The Greatsword Dawn.
Rhaegar gazed at the sword, a flicker of astonishment in his eyes.
Its surface shimmered with a milky-white aura, radiating a dazzling spectrum of colors.
However, this brilliance was not intrinsic to the sword itself—there was another reason behind it.
Within a three-meter radius around Rhaegar and the sword, specks of starlight drifted gently, interwoven with strands of luminous moonlight.
The Starry Cathedral was vast. Its exterior was built from black stone, with a domed roof featuring stained-glass skylights designed for stargazing.
Above, the night sky was adorned with countless stars, their light filtering through the glass and casting a glow upon the seven divine statues within the cathedral.
Seated at the center of these seven statues, Rhaegar was bathed in the soft cascade of celestial light, threads of radiance falling like delicate cotton strands, illuminating the surroundings in breathtaking splendor.
The Greatsword Dawn shimmered, its meteoric iron blade absorbing the starlight bit by bit.
The scene resembled a divine descent—an otherworldly phenomenon.
Dozens of nuns, devoted servants of the Seven, stood in attendance. Witnessing this spectacle, they were overwhelmed with awe, their knees buckling as they fell to the ground in reverence.
In contrast, Rhaegar remained composed, his long silver-gold hair flowing over his shoulders as he methodically wiped down the blade at an unhurried pace.
Dawn trembled slightly, as if eager to absorb more starlight.
With every ounce of celestial energy it consumed, its milky-white blade grew increasingly translucent, as though transforming into an invisible sword.
A noble and elegant prince. A legendary holy sword.
To behold such a sight within the Starry Cathedral, among the divine statues, was to witness a scene so extraordinary that one might truly believe a god had descended upon the mortal realm.
"The Seven above…"
The nuns were utterly mesmerized, pressing their hands together in fervent prayer.
Rhaegar, as always, chose to ignore them, an air of detachment lending him an almost divine presence.
Only he knew the truth—this was all a misunderstanding.
A system notification appeared.
Trigger: "The Fallen Star—Absorb the magic of starlight and awaken the mysterious relic."
During his daytime exploration, he had obtained the Heart of the Stars, an artifact produced by Dawn.
Now, at night, within the Starry Cathedral, he was attempting to activate it.
Buzzz—
The Dawn hummed as a seventh of its blade turned completely transparent.
And then, it stopped.
The silky glow of moonlight vanished, and the firefly-like specks of starlight receded.
Rhaegar's gaze darkened with contemplation as he murmured, "Not enough?"
Only the blade of Dawn was forged from meteoric iron—it could not absorb an excess of starlight magic all at once.
This was Rhaegar's first time coming into contact with starlight magic.
How to describe it…
It was strange.
Unlike the raging intensity of fire magic, starlight magic was sometimes tranquil and serene, other times piercingly cold.
Most of the time, it carried a fleeting, elusive presence—there, yet not quite within reach.
But if one ventured too close, it would give birth to darkness—a black hole of void, emptiness, and consumption.
More importantly, Rhaegar himself could not absorb starlight magic.
The fire magic coursing through his blood acted like a tyrannical overlord, repelling any foreign intruders who dared to set foot in its domain.
"This shouldn't be possible…"
Rhaegar pressed a hand to his forehead, idly twirling the massive Dawn—a weapon weighing over ten kilograms—as if it were a mere toy.
Nowhere in the inherited knowledge of fire sorcerers did it mention such an extreme rejection of other magic types.
Damn it!
He was supposed to be a fire sorcerer, yet all he knew were the blood arts of a blood mage—not a single spell of fire magic.
How did fire sorcerers survive in Valyria without leaving behind any knowledge for their successors?
"One-seventh at a time… looks like I'll need six more days."
With no concern, Rhaegar drove Dawn into the ground beside him, running his fingers over the blade before closing his eyes.
He had given the High Septon seven days in seclusion. In that time, he would remain in the Starry Cathedral to absorb enough starlight magic to awaken the Heart of the Stars.
If the High Septon emerged with a decision, all would be well.
If not… then Dawn would claim his head.
---
Time passed. Six days flew by.
Rhaegar remained a guest of the Starry Cathedral, neither eating nor drinking—more monk-like than even the most devout monks.
On the first day, the nuns were drawn by the phenomenon surrounding Dawn.
By the third day, the septons admired his endurance and willpower.
