Thaddues understood. He spat dust from his mouth and turned back toward the Old God's vessel. With his left hand still raised, he poured the last of his strength into the protective ward, forcing it to spread across the entire Sunspear. Magic sank into the four pillars of Sunspear, anchoring the shield directly into the ancient stone.
The strain hit him all at once.
A violent cough seized his chest, and blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his charred hand, barely sparing the rotten wound a glance. Then he drank a healing draught.
The defense was set.
Now he could attack.
Thaddues raised his wand and stared at the regenerating mass. He had used this magic before, but never against a god's vessel.
"Diabolica Dominium."
A spark of jet-black flame appeared at the tip of his wand. It hung there for a heartbeat before bursting outward into a vast vortex of darkness that rolled across the battlefield. Unlike ordinary fire, it gave off no light; it consumed it, swallowing heat, air, sand, and flesh wherever it passed.
The black fire slammed into the blood-entity.
The creature screamed.
The sound tore through Sunspear as the flames spread across its enormous body. Its flesh burned faster than it could regenerate, tendrils collapsing into nothingness before new growth could replace them. The creature thrashed violently, smashing the ground and sending waves of corrupted matter in every direction, but the black fire followed wherever the flames touched.
Thaddues pushed harder.
His muscles shook beneath the strain, his vision blurred, and blood continued to seep from his mouth, yet he refused to release the spell. The creature was finally losing ground. Every attempt to regenerate was swallowed by the darkness, and great sections of its body began collapsing into ash.
He was winning.
Then the battlefield went silent.
The dragonfire disappeared from his ears. The Old God's vessel roar vanished. Even the wind seemed to stop, leaving Thaddues standing in a silence so complete that he could hear his own ragged breathing.
Then something screamed inside his head.
It was not one voice but thousands, overlapping until they became a single unbearable chorus. Men, women, children, ancient priests, fallen soldiers—every soul consumed by the entity seemed to cry out at once, their agony tearing through his mind with enough force to make his vision fracture.
The psychic shockwave struck him like a physical blow.
His knees buckled, and the black fire flickered at the end of his wand. Thaddues tried to hold the spell, but his concentration shattered as the voices grew louder, drowning out every other sound.
The sky disappeared.
So did the sand.
The burning city melted away into a swirling abyss of crimson mist and dark whispers. The cold desert air vanished, replaced by an ancient pressure that crushed his chest and made every breath feel impossible.
Thaddues reached for his magic, but his body was no longer responding.
He wasn't on the sands of Dorne anymore.
The air in the hallway of the old dormitory smelled of cheap disinfectant, stale sweat, and the lingering humidity of an early autumn morning.
Thaddues stood before the faded green door of his old room, his boots resting on the creaking linoleum. The brass number—304—hung crookedly from a single rusted screw. He stared at it for a moment.
"Hey, your shift done?"
The voice pulled him from his thoughts. A tall, unkempt dorm mate shuffled past, an oversized hoodie hanging from his shoulders and an empty mug in one hand. Thaddues vaguely remembered his name, though they had never been close.
"Yeah. Just finished."
The other boy gave a tired nod and continued down the hall.
Thaddues unlocked the door and stepped inside. He crossed to the wooden cabinet in the corner and pulled it open, its hinges groaning. After removing the dark uniform he had worn for his night shift at the docks, he folded it neatly and placed it on the shelf before changing into a worn linen shirt and dark trousers.
He ate breakfast at the small desk by the window. Cold oatmeal, a hard-boiled egg, and a glass of water. Nothing special and nothing worth remembering, which was precisely why he forced himself to pay attention to it. He ate slowly, focusing on the taste and texture and letting the simple routine keep his thoughts grounded. When he finished, he packed his canvas bag, fastened his belt, and left the room.
On the walk to the university, a few classmates greeted him as he crossed the courtyard.
"Morning, Thaddues! Did you get yesterday's lecture notes?"
"They're on the shared drive. Third folder."
"Thanks!"
He continued down the cobbled street toward the university. Near the arched entrance of an old stone church, the usual group of beggars had already settled in for the morning.
An old beggar looked up as Thaddues approached. Wrapped in a frayed wool blanket, the old man's withered legs were stretched out before him.
"Blessings on you, lad."
He extended a wooden cup.
Thaddues crouched and dropped a few copper coins inside. He stayed long enough to listen to the old beggars complain about the damp weather and the rising price of bread.
"Keep your scarf tight today," Thaddues said. "The wind from the river's getting colder."
"Always does this time of year," The old beggar muttered.
A few yards farther down the street, someone struck him between the shoulder blades.
"Still moving like a turtle, I see!"
Thaddues didn't have to turn around. Marco grinned as he caught up, his coat hanging open despite the chill. He threw an arm around Thaddeus's shoulders and pulled him along.
"If you don't hurry, we're going to lose the seats by the radiator. I'm not sitting by that drafty window again. Last time, my fingers nearly froze off."
"Then buy gloves."
"Gloves are for the weak. Radiators are for the opportunistic."
Marco hurried through the lecture hall doors.
"Come on, scholar."
Thaddues shook his head, though he couldn't stop the small smile from forming.
The rest of the morning passed in lectures, scratching pens, and turning pages. The professors spoke about ancient history and forgotten trade routes while Thaddues sat near the back of the room. He listened to every word, but his senses often wandered beyond the lecture. Sometimes, he wondered how long he could continue pretending he was still ordinary.
When the final bell rang, he packed his things and gave Marco a brief farewell before heading home.
