King's Landing, Red Keep, The Throne Room
After surviving the previous "assassination," the King's Hand—Tywin Lannister—now sat firmly in the main seat. The chair belonging to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had also changed occupants, now taken by a young man with golden hair.
Because the Hand had been attacked, Jaime Lannister was removed from his post as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and was ordered to quit the order entirely. This was one of the few dismissals recorded in the white pages of the Kingsguard's history.
Jaime agreed to this humiliating matter for the sake of preventing his "beloved" from being married off, and also so his father would no longer grieve.
Furthermore, after Tyrion's incident, Tywin had locked himself inside the Tower of the Hand, "fasting" for three days. This shook Jaime deeply.
After this event, Jaime's impression of Tywin changed greatly. And after Tywin once again "opened his heart" to him, Jaime finally decided to officially become the heir of Casterly Rock.
During this time, the situation across the Seven Kingdoms changed again and again. Though the Riverlands were gradually pacified under the Freys' suppression, scattered soldiers and roaming bandits continued to bring death and flames toward the Crownlands.
The Sunset Sea coastline was also uneasy. Rumors claimed that the Iron Islands had fallen into internal conflict, and countless ironborn began raiding coastal cities without restraint. Aside from large ports, many places failed to escape disaster.
As for Dorne, due to Prince Oberyn Martell—the "Red Viper"—joining the Small Council, and the earlier political marriage involving Myrcella Baratheon, the ties between Dorne and the Iron Throne now seemed closer than before.
However, there was now an additional seat in the council: a religious advisor. The Grand Maester and Master of Whisperers had also been replaced—Grand Maester Pycelle was succeeded by a scholar named Horon.
The new Master of Whisperers was originally meant to be Qyburn, the exiled former maester, but the man had left a letter for Jaime a few days ago and quietly departed. Jaime knew he wished to travel north, because rumors of dragons and the return of magic had been circulating throughout the Seven Kingdoms recently.
Although the Faith tried its best to discourage such things, some magic-revering scholars and petty nobles still slipped north in secret. Refugees from the Riverlands, with nowhere else to go, also began fleeing toward the North.
"Right now the Riverlands are far too chaotic, seriously affecting prices in King's Landing. The Freys are too weak to handle the situation. I've decided to send my heir, Ser Jaime Lannister, to quell the rebellion and deal with the ironborn raids."
Tywin spoke to the Small Council with a voice full of pride and confidence.
He had used Tyrion's life as leverage, and Cersei's future as a bargaining piece, to finally bring Jaime back into the fold. Truthfully, at this moment Tywin felt his lifelong efforts were finally bearing fruit.
The newly appointed religious advisor—Septon Korr—smiled as he said:
"Honorable Lord Tywin, I believe some of our brothers can provide Ser Jaime with assistance. When the time comes, someone will guide him."
Tywin nodded politely. "That is greatly appreciated. I trust the rebels who defy the rule of the Iron Throne will soon be executed to the last."
But as Tywin looked at this kind-faced old man, vigilance filled his heart. Tywin recognized him. In his youth, he had seen this man in Essos—back then, he had been a red priest.
Yet many years later, when they met again, this same man had become a high-ranking member of the Faith of the Seven.
Tywin's own intelligence network showed that this Septon Korr seemed to hail from House Hightower—beyond that, nothing. When he thought of that gigantic behemoth in Oldtown, his scalp tingled slightly.
Ordinarily, proud and well-armed as he was, Tywin feared no one. But recent events chilled him to the bone—because he realized that, without him noticing, King's Landing had become a place where the Faith dominated every whisper.
Among the Gold Cloaks, among many minor nobles, even inside the Red Keep itself, a large number of devout followers of the Faith had appeared out of nowhere. When Tywin finally reacted, he found countless unseen eyes around the Iron Throne.
Now, all he could do was desperately maintain House Lannister's hold on power. He dared not overturn the table—for aside from an army of ten thousand, he found he had almost nothing left.
