Nightfall, Oldtown.
The Starry Sept.
Rhaegar lay on his back at the center of the Seven Gods' statues, his eyes slightly closed, breathing steadily and powerfully.
Beside him rested the greatsword Dawn, its blade as translucent as crystal, drawing in scattered starlight and moonbeams.
Around him, the septas knelt in prayer, unfazed by the scene before them.
After seven days and nights of observation, they were convinced that the handsome prince before them was a divine manifestation.
Otherwise, how could someone go seven full days and nights without food or water and still appear so full of life?
Each night, he summoned the radiance of the stars, nourishing his shimmering silver-gold hair.
These extraordinary occurrences defied conventional explanation.
Outsiders would never understand.
At this moment, Rhaegar was in a deep sleep, drifting into dreams.
In his dream, war and fire raged together, dragons and catastrophe moving as one.
His vision blurred, and he found himself passively thrust onto a battlefield shrouded in smoke and chaos.
Looking down, he saw that he was clad in Valyrian steel armor, as deep as the night itself, enveloped in a mist-like black aura.
Raising his hands, he found Truefire, his longsword, in one hand and his lost Dragonclaw in the other.
Woo—woo—woo—
An eerie horn sounded.
Suddenly, an unbearable heat surged through his body, as if his blood were boiling.
Rhaegar tilted his head, listening intently, instinctively shifting into his dragonborn state—his violet eyes transforming into vertical slits.
The sound of the horn abruptly changed, cutting through layers of thick fog.
It was ancient, heavy, and scorching...
"This isn't my battlefield."
Half-dazed, half-lucid, Rhaegar suddenly realized—this was a dream.
Just like the endless nightmares that had haunted him since childhood.
Pop!
The moment that thought surfaced, the world before him shattered like a spiderweb.
The scene shifted, and his perspective split in two.
One side showed the Red Keep in King's Landing.
The other depicted a Dragonpit resembling King's Landing's own.
Thinking he had awakened from his dream, Rhaegar found himself observing the scene from a detached viewpoint.
The Red Keep was obscured by a dense white mist, making it impossible to see anything.
The Dragonpit, however, was fully visible.
It was enclosed, and nestled within a bed of straw lay three dragon eggs.
Each egg had a scale-like texture and a distinct color.
One was fiery red, like flames.
One was deep blue, like the sea.
The last egg was two-toned—its upper third was black, while the lower two-thirds were crimson, as if a black egg were resting in fire.
Screeech…
A faint screeching sound echoed.
The last egg began to crack.
Snap!
The eggshell broke at the top, as if a tiny head was headbutting its way out.
Rhaegar blinked, sensing something unusual.
A voice rang in his ears.
"Congratulations, the Heart of the Stars has been activated. You have obtained…"
As the voice spoke, the dream collapsed entirely.
---
### The Starry Sept.
Rhaegar's eyes snapped open, and he bolted upright as if resurrected from the dead.
"A dream!"
His face was slightly pale. He pressed his fingernails against his fingertips and exhaled deeply.
Since entering the war, it had been a long time since he had such an immersive dream.
Just then, hushed whispers drifted from afar.
With his heightened senses, Rhaegar turned toward the altar, where a group of septas had gathered.
"The Son of the Gods has awakened. His hair shines like silver starlight…"
"The great dragon outside the sept is still asleep—it could swallow ten mountain goats whole…"
"Shh! Keep your voice down! Pray to the Seven!"
Rhaegar eavesdropped on a few lines before losing interest.
His gaze fell upon Dawn.
The once-milky white sword had transformed into a transparent, crystalline blade, its surface shimmering with countless specks of starlight—an earth-shattering change.
"The relic has awakened."
Rhaegar muttered, casually brushing his fingers against the blade.
Clang!
Before his fingers even touched it, a milky-white ingot dropped to the ground beside Dawn.
Immediately, Dawn began to hum, trembling as if in sorrow.
The milky-white ingot acted like a magnet, greedily absorbing the starlight from Dawn, stripping away its newfound transparency.
After a long moment—
The greatsword shuddered once more, reverting to its original milky-white state.
The ingot, however, had transformed into a glowing white orb, filled with radiant starlight magic, undergoing rapid evolution.
Rhaegar stared in shock.
"So even relics can be parasitic?"
At that moment, a notification from his Explorer's Panel appeared.
