The air between them turned sharp, like glass about to break.
Rayder's voice sliced through the silence.
> "Tell me, priestess — did your god ever mention that he once tried to kill me?"
There was no politeness in his tone, only the edge of steel.
Melisandre stiffened.
> "Impossible," she snapped, though a faint tremor betrayed her. "If the Lord of Light had truly desired your death, you would not be standing before me."
Her conviction was absolute — or perhaps rehearsed. But behind her red eyes flickered the smallest shadow of doubt.
Rayder stepped closer, his presence suffocating.
> "Then call him," he said coldly. "Pray. Let him come before me. I've yet to see a god with my own eyes."
His voice was calm, but beneath that calmness burned mockery — and curiosity.
Melisandre's expression hardened instantly.
> "Blasphemy," she hissed. "You dare demand an audience with a god? You speak as though the Lord of Light were your equal!"
> "Maybe he isn't," Rayder said softly. "Maybe he's afraid."
The priestess's breath caught. For a heartbeat, she almost believed he was right.
But Rayder was done talking.
His mind drifted to that unseen hand that had nearly crushed him once before — the burning judgment that had come from nowhere, that had felt unmistakably divine.
He could almost feel it again. That flame. That hunger.
It was the same power that had driven Melisandre here, cloaked as salvation.
The pieces fell into place.
The Cold God. The Lord of Light. And me — the toy they're fighting over.
The thought sent a chill crawling up his spine. Yet it wasn't fear. It was fury.
> "If I am their pawn," he muttered, "then I'll be the piece that breaks the board."
His gaze lifted to Melisandre, and something primal flared in his eyes.
> "If you die," he said quietly, "you can deliver a message to your god for me."
Her expression faltered. "What message?"
> "Tell him I'm coming."
At that moment, the air thickened with killing intent.
The three dragons stirred — vast, black shapes rising from behind Rayder like mountain peaks awakening. Their heads turned in unison, eyes glowing with primal fury, nostrils flaring with smoke and fire.
Their master's will was clear.
Melisandre took a single step back. "Wait," she breathed, the first trace of fear in her voice. "You misunderstand—"
> "If I'm wrong," Rayder interrupted coldly, "then I apologize… in advance."
Before she could speak again, the dragons exhaled.
Three streams of Dragon Flame merged into a single inferno.
In an instant, the Red Priestess was consumed — her scream swallowed by the roar of fire. The snow melted, the ground blackened, and when the flames finally died, nothing remained but ash and a faint shadow burned into the ice.
Rayder lowered his hand.
He had killed many before, but this time, the feeling was different — heavier, deeper. For the first time, he felt the eyes of heaven and hell both turn toward him.
So this is what it means to defy a god.
---
He turned, his voice echoing across the empty expanse.
> "Green Prophet," he called. "I know you're listening. Come out before I burn the forest to find you."
The words rolled through the air like thunder.
After a tense silence, a faint shimmer appeared — and from it, the Green Prophet's spectral form emerged. His ancient face was taut with worry.
> "Rayder," he began cautiously, "you must understand — she came only because you were tainted by the Cold God's power. I asked her to help—"
> "Enough," Rayder cut him off, voice hard as ice. "Spare me your excuses. Tell me what I want to know."
He took a step forward, eyes blazing.
> "How much do you really know about these gods? The Cold One. The Red One. Tell me everything."
The Prophet hesitated, his old voice trembling. But one look into Rayder's expression told him there would be no mercy for silence.
So he spoke.
---
> "In the beginning," the Prophet said slowly, "there were only two lights in the void — flame and frost.
They were never meant to coexist. The Lord of Light — R'hllor — wielded the fire of creation, the power of life and flame. The Cold God held dominion over the darkness between stars — the silence of death."
He paused, eyes distant, as though recalling horrors long buried.
> "They were equals once. But R'hllor grew jealous of the Cold God's dominion over souls. With the aid of mortals — the first magi, perhaps — he struck a blow that shattered part of the Cold God's divine essence.
From that wound, winter itself was born."
Rayder listened in silence, his expression unreadable.
> "The Cold God swore vengeance," the Prophet continued. "He seeks to extinguish life — to drain the faith that fuels the Red God's power, and reclaim his lost dominion.
The Red God, in turn, creates life and flame — endlessly feeding the cycle."
He sighed.
> "Other gods intervened once, forcing them to cease open war. Each was to act only through chosen champions — mortal vessels of divine will. Their conflict continues, not in heaven, but here, upon the earth."
The Prophet's eyes flicked up to meet Rayder's.
> "You, Rayder, have touched both sides. You've stolen power from the Cold God and drawn fire from R'hllor. You stand where no mortal should — between light and darkness. A bridge… or a weapon."
The words hung in the frozen air, heavy as prophecy.
Rayder looked down at his right hand — the faint red glow of R'hllor's flame still pulsing beneath his skin, the chill of ice magic whispering beneath.
> "A bridge?" he said softly. "No. I'm done being a bridge."
He raised his eyes, and for the first time, the Green Prophet truly feared him.
> "I'll burn them both," Rayder whispered. "And build my own throne from the ashes of their war."
---Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)