The wind whispered across the tundra, tugging at the edge of the Red Priestess's robe.
The crimson silk swayed, revealing the curve of her form beneath, each motion deliberate, hypnotic.
When she was but five paces away, she reached up and drew back her hood.
A cascade of copper-red hair spilled down her shoulders like liquid fire, and her face — flawless and aglow in the pale light — seemed carved from divine intent.
A faint smile touched her lips, gentle yet knowing, like the sun's warmth breaking through an endless winter.
Her eyes, deep as twin rubies, fixed on Rayder. In their depths glimmered the reflection of blue flame — cold and holy, capable of piercing straight into a man's soul.
When she spoke, her voice was a melody — soft, clear, yet resonant with sacred authority.
> "My name is Melisandre, priestess of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. I have come by the will of my god — to save you."
Rayder did not answer. He stood still, tilting his head slightly — expression unreadable, gaze sharp as a blade.
Inside, however, curiosity burned.
Melisandre… now?
She was supposed to appear much later, in the days of Daenerys Targaryen. Yet here she was, standing before him amid the snow.
Almost as if fate itself had been rewritten.
Melisandre seemed to sense his thoughts. Her smile deepened. She drew from her robes a blood-red gem and tossed it toward him with graceful precision.
Rayder caught it instinctively.
The gem glowed in his palm — a small sun trapped within crystal. It pulsed with warmth, alive.
> "A gift from the Lord of Light," she said softly. "It will shield you from the Cold God's corruption."
The moment her words faded, the gem's warmth flared within Rayder's body.
Heat — overwhelming, liquid, consuming.
For the first time in weeks, the cold that had clung to his soul was gone.
His blood boiled. His heart thundered. His veins felt like rivers of molten gold.
It was intoxicating… and familiar.
Rayder froze. He had felt this fire before — once, long ago, among the ruins of Valyria.
The memory struck like lightning. The same divine flame, the same unbearable heat — right before he had fainted in that cursed land.
A grim realization flickered in his mind.
His eyes hardened, sharp and predatory. He clenched his fist around the gem — and crushed it.
Crimson shards exploded in his palm.
But instead of dying, the flame within the ruby leapt free, curling around his right hand like a serpent of fire.
It burned brilliantly… yet caused no pain.
The flames licked his skin, sank into it, and vanished.
When they were gone, the skin of his hand glowed faintly red, as though seared by divine light.
Steam rose from his fingers, and a faint warmth lingered — alive, pulsing.
Melisandre's eyes widened in shock.
The ritual had not gone as planned. The flame was meant to awaken his dormant fire — not merge with it.
But the sight before her was unmistakable.
Rayder had not been saved by R'hllor's fire.
He had absorbed it.
> "So," she whispered to herself, awe and fear mingling, "he truly carries the blood of the Dragon Lords…"
Rayder said nothing. His fury surged for an instant — then melted into clarity, like ice thawing under spring light.
For the first time in a long while, his mind was quiet.
He turned inward, examining himself with the precision of instinct and will.
Physically, he was unhurt. But within… something had changed.
His magical energy had grown — denser, sharper, brighter.
Curious, he opened his system status.
What he saw stunned him.
The text within the system flickered chaotically — one moment calm, the next flashing emotions in a wild cascade: greed, rage, disgust, sorrow, lust, hatred, fear, longing…
All warring inside him.
It wasn't a physical sickness — it was spiritual corruption. The Cold God's lingering influence clawing at his soul.
"...No," Rayder muttered. "Not anymore."
He activated the System's Purification Function.
A prompt appeared:
> Cost: 500 Energy Points. Proceed?
He didn't hesitate.
"Accept."
The moment he confirmed, a cool wind swept through his consciousness — a cleansing current of light washing away every trace of frost and madness.
He exhaled.
For the first time since his descent began, Rayder's mind was clear.
No whispers. No hunger. No divine interference.
When he reopened his status, two new entries gleamed before him:
Resurrection of the Dead (Advanced)
Control of Ice and Fire
He stared for a moment, then chuckled softly.
Balance.
He had taken the Cold God's death and the Red God's flame — and made them his own.
Turning to Melisandre, Rayder's eyes glimmered with both gratitude and suspicion.
> "Tell me, Priestess," he said quietly, "can your Lord of Light command the magma beneath the earth? Can He truly awaken volcanoes — shape the world's fire?"
The question was calm, but the look in his eyes was sharp enough to cut steel.
Melisandre hesitated. She had prepared answers — rehearsed dogma — but none would satisfy this man.
Finally, she bowed her head and replied carefully:
> "The power of the Lord of Light…" she said, "…can change everything that lives and burns in this world."
Her words hung between them, heavy and uncertain.
Rayder smiled faintly — a smile both knowing and dangerous.
"Then perhaps," he said, "I'll see how far that power truly reaches."
The Red Priestess's heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she thought she saw it again — the faint flicker of blue within his violet eyes, the ghost of frost lingering behind the flame.
And she realized with dread and fascination alike…
Rayder was no longer the Cold God's servant.
Nor was he R'hllor's chosen.
He was becoming something far more terrifying —
a man who could command both fire and ice, without kneeling to either god.
---Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)