[Blessing of the Seven]
- Rank: Legendary (Red)
- Effect: +50% Magic Talent
- Description: "A gift of starlight magic—enhancing all aspects of one's potential."
Rhaegar was momentarily stunned.
He held the glowing orb in his palm but refrained from breaking it open.
This new relic seemed somewhat similar to [Blood and Fire Are One] and [True Dragon's Blood]…
Everything is an addition to innate talent.
The difference lies in the fact that the latter two are exclusive to the blazing blood of the Targaryens, while the former is more comprehensive.
"Should I try to learn Starlight Magic?"
Rhaegar stroked his chin, deep in thought.
He had yet to fully master fire magic, and dabbling in starlight or other magic wouldn't serve much immediate purpose.
For a Targaryen, riding dragons and controlling fire was already enough.
The so-called "Blessing of the Seven" seemed somewhat useless.
Rhaegar frowned slightly and muttered skeptically, "Why does this feel more like a resource for nurturing future generations?"
His fire magic talent was already maxed out; he didn't need any additional enhancements.
At that thought, Rhaegar recalled a scene from his dreams.
"A nest, dragon eggs, hatching…"
As he replayed the vision in his mind, a sudden realization struck him. His eyes widened in shock.
"Could it be… Rhaenyra is giving birth?"
He quickly did the math—eight months pregnant.
Grand Maester Orwyle had estimated the due date to be next month, marking a full nine-month pregnancy.
Typically, a child was carried for ten months before birth.
But since Rhaenyra was carrying twins, the babies were developing rapidly and wouldn't need a full ten months.
Laenor's wife had also given birth at just over nine months, delivering twin daughters.
"I have to go back."
Rhaegar's thoughts crystallized. He grabbed his greatsword, Dawn, and strode toward the exit.
The septas gasped and hurriedly blocked his path, their expressions devout.
"Your Highness, there is still one night left before the seven days and nights you spoke of are complete. Please, do not abandon your efforts at the last moment."
Rhaegar ignored them. Suddenly, flames erupted from his body.
"Ah!"
The septas recoiled in fear, instinctively stepping aside to clear a path.
Yet, their gazes held not terror, but rather an almost expected reverence.
Rhaegar hesitated mid-step and turned to look toward the inner sanctum of the sept, its doors tightly shut. A faint, eerie light flickered in his eyes.
That old zealot had the audacity to make him wait seven days and nights.
"I!"
Rhaegar spoke softly, drawing the attention of all present.
The septas dared not approach, their blind faith holding them in place.
Rhaegar silently observed them, recalling the extravagant rumors that had been circulating these past few days. Then, an idea struck him.
"Seven days of enlightenment… The Seven have granted me divine truth… I am their chosen one."
The septas held their breath, unable to believe their own ears.
Rhaegar had no time to waste. His gaze swept across the sept until it landed on a Seven-Pointed Star, placed at the feet of the Father's statue.
He strode forward and picked up the thick scripture with both hands.
Flipping to the chapters discussing divine authority and mortal kingship, he tore them out.
Before the gathered septas, Rhaegar tucked the altered scripture under his arm and walked toward the exit, his voice deep and mysterious.
"The Father guides my path. The Warrior grants me strength. The Stranger reveals to me the cycle of life and death."
"The old gods have faded. The old doctrines of the Seven are too convoluted. A new faith is about to emerge—one that will spread to every inch of Westeros."
"I… am the harbinger of this new faith, the chosen of the Seven, and the messenger of their will."
Finally, Rhaegar turned back and gazed solemnly at the seven towering statues. With his hands clasped in prayer, he declared,
"I will, as a ruler of the mortal world, build a grand Seven-Star Cathedral in King's Landing, surpassing the Starry Sept. There, I shall gather followers of the Seven to study the teachings of the new faith."
With those words, he vanished into the night, leaving behind a group of stunned septas.
"A new faith?"
"The Seven-Star Cathedral…"
"The future king himself preaching the doctrine…"
The septas murmured among themselves before breaking into fervent excitement.
Outside the Starry Sept, Rhaegar casually stored the torn Seven-Pointed Star in his spatial necklace and climbed onto the back of Glutton, his dragon.
The daily rumors had given him inspiration.
The Faith of the Seven was formidable—nobles and commoners alike across Westeros believed in it.
But just because the faith was powerful didn't mean the High Septon was.