By the fourth and fifth days, the entire Starry Cathedral had become captivated, secretly gathering to observe the Targaryen prince beneath the statues of the Seven.
Rumors began to spread.
Some claimed that the figure seated among the statues was no longer mortal—no longer the feared Dragon Prince—but rather, the divine messenger chosen by the Seven.
The Son of the Gods.
For he was beyond handsome, his will unwavering, his body untouched by hunger or thirst.
Further proof lay just outside the cathedral—the massive black dragon.
A divine guardian assigned to the messenger by the Seven, its eerie green flames symbolizing the fires of purgatory, purging all injustice and sin.
Once the rumor took hold, it spread like wildfire, evolving into countless variations.
Some said he was a reincarnated warrior, others that he bore the blessings of the Mother, or that he was the prophesied Stranger's Hand...
There were even whispers that the victory in Dorne was thanks to the guidance of the Seven, who granted their chosen champion boundless strength.
No law forbade exaggerated tales, so the people let their imaginations run wild.
The rumors grew, sweeping through Oldtown.
Even the septons and nuns couldn't look away, their curiosity drawing flocks of worshippers from the city to witness the prince seated beneath the statues of the Seven.
Rhaegar had heard the rumors.
He simply chose to ignore them.
By day, he studied the flow of fire magic, attempting to create a spell of his own.
By night, he guided starlight magic into Dawn, meditating in a seated position as he drifted into slumber.
And why did he not eat or drink?
He was a dragonborn.
His body transcended the limits of mortals—seven days without food or water meant nothing to him.
The fire magic was sufficient to nourish his body's needs.
Of course, it mainly seemed like Aegon and Aemond, those two bastards, had forgotten about him entirely and weren't even sending him food.
As for the bread and water provided by the Faith of the Seven, he didn't dare to partake.
Even dragonborn feared poisoning—his grandfather Baelon's death had been anything but pleasant.
"Just wait... tonight is the night."
Rhaegar glanced back at the Great Sept's entrance, where a sea of people had gathered—devout Oldtown followers who had come to witness the spectacle.
He was puzzled, unable to comprehend the mindset of these believers.
Then, an idea suddenly struck him.
His gaze swept toward the statues of the Seven, and for a brief moment, it was as if starlight flickered in his eyes.
---
King's Landing, Red Keep.
Seven days had passed since the last small council meeting.
Alicent had just fed her husband some vegetable porridge and only left his chambers once he had drifted back into unconsciousness.
Two Kingsguard knights stood watch on either side of the door, while a tall, thin black-haired maester silently awaited her.
"Your Grace," Maester Mukun greeted her softly.
Alicent closed the door behind her and, after one last glance inside the room, deliberately walked a short distance away with Mukun, ensuring that the two Kingsguard wouldn't overhear their conversation.
Crossing her arms, she used one hand to partially shield her face and said, "Viserys is in a terrible state. He's plagued by nightmares almost every night—can you prepare some milk of the poppy to help him rest?"
"That would go against the prince's wishes," Mukun responded matter-of-factly, his expression unchanged.
As he spoke, his not-so-deep-set eyes subtly observed the queen, picking up on a clear sense of anxiety and unease in her demeanor.
Alicent's face darkened, and she snapped, "Rhaegar. It's always about Rhaegar! I am the queen! I'm the one who has always cared for Viserys!"
Mukun remained silent, unwilling to provoke her further.
"Listen to me, Maester Mukun."
Alicent forced a smile, suppressing her frustration. "You are a learned man, well-read and wise. I believe you possess a talent that rivals even Archmaester Orwyle's—you just haven't had the right opportunity to prove yourself."
Mukun was momentarily surprised before shaking his head. "Your Grace, I do not believe myself wiser than anyone else. I have merely had access to more opportunities for study."
Alicent frowned.
However, Mukun then added, "Of course, I also do not believe anyone to be wiser than me. Knowledge is not a tool for comparison."
His words carried both humility and arrogance, layered with a philosophical undertone.
"A silver tongue… no wonder Viserys trusts him."
Alicent thought to herself.
The two continued their conversation for a while, though no one knew exactly what was said.
In the end, Alicent left, satisfied.
---
2:00 PM.
The Small Council was convened once again, this time at Alicent's behest as queen.
