Chapter 5: Walking in Fire
At first, it was just a faint, small flame.
Dragonzel watched as the young Red Priest was enveloped by the faint flames, his body gradually charring, yet he seemed to feel no pain. Instead, his eyes were filled with fanatic devotion as he stared at Dragonzel himself.
It was as if he were urging him to hurry.
These two Red Priests were not orthodox followers of the Lord of Light; they were in truth well-known heretics within the Great Temple.
R'hllor, the Lord of Light, the Heart of Holy Flame, the God of Shadow and Fire, the God of Heat and Life. His faith is widespread across the continent of Essos, where the Free Cities thrive. His followers firmly believe that the eternal struggle between the Lord of Light and the Great Other determines the fate of the world. They revere the Lord of Light as the one true god, disparaging other deities as demons or false gods.
However, Ben Duoluo and his young apprentice, Marakh, held certain disagreements. Both Red Priests descended from ancient Valyrian families before devoting themselves to the red faith. Although they believed in the Lord of Light and acknowledged His greatness, they placed deeper faith in the mighty power of dragons and in the grandeur of the ancient gods of Valyria and the Dragonlords. When the Valyrian Freehold ruled the lands west of the Mountains of Bones, the faith of R'hllor remained hidden among slaves and common folk. The Dragonlords of Valyria regarded themselves as gods; even the gods of Valyria were treated as little more than carved idols, let alone the beliefs of slaves and commoners.
Marakh, the more radical of the two, even believed that R'hllor was merely a lie shaped by the Dragonlords to placate the populace. He did not even realize that his own name bore echoes of the red faith.
Although his devotion was in truth exceedingly pure, purer and more fervent than those priests within the Great Temple who constantly proclaimed the "one true god."
Perhaps because of their Valyrian blood, their mastery of fire was far stronger than that of other priests of their generation. Therefore, although the priests of the Great Temple were displeased with their so-called heresies, they were forced to turn a blind eye, for they still required their power to serve the cause.
Until the two accepted Lord Cleorius's invitation to research the mysteries of magic and dragons with him.
"Master Ben Duoluo, you promised me." Dragonzel raised his dagger. "Marakh will not die, will he?"
Ben Duoluo shook his head. "My Lord, before I came, I saw the Lord of Light's will within the flames. He is pleased by your attempt this day. Thus His demand is but a little flesh and blood, not life."
The old Red Priest lowered his head. "The blood of a Dragonlord's descendant, the flesh of a devout servant, and pure fire may pierce the mists of history and reveal the true path to the lost boy."
Marakh nodded once more in encouragement, drove the dagger into his chest, and cut away a large piece of flesh, casting it into the fire.
The flames shot upward with a sudden roar, and the once faint, colorless fire gradually solidified. The flames surrounded Dragonzel but did not burn him, as if craving something.
"Father… I hope this will strengthen my resolve to continue."
Dragonzel pricked his palm.
A trace of silver blood flowed across the Valyrian Steel dagger, which then took on a strange dark luster.
That drop of blood slowly fell.
The moment it dripped into the flames.
The fire seemed to release a satisfied sigh and instantly swept upward.
A sea of flame spread, almost at once engulfing the entire laboratory.
Ben Duoluo gazed upon the surging inferno with an expression of rapture. He stood amidst the flames, allowing them to scorch his body.
A drowning sensation came like a tide, then receded like a tide. Dragonzel looked about vigilantly at the pitch-black surroundings.
Without warning, the darkness was pierced by a sudden burst of blinding light, and Dragonzel involuntarily closed his eyes.
What followed was an incomparably magnificent strain of music.
It was as though countless hands reached from every direction, plucking chords that resonated through all existence.
First came an immensely profound movement.
Dragonzel groped his way through the great light that reclaimed his sight, until that movement began to swell.
Grass seas grew, and trees sprang forth.
Small green shadows wandered within boundless forests, and towering mountains rose from the earth.
Then the movement gradually softened.
The omnipresent music became gentle and soothing, like a quiet river. Giant turtles sang within the waters, forests parted, and great rivers surged.
Figures with ram-like horns, shaped as men, built cities along the rivers and sowed seeds into the soil.
Dragonzel frowned.
This… is history?
The young man slowly approached one such ram-horned figure. Its face could not be seen clearly. The figure raised a hammer and brought it down heavily.
Sparks flew.
The music swelled.
The sound from all directions became stirring, then sharp.
Half the world burned, while the other half seemed frozen, plunged into endless silence.