Rhaegar had just pulled off a masterstroke—he had taken the Seven's faith and made it his.
If the new gods spread far and wide, then he would branch off into an even newer faith.
The Faith of the Seven seemed radiant and untouchable, but its doctrines had many loopholes.
Rhaegar would patch those gaps, refining beliefs that both nobles and commoners would embrace.
That was the key to universal devotion.
For instance, the Stranger's domain.
People said the Stranger was death itself, ferrying souls of the departed.
But where did those souls go?
Heaven or hell?
Rhaegar could answer: "The righteous ascend to heaven, the wicked fall to hell."
What was heaven like?
The doctrine never said—only that it was wonderful.
What was hell like?
The doctrine never said—only that it was terrifying.
Rhaegar could easily define them.
By making heaven and hell tangible concepts, he could instill them deep into the minds of the people, forming an unshakable belief system.
Compared to the vague and ambiguous teachings of the old faith, the doctrines of his New Faith would be far more clear and compelling.
Then, as the Crown Prince, he would build a magnificent Seven-Star Cathedral, gathering those willing to believe.
Same battlefield.
Direct collision.
The Starry Sept wouldn't stand a chance.
Over time, he would subtly reshape the people's beliefs—shifting the doctrine from "Kingdoms are granted divine authority" to "Divine authority is granted by the king."
A new scripture would be drafted.
And the Targaryen dynasty would have the final say.
If he wished to take multiple wives, he would—with no religious opposition.
The king's decree would be absolute. The Targaryens would be above ordinary men.
Would anyone dare oppose him?
How many dragons did the High Septon have?
Right now, he was cowering in his inner sanctum, too afraid to even show his face.
Let him try to object.
"Glutton, full speed to King's Landing!"
Rhaegar mounted his saddle and rode into the night.
"Hraaaghhh!"
With a thunderous roar, Glutton unfurled his massive wings and soared into the starry sky.
Rhaegar lowered his head and took one last look at the rapidly shrinking Old Town, silently thinking, "I will return!"
The next time he arrived, he wouldn't leave so many opportunities behind.
…
At the same time.
Red Keep, the Princess's Chamber.
"Ahh~"
Painful moans and labored, heavy breathing filled the room.
Midwives and handmaidens bustled around, carrying basins of hot water and towels, ready to assist at any moment.
Creak—
The door swung open, and a slender figure rushed in.
Laenor, dressed in red-and-white dragon-riding attire, anxiously searched for her friend.
"Haa~~"
Rhaenyra lay on the bed, drenched in sweat, biting down hard to endure the pain.
Laenor's eyes sharpened as she hurried forward. "Rhaenyra, I could hear you from across the corridor. How is it going?"
As she approached, she took in the sight—Rhaenyra's knee-length white gown was hiked up high, with large patches of fabric stained crimson.
Rhaenyra's face was flushed red from holding her breath, and she gasped in pain. "They won't come out—both of them refuse to be the older brother."
Laenor was speechless. She still has the energy to joke at a time like this?
Turning to Grand Maester Orwyle, she demanded, "She's been in labor for five or six hours. Is there anything that can speed up the birth?"
Orwyle lowered his head, his mind racing.
Childbirth was always unpredictable—each birth was different.
Some women delivered effortlessly, as smoothly as silk.
Others endured hours, even a full day and night, of agony.
"Ahhh!!"
Rhaenyra suddenly let out a heart-wrenching scream, tears welling in the corners of her eyes as her body arched involuntarily.
"Rhaenyra, are you okay?"
Laenor's expression changed dramatically. She grasped her friend's hand, keeping a close watch on what was happening beneath the gown.
Even though she had conceived twice and given birth once, the process of labor was still a mystery to her.
If not for Rhaegar's help the second time, she might not have survived alongside the child.
"I can't…!"
Rhaenyra groaned in pain.
"What do you mean you can't?!" Laenor panicked, her deep olive skin paling slightly.
Gritting her teeth, Rhaenyra mustered all her strength. "They're coming—those two little brats finally gave in!"
"Ahhh!!"
With that, her cries of agony intensified, her voice tinged with sobs.
Moments later, the sound of a newborn's wail echoed throughout the Red Keep.
"Waaah waaah waaah~~"
"Rhaegar, you absolute bastard!!"
As her furious curse rang out, another loud cry followed.
"Waaah waaah waaah~~"
(End of Chapter)