In the council chamber, the elderly and frail Lyman Beesbury was the last to arrive. His dim, aging eyes immediately noticed Alicent sitting at the head of the table.
The old man frowned but, constrained by her status as queen, refrained from voicing any objection.
With the king and the heir absent, the Hand of the King should have rightfully occupied the seat of honor.
Lyman turned his gaze and spotted a sullen-faced Lyonel Strong sitting in the seat to the queen's right.
Lyonel, already a large man, appeared even rounder when enraged—like a brooding brown bear.
"Something is happening," was Lyman's first thought.
After some contemplation, he slowly made his way to his own seat and joked, "Age catches up with a man, and naps become unavoidable in the afternoon. I hope you'll all forgive me."
Alicent leaned back in her chair, feigning an air of understanding. "It's quite alright. You are one of the kingdom's pillars of strength—I only hope we haven't disturbed your rest."
"Heh, Your Grace is truly considerate."
Lyman chuckled dryly before settling into his seat.
With his arrival, the council members placed their stone spheres into the slots on the table, officially beginning the session.
For a few seconds, the chamber fell into an eerie silence.
Lyman scanned the room, paying particular attention to the queen, the Hand of the King, and the Master of Whisperers, trying to decipher the situation.
Tommund, usually wearing a warm smile, now had narrowed, shadowed eyes. His hands were clasped together inside the sleeves of his black-and-white robe, where a raven and a white hawk perched on his shoulders like ornaments, surveying the room.
Lyman observed his demeanor and immediately deduced that this concerned the Crown Prince.
The tension in the room was suffocating. One could hear a pin drop.
Alicent glanced around, about to speak and break the silence—
But before she could utter a word, she was abruptly cut off.
Lyonel Strong, his face dark as ink, spoke with grave seriousness. "The Crown Prince's visit to Oldtown should have been met with the highest courtesy from both the Starry Sept and the Citadel. It would be unwise to entertain unfounded rumors."
"Lord Hand, how can an event so widely discussed be without basis?"
Alicent's fine brows knitted together as she stated the matter at hand: "Rhaegar, under the pretense of aiding Oldtown, rode his dragon and damaged the Hightower."
She paused briefly before adding impatiently, "Of course, this may have been an accident, and Lord Hightower has chosen not to pursue it."
"But—"
She swept her gaze around the room and continued, "Rhaegar then used his dragon to threaten the Starry Sept. For his own gain, he intended to violate the accord established between King Jaehaerys the Wise and the Faith of the Seven."
The Faith and King Jaehaerys had been the very foundation that legitimized her position.
For someone to challenge both at once—that was a line she could not allow to be crossed.
Lyonel retorted, "These are unverified claims. The Starry Sept has made no such complaints. On the contrary, it was the High Septon who slighted Prince Rhaegar."
Alicent nearly laughed in exasperation.
"They will say anything to defend Rhaegar."
Realizing that it was impossible to reason with the stubborn Prime Minister, the focus shifted to the ever-composed Lord Lyman.
As soon as she spoke, it was with an accusatory tone: "Earl Beesbury, you are the lord of Honeyholt and a noble of the Reach. You should understand the importance of faith in the Seven, shouldn't you?"
Though phrased as a question, the underlying threat was unmistakable.
The Lyman family of Honeyholt was not only part of the Reach's nobility but also one of House Hightower's direct vassals.
Lyman was more cautious than doubtful. Playing dumb, he replied, "I am old, and there are many things I no longer understand. The Crown Prince visiting the Starry Sept seems like a good thing, no matter how you look at it."
Alicent grew agitated, her voice rising. "Rhaegar wants to break the peace treaty! He is using his dragon to intimidate the Faith, just as the Conqueror did when he forced the High Septon into seclusion!"
Hearing this, Lyman pondered for a moment before responding, "Your Grace, it would be better if you stated your demands directly—or presented a solution."
Bang!
Alicent had been waiting for those words. She slammed the table and declared, "I demand that, by order of the Iron Throne, Rhaegar's misconduct be denounced, and if necessary, that he be summoned back to King's Landing!"
"That is impossible."
Leonor was the first to object, firmly rejecting the idea. "The prince is on the front lines of the Dornish conquest. No one but the king can interfere with that."
"Then at the very least, he must leave Oldtown and abandon this foolish attempt to violate the peace treaty!"
Alicent's eyes burned with fury as she shouted, refusing to back down.