The Faith had hidden for decades; instead of weakening, they had grown. The "Warriors of Faith" were now "Rainbow Knights"—their strength unnervingly inhuman, each one powerful.
The "Order of Starry Knights" had become the "Seven-Star Warriors." Their lowest rank was wandering knights, hidden among mercenaries and travelers, ready to fight for the Faith at any moment.
Tywin also received news that dragons had grown in the North, and dragons in Essos had also matured. Yet House Lannister possessed no dragons at all.
Though Septon Korr and Grand Maester Horon claimed they possessed "secret weapons," Tywin trusted nothing that he could not fully control.
Most frustrating of all, the Targaryen across the Narrow Sea was destined to be the mortal enemy of House Lannister. Thus, their only possible ally—or hope—was the one in the North.
"Has winter truly come…? May the Seven bless us. May House Lannister survive the coming storm."
Oldtown, Hightower, a secret chamber beneath the Blackstone Fortress
The famed "Mad Lady" of House Hightower—Moroa Hightower—was studying a scroll with great interest, appearing deep in contemplation.
Beneath the Blackstone Fortress lay a labyrinth of ancient chambers. For generations, House Hightower had tried to open these sealed rooms, spending enormous time and resources.
After testing countless methods, they finally realized only Valyrian dragon-lord blood could interact with the magical locks.
Thus, House Hightower made numerous attempts, even revealing some of their hidden power, indirectly sparking the infamous "Dance of the Blood Dragons."
Yet even after obtaining some Targaryen blood, the effects were insufficient. So they turned their gaze across the sea, to Essos—where they found a purer dragon-lord bloodline suitable for their purposes.
Thus, Saesinna Hightower—the family's secret bloodline—was born in Oldtown. She devoted the first half of her life to studying the sealed vaults beneath the fortress. At age 30, she finally opened the first chamber.
Inside, she discovered a complete magical library. But after studying parts of it, she realized many spells no longer functioned.
After extensive research, Saesinna concluded this was tied to the disappearance of dragons. And so, near the end of the "Feeble King" Aegon IV's reign, House Hightower once again stepped onto the stage of history.
Boom…
As gears turned, the stone door slowly opened. The tall and sturdy Leyton Hightower stepped inside, carrying a chest.
Though over fifty, Leyton looked closer to forty. Wearing a luxurious silk robe, his posture was straight and his presence vigorous.
"My dear father, do you have some good news for me?"
Moroa rolled up the scroll and smiled at him.
She looked perfectly normal—none of the madness rumored by outsiders. Leyton, however, handed the chest over with a faint note of reverence.
Their father-daughter dynamic seemed reversed, as though the roles of elder and junior had been switched.
Moroa opened the chest. Inside were three black crystals, each with a faint purple glow flickering at its core.
"There are rumors that beneath the First Men's Barrowlands lies a cursed ruin. Recently, that ruin was somehow opened—by someone or something—and the monsters inside escaped.
These three crystals came from that place. Now, the Barrowlands have been declared a forbidden zone, patrolled constantly by northern cavalry. But I've offered a generous bounty. More crystals and information should arrive soon."
Moroa nodded happily and examined the crystals. After murmuring an incantation, golden light shimmered across their surfaces.
In the corner of the chamber, the eyes of a sphinx-shaped golem flashed blue—as if awakened.
Crack…
The long-dormant construct creaked loudly, stone grating against stone as it moved like a boulder crushed inside a mill.
It charged at the father and daughter with no sign of hesitation—even though Moroa had just revived it, it seemed not to care at all!
BOOM!
Before it could strike, a burst of scarlet flame engulfed it. The heatwave raised the chamber's temperature sharply, illuminating the source of the fire.
It was a massive Blue Star dinosaur—if Marco were here, he'd exclaim that it looked just like the Tier-7 Fire Dragon from Fortress.
However, unlike fire dragons, this creature's body bore no flames or scales—its hide was covered in stone-like protrusions instead.
