dead?"
"Yes. I can."
I reached into my pouch and drew out the fire catalyst sample I'd created. I set it on the table between us.
"Have you ever encountered anything like this in your travels?"
Marwyn picked it up immediately, holding it to the light. "Where did you get this?"
"I'll answer your questions," I said carefully, "if you answer mine. You've traveled far, seen things most maesters refuse to acknowledge exist. If you've encountered substances like this, natural catalysts from creatures or other sources, tell me about them. Tell me where they come from, how they function. Do that, and I'll explain what I can about my abilities."
Marwyn studied me for a long moment, then smiled. His red-stained teeth gave the expression a somewhat unsettling quality.
"A fair trade," he said. "Very well. Yes, I've encountered similar substances, but not this pure.
In my travels through Yi Ti, Asshai, and the Shadow Lands beyond. Most commonly, they come from magical creatures—or from creatures that once possessed magical abilities, now long dead."
He set the fire catalyst down gently. "The dragons are the most famous example. Their bones, their teeth, even their scales carry traces of a substance like this. Fire, primarily, though I once examined a dragon skull in Asshai that had unusual crystalline formations suggesting ice transformation. A frost dragon, perhaps, or some other variant."
"What about other creatures?"
"Many." Marwyn gestured to Alleras, who approached and set a leather satchel on the table. "I've collected samples over the years. Most are fragmentary, degraded. But some remain potent."
He reached into the satchel and pulled out a small gray object. It looked like a chunk of stone or coral, rough-textured but with a peculiar density.
"This," he said, "came from an Old Man of the River. The giant turtles that the Rhoynar worshipped as sacred. They were said to possess remarkable abilities—controlling water, causing floods, even summoning storms. When Valyria went to war with the Rhoyne, one of the first conflicts was over the killing of these creatures."
He held up the gray fragment. "This is from that turtle."
I reached out and took it carefully, immediately extending my biokinesis sense into its structure.
'Yes.'
It was absolutely a catalyst. The crystal-protein matrix was there, perfectly preserved despite the age. But the pattern was different—more flowing, more circular, where the fire catalyst was sharp and angular.
Water transformation.
With both samples in hand, I could now see the relationship between them. The common elements and the differences.
"This is what I needed," I nodded.
Marwyn watched me intently. "You can sense it?"
I nodded slowly. "My abilities let me perceive… patterns in living and once-living tissue. The arrangement of structures at levels most can't see."
"Fascinating." Marwyn pulled out a parchment and began sketching rapidly. "The Citadel teaches that magic is dying, fading from the world. That the age of wonders is over. But I've always believed that magic isn't dying, we've simply forgotten how to use it. How to access it."
He looked up at me. "You're proof of that. Whatever you are, however you came to have these abilities, you're doing what the Valyrians did. What the greenseers did. What all the great blood mages did. You're shaping life itself."
"And you want to learn it? That's not possible."
"I want to understand it," Marwyn corrected. "The Citadel fears magic because they don't understand it. They see it as chaotic, unpredictable, dangerous. But if it could be studied systematically, if we could understand the principles underlying it…" His eyes gleamed. "We could advance human knowledge by centuries. Cure diseases. Feed millions. Perhaps even prevent disasters."
"Or create new disasters," I said dryly. "Like what happened with the Valyrians."
"Everything powerful is dangerous." Marwyn leaned back. "I have more samples. Catalysts from various creatures, substances with unusual properties, fragments of ancient artifacts. Let me be part of your research."
I considered it. Marwyn was offering exactly what I needed, samples and knowledge.
"What about the Citadel?" I asked bluntly.
Marwyn snorted. "The Citadel barely tolerates me. I'm too heretical for their tastes, too willing to admit that their precious 'natural philosophy' can't explain everything. No, I came of my own accord when I heard rumors of someone creating life in Braavos. The Citadel doesn't even know I'm here."
"But they know about me."
"Oh, they know about you." Marwyn's expression grew serious. "They're worried. Very worried. You represent something they can't control, can't explain within their framework. Some of the Archmaesters are already discussing… countermeasures, including the Faceless Men."
He reached into his satchel one more time and pulled out another object—larger than the turtle fragment, wrapped in oiled cloth.
"A gesture of good faith," he said, unwrapping it.
It was a chunk of something that looked like dark gray rock, rough and porous like pumice. But when the light hit it at certain angles, I could see a faint iridescence beneath the surface.
"Shadowbinder relic," Marwyn said. "From Asshai. I don't know what creature it came from; some say the Stone Men of the Sorrows, others claim it's from something far older. But it carries a catalyst, used by Shadowbinders."
I took it carefully, reaching out with my biokinesis.
The sensation was immediate and unsettling. Yes, it was a catalyst—the crystal-protein matrix was there. But the pattern was strange, twisted somehow.
This was something that didn't fit neatly into classical elements.
Shadow? Death? Entropy?
I couldn't quite identify it, but I knew it was powerful.
"But be careful, I've seen what happens to those who work with shadow catalysts without proper precautions," Marwyn said.
He stood, leaving the three samples on the table—fire, water, and shadow.
"Think about my offer," he said. "I'll be in Braavos for another week, staying at the Catfish Inn near the Ragman's Harbor. If you want to work together, send word. If not…" He shrugged.
"I'll leave you to your experiments and hope you survive them."
Alleras or Sarella, followed him out without a word, though I caught her glancing back at me once before disappearing through the door.
I sat alone at the table, three catalysts arranged before me.
Fire. Water. Shadow.
Three reference points. Three different patterns. With these, I could begin mapping the full spectrum of elemental transformation.
...