Dragonzel could not help but quicken his pace, as if some vast terror pursued him.
Crowned figures swept past him. Some had eyes like pearls, some like tourmaline, some like topaz.
Only the final two remained: one with eyes like amethyst, gazing down upon the running youth; the other with eyes like blood-red jade, gazing upward toward the endless heavens.
Stars strained to tear through the boundless light. Flesh grew wildly, and those stars hung above like countless watching eyes.
A warrior raised a flaming longsword, and a faint strain of music sounded at that moment, yet it was drowned by the tumultuous symphony.
The amethyst-eyed figure suddenly burst apart, and countless indistinct dragons of magic unfurled their wings and soared. Some rushed toward the stars above, some plunged toward the frozen half of the world.
"Boom!"
Dragonzel heard a shattering explosion behind him. The phantom dragons fell, and before him lay only ruins. Two Silver Dragons danced gracefully above the devastation. The young man stared at their dance. The larger Silver Dragon suddenly beat its wings and arrived beside Dragonzel in the blink of an eye.
I am flying.
Dragonzel instinctively lowered himself, gripping the protrusion before him tightly.
It is west.
He determined the direction at once.
I am flying west.
He beheld endless plains and rolling hills.
Iron swords stood like a forest, and the corpses of six colossal dragons lay eternally impaled among them. A young dragon, headless, lay beyond the iron forest, and a half-decayed dragon drifted nearby.
Hunters drew their bows. Tall towers burned. Roses bloomed unseen behind the scenes.
Great wolves howled in the north. One trout fell, another trout floated. Upon a tall weirwood, crows pecked at a stag's eyes.
The blazing sun sank in the west. A bleeding star crossed the sky. An iron gate shut tight, sealing away the lingering glow of sunset.
Green dragons bled in flame.
Falcons were struck from the clouds by lightning.
Dragons rose into the heavens, then fell one after another.
Dragon blood spilled, and from it countless creatures and plants sprang forth.
A variegated dragon wearing a crown drifted upon the sea.
The Silver Dragon still flew.
Dragonzel saw a great Wall.
And a pair of blue eyes.
His consciousness blurred for a moment.
When he regained his senses, only the fading flames remained before him.
And a voice meant for him alone.
"Go East. To conquer the East, you must first go West."
"Go West, and await the final chapter of the song of ice and fire."
"Silver Dragon and stars, fire and ice, smoke and salt — go, and await the final chapter of fate."
"Nonsense." Dragonzel held little reverence for prophecy, yet at least this proved that his present course was not in error.
The flames died. Dragonzel did not bother to dress and immediately rushed to Marakh, whose body had been charred black. Together with Ben Duoluo, he supported the Red Priest who had willingly offered himself.
Ben Duoluo did not hesitate. His lips neared what remained of Marakh's face, scarcely distinguishable as nose or mouth, and a surge of flame engulfed Marakh's body.
Marakh's eyes flew open, though sightless. "Did it succeed?" His burned lips parted like cracked charcoal. His voice was ruined, producing only faint and broken sounds.
Seeing Dragonzel and Ben Duoluo nod, Marakh finally relaxed.
Dragonzel held his hand near Marakh's mouth, and a drop of silver blood fell.
Almost visibly, flames reignited within Marakh's body, and flesh began to regenerate from the blackened remains.
"Marakh will require time to recover," Ben Duoluo said as he gently closed his disciple's eyes. "The Lord of Light's resurrection returned his soul to his body. Fire is the source of life, and also of destruction. Without your blood, I would have restored only a corpse."
"So you concealed that risk from me, Master Ben Duoluo, did you not?"
"It was a necessary sacrifice." Ben Duoluo looked upon his disciple. "Marakh was entirely willing to guide your path back toward the Lord of Light. Yet you have granted him a second life. I ask that you keep him by your side, that this child replace me — I who am already old — and serve you with counsel in matters of magic."
Dragonzel nodded. "Do not worry. I do not mistreat my own. Yet I have one more question."
"Please ask."
"What did you see in the flames?" Dragonzel asked.
As a servant of the Lord of Light, reading visions within the fire was an essential art. Though he had not seen as deeply as Dragonzel, who stood at the ritual's heart, he had surely glimpsed something.
"I saw you boarding a distant ship, drawing a sword from fire and shadow."
"I saw you standing beside crimson mountains, with silver piled like a sea."
"I saw you wearing a bronze crown, standing before a throne forged of iron swords."
Ben Duoluo spoke thus.
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