The sphinx golem melted under the dragonfire, dripping molten, half-crystallized sludge across the floor. Three smaller creatures, similar in shape to fire dragons but much smaller, crawled out of the darkness.
Though similar in body structure, their forelimbs were already transforming into membrane-like claws, resembling proto-pterosaurs. They gathered around the molten remains and devoured them greedily.
The sight made Leyton's stomach churn.
"I always thought this statue was just decoration… I never expected it to actually come alive. This is truly incredible. So much wonder—an entire lifetime of study wouldn't be enough. This world is far too miraculous."
Moroa murmured, eyes shining as she stroked the crystal.
"M-Moroa… can we revive our dragons now? I've received word—dragons have appeared in the North and in Essos. If we don't hatch our eggs soon, we'll be too late!"
Leyton asked nervously. Though she was nominally his daughter, everyone in House Hightower knew that inside her resided the spirit of the family's most revered ancestor.
That ancestor had spent three entire lifetimes studying magic for House Hightower. Moroa was now the fourth vessel. The thought of dragons soon circling the Hightower filled Leyton with uncontrollable excitement.
"My dear father, we've already lost too much time. It's too late to resurrect dragons now. But I have mastered the method of cultivating fire-drake larvae. The Valyrian sages created dragons with magic—and I, who possess even more knowledge, can do the same.
They rose to power because of the ruins of the Aelingi sorcerers. But we, Father—we possess an entire magical library. I will soon open the second chamber. It may contain the greatest magical treasures in this world."
Moroa's mismatched violet-and-green eyes shone with fervor.
Citadel, beneath Ravencroft Isle, a secret warehouse
Archmaester Theobold was touring a secret facility—more accurately, a secret laboratory—under the guidance of Archmaester Osri.
Osri was the head of Ravencroft Isle and a master of raven studies. He replaced the late Archmaester Walgrave and joined the Conclave a month ago.
Inside a metal cage before them, two massive golems were locked in combat. One resembled a lion-like sphinx construct; the other had a humanoid upper body and a bizarre lower body made of two rows of wheels.
Suddenly—armed with spear and greatsword—the wheeled golem sliced off the sphinx's head and then pierced its chest, shattering its core.
BOOM!
The violent explosion shook the basement, but the force and shrapnel were contained by the glowing barrier that flared inside the cage.
Afterward, the cage opened. Stone wheels scraped against the ground as a huge figure stepped out. When the smoke cleared, Theobold finally saw it clearly—over five meters tall, still covered in glowing fragments and corrosive core residue.
Then its chest opened. A man jumped out, holding a dagger-shaped crystal that shimmered with soft pink light.
"Honored Archmaester! Allow me to introduce Dr. Angvar—the head of this laboratory, developer of these new technologies, a true master who has touched upon fragments of the ultimate truth. I wish to recommend him for a seat on the Council of Truth."
Angvar looked about forty. Wearing a gray-black shirt, linen trousers, and leather boots, he appeared unusually youthful. He was also one of the few "young" doctors in the Citadel.
In the Citadel, when a maester reached true mastery in a field, the Conclave awarded him a metal ring, rod, and mask corresponding to his discipline—as well as the title of Doctor.
Maesters were many; doctors were rare—young ones even rarer. For Angvar to achieve such at around forty made him a certified genius.
Angvar bowed to Theobold:
"Respected Archmaester, I am overjoyed that the Conclave finally acknowledges our research. Our work on the giant crystal has made major breakthroughs—we can now charge certain obsidian components.
These two golems you saw are only a fraction of what the crystals can produce. If the Conclave provides resources and manpower, we can manufacture extremely powerful constructs. And—I can also show you our latest 'toys.' They're far more dangerous than scorpion bolt-throwers!"
He pulled a curtain aside.
Archmaester Theobold's eyes widened in shock.
"My dear Archmaester—this is truth. We have touched its true essence!"
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