"Child! You are burning!"
The moment Lady Shella Whent rushed into the ruined hall, she screamed in horror at the sight of the pale white flames enveloping Roman. She lunged forward, desperate to help him.
Fortunately, Old Jessy reacted instantly. He threw his arms out to physically restrain the frantic lady.
"My Lady, stop! The heat will melt your flesh!" the veteran warned.
Roman calmly raised a hand and willed the fire to recede. The raging white inferno vanished in the blink of an eye.
"I am entirely unharmed, My Lady."
He turned around, holding his arms out to show them his condition.
Aside from his coarse tunic, which had been charred to rags during Harren's initial ambush, Roman had suffered no lasting damage.
Even the horrific burns he had sustained earlier had completely vanished. The awakening of his Pale Dragonflame had miraculously healed his blistering flesh.
"Boy, what in the seven hells were those things?" Old Jessy asked, his voice shaking as he stared at the massive scorch marks scarring the stone floor.
"The ghosts of Harren the Black and his cursed sons," Roman answered simply. "But they are gone now. Permanently."
Upon hearing the tyrant's name, all the color drained from Lady Shella and the guards' faces.
"Did you truly destroy them?" Lady Shella whispered.
Ghosts were an ever-present terror in the dark halls of Harrenhal, and Roman had heard the gruesome legends constantly.
The most terrifying rumor was that Harren's ghost was perpetually wreathed in invisible fire. If the tyrant set his sights on a mortal, he would relentlessly hunt them down until they burned to ash.
Having just witnessed Roman engulfed in an unearthly blaze, Old Jessy was completely convinced it had been Harren's work.
"I incinerated them, Master Jessy. They will never threaten this castle again."
To prove his point, Roman extended his right palm. With a mere thought, a cluster of beautiful, pale white flames ignited over his fingers.
"It was this fire that shattered their curse. And what is more, this flame allows me to see the unseen."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Roman flicked his wrist. A streak of white fire shot into a dark corner of the hall, immediately illuminating a lurking, shadowy figure that let out a startled shriek.
This sudden turn of events completely shattered the guards' fragile psychological defenses.
"The Seven preserve us! Have mercy!"
"Stay back! Do not come any closer!"
Faced with invisible, intangible horrors, the hardened soldiers panicked and scrambled backward like frightened children.
Ultimately, it was Lady Shella who restored order.
"Quiet yourselves!" she commanded sharply. "Roman is standing right here. He just killed Harren the Black! What is there to fear from this lesser spirit?"
Hearing their lady's firm logic, the guards gradually stopped trembling. A few of the bolder men even crept forward to inspect the squirming phantom pinned by the pale light.
"Wait... is that not the cutthroat who raided the shores of the Gods Eye a few years ago? He became a ghost too?"
The observation drew everyone's attention. After a closer look at the phantom's ragged features, the guards confirmed it was indeed a notorious local bandit.
Roman found this incredibly fascinating. He had originally assumed only magically powerful or historically significant figures like Harren could manifest as spirits.
It seemed the ambient curse of Harrenhal was genuinely staggering. The residual dark magic was so dense that even common outlaws who died within its walls were bound as ghosts.
The bandit's spirit did not last long; the pale fire soon reduced it to nothingness.
Staring at the spotless floor where not even ashes remained, Lady Shella suddenly experienced a profound realization.
"Child... if a common ruffian can linger in this world as a ghost, is it possible that others have remained as well?"
She hesitated, her hands trembling slightly before she revealed her most desperate, ultimate hope.
"Roman, if you can see them... could you search the ruins for others? Could you find my family?"
Roman's eyes widened. He had been so caught up in the thrill of his magical awakening that he had completely forgotten the lady's tragic history.
Lady Shella had lost her husband and children during the bloody years of Robert's Rebellion. If insignificant thugs could linger as spirits, it stood to reason that Lord Walter Whent and his heirs might still be here.
Understanding the gravity of her request, Roman brought his hands together in a respectful bow.
"I understand, My Lady. Leave the cleansing of the castle to me. I will search every shadow for Lord Walter and your children!"
Following his magical awakening, Roman realized his draconic eyes could now pierce the veil between the living and the dead.
Over the following weeks, Roman began systematically purging the ghosts of Harrenhal.