By late afternoon, the sun had begun to sink behind the city. Long shadows stretched across the streets, and the sky had turned violet and gold. Thaddues stopped halfway across the old stone bridge overlooking the river, resting his hands against the cold masonry as he looked toward the darkening sky.
The familiar calm of the day was gone. He had known it would be.
"Do you think," he whispered, barely audible over the river, "using memory will trap me?"
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the sounds around him began to change. The car wheels grew distant, voices became muffled, and even the rushing water beneath the bridge seemed to fade, as though the world itself were being pulled away from him.
Thaddues closed his eyes and spoke.
"System convert Rowena's diadem."
Host converting the diadem into the world of A song of ice and fire and fire & blood.
The system answered back.
Pain flashed across his brow. It was cold and sharp, spreading through his skull as a faint silver outline appeared above his head. The diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw materialized in the air before settling against his brow.
Then it changed.
The delicate silver filigree twisted into jagged spires resembling dragon horns. Dark Valyrian steel replaced the silver, intertwined with pale weirwood ivory. Sapphire stones appeared between the metal, glowing with a cold inner light. The relic that had once belonged to Ravenclaw had become something that belonged to this world.
His clothes followed. The fabric dissolved into drifting ash, replaced by midnight-blue velvet and dark silk embroidered with silver runes. A long mantle settled over his shoulders, moving despite the absence of wind.
Power surged through him, and the stone beneath his boots cracked.
He had crossed another threshold of magic.
CRACK.
The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. The city vanished. The bridge, the river, and the fading sunlight peeled away like a false image, revealing the darkness underneath.
Thaddues stood in a vast, silent forest.
Dead Weirwoods surrounded him, their bone-white trunks split and stained with black liquid. Their carved faces had been twisted into expressions of pain, their hollow eyes leaking dark corruption. Above them, the sky churned beneath a mass of bruised clouds, and countless pale eyes stared down from the darkness.
They watched him without blinking.
A crushing pressure settled over the forest. Shadows gathered among the roots, slowly taking shape as skeletal creatures with thin, twisted bodies and antlers jutting from their skulls. Pale blue fire burned within their empty eye sockets.
Their voices came from everywhere, carried through the dead trees like whispers.
"Stay..."
"Drown in the dream..."
"Give your flesh to the roots..."
Thaddues raised his head. The crown rested heavily against his brow, and his eyes glowed with a cold light. He wasn't afraid.
"Go back to the abyss."
His voice carried across the forest.
The creatures lunged.
Thaddues slammed his foot into the earth, and a wave of sapphire light exploded outward. It swept through the skeletal horrors before they could reach him, tearing their bodies apart and reducing them to pale mist.
He raised both hands toward the corrupted sky.
"Fiendfyre!"
Fire erupted from his palms, silver and blue flames twisting together as they surged through the forest. The cursed flames took the shapes of serpents, wolves, and winged beasts, devouring the Old God's power that clung to the roots of the dead Weirwoods.
The blackened bark lightened, the twisted branches straightened, and crimson leaves burst from the dead limbs, spreading across the canopy in seconds. The tortured faces carved into the trunks slowly relaxed until the screaming stopped.
Above him, the clouds parted. The countless eyes disappeared as the darkness was driven away, leaving behind a clear sky filled with stars. The crushing pressure lifted, and the forest fell silent.
Where the nightmare had once stood was now a peaceful grove. Crimson leaves stirred gently in the breeze, their color deep against the white trunks of the living Weirwoods. The air smelled of damp earth, pine, and winter roses.
Thaddues lowered his hands, breathing hard as the crown gave off a faint hum against his brow. He followed a moss-covered path deeper into the forest. Small points of pale blue light floated between the trees, guiding him toward a clearing.
At its center stood a woman beneath the largest Weirwood he had yet seen. She was tall and slender, dressed in robes woven from moss and bark. Her face was pale and beautiful, though there was a sadness in her eyes that seemed older than the forest itself.
A dozen children sat around her. They were shadows more than flesh, their small faces barely visible beneath the red canopy.
The woman raised one hand toward the leaves.
"...and so the Old Gods do not demand words, nor blood," she said softly. "They listen to the silence between your heartbeats. They carry your wishes through the leaves and into the earth, where nothing is ever truly lost."
Thaddues stopped at the edge of the clearing and watched the scene in silence.
He looked at the children sitting beneath the tree and felt something tighten in his chest.
"May you all rest in peace," he murmured.
He closed his eyes, and the grove began to fade. The crimson leaves, the children, the priestess, and the sky dissolved into warm light until nothing remained.
Thaddues gasped as cold air filled his lungs. The sound of rushing water returned, along with the distant noise of Sunspear. He opened his eyes and found himself standing in the middle of the destruction.
Night had reached its darkest hour. The sky was a deep, midnight blue, fading into charcoal along the horizon. Above the ruined city, Meleys soared through the darkness, Rhaenys astride her back.
The black flame still burned across the ruins, slowly consuming what remained of the corrupted battlefield. Thaddues raised a hand, and the flames receded until nothing remained.
He looked down at his hands. They were bare, covered only by the simple sleeves of his ordinary clothes. The rotting hand was gone, and the crown had vanished back into the depths of his mind.
He turned toward Sunspear and saw Princess Dareya standing above the walls, staring at him.
Without a word, Thaddues Apparated.
He appeared beside her, and Dareya immediately threw her arms around him. She clung to him as tears streamed down her face.
"Lord Thaddues... It's over, right?"
Thaddues gently caressed her hair.
"Yes. It's over."
He looked past her once more, toward the Shadow City.
There was little left of it now but ruins.
TBC
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