He ruthlessly incinerated the malicious spirits and violent criminals. However, when he encountered confused or benign ghosts, he would carefully describe them to the castle steward to identify them.
The discoveries were profoundly surprising.
Many of the lingering spirits were the deceased family members of the current servants, while others were simply castle staff who had perished in tragic accidents.
These ghosts only became visible when illuminated by Roman's Pale Flame. In an ironic twist of fate, his lethal magic allowed dozens of people to reconnect with their deceased loved ones.
During this exhausting process, Roman's control over his fire improved exponentially.
After destroying several evil spirits, he learned how to perfectly throttle his magic. He could bathe a benign ghost in a harmless, low-heat aura, making them visible without causing them pain or burning away their souls.
This allowed the grieving servants and soldiers to exchange a few final, tearful words with the ghosts of their families before the spirits peacefully faded away.
Overnight, Roman became a living saint to the people of Harrenhal. Staff members flocked to him daily, begging for his help.
"Please, Roman! Let me speak to my little girl! I have not seen her in ten years. You found George's grandfather, surely you can find my daughter!"
Such desperate pleas came in relentless waves. Roman had to patiently explain time and time again that he could not control whether a soul had lingered or moved on to the afterlife.
But logic could not cool the people's fervor. The crushing loneliness of loss, combined with this miraculous new hope, plunged the castle staff into a state of near-madness.
Beyond acting as a ghost hunter, Roman often found himself playing the role of a seasoned septon, comforting the grieving elders and urging them to find peace.
Yet despite his tireless efforts, Roman had found no trace of House Whent.
Lady Shella had described her husband and children in painstaking detail, but the weeks dragged on with no news.
One afternoon, Lady Shella sat alone at a heavy oak table near the top of Kingspyre Tower. She stared blankly out the towering windows, watching the dark waters of the Gods Eye ripple below. Her eyes were hollow with absolute despair.
"My Lady! I have found them!"
Just as Lady Shella had completely surrendered to her grief, Roman sprinted into the chamber.
"Child? What did you say?"
For the first time in over a decade, Lady Shella felt her ancient heart hammer fiercely against her ribs. She desperately wanted to believe him, yet was terrified of having her hopes crushed once more.
"Your family! I heard voices lingering deep within the crypts. I sensed their presence!"
The shock was too much. A rapid, violent palpitation seized Lady Shella's chest. She tried to stand up in her excitement, but a wave of dizzying blackness washed over her vision, and her knees buckled.
"My Lady, careful!"
Roman darted forward, catching her before she hit the stone floor. He quickly retrieved the emergency tonic Maester Tom had prepared and carefully poured a dose past her lips.
After several agonizing minutes, the old woman's breathing steadied, and her heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm.
"Thank you, child. I feel much better," she gasped, clutching his arm with surprising strength. "Take me to the crypts. Now."
Roman wanted to dissuade her and insist she rest, but seeing the feral, pleading desperation in her eyes, he swallowed his objections.
"As you command, My Lady. Please step carefully."
The pair descended into the deepest levels of the fortress, eventually arriving at the heavy stone doors of the family burial vaults.
Only then did Roman truly appreciate the immense scale of the Whent family crypts.
Lined with grand tombstones, elaborate statues, and intricately carved urns, the vast underground mausoleum was vastly more opulent than the stark crypts of Winterfell he remembered from the television show.
Roman did not waste time marveling at the architecture. He gently supported Lady Shella, guiding her through a maze of stone corridors until they reached the towering statue of Lord Walter Whent.
To Lady Shella's mortal eyes, the cavernous room was completely empty.
But Roman could clearly see them. Standing in front of the stone effigy were the ghosts of an older man, four young men, and a beautiful young woman.
Roman bowed deeply to the lingering spirits. He then knelt, pressed his right palm against the cold stone floor, and released a gentle, sweeping wave of pale fire.
The ghostly white flames washed over Lady Shella without leaving so much as a burn mark. As the light filled the room, the majestic spirits of Lord Walter and his five children slowly materialized into view.
Seeing the glowing faces of her long-lost family, Lady Shella fell to her knees. Her weathered eyes instantly overflowed with tears.
"Finally..." she wept, reaching her trembling hands out toward the pale light. "We can finally say goodbye."