10th Day of the Seventh Moon, 281 AC – King's Landing
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Epigraph
"A tyrant's fire consumes swiftly. But even fire must bow before a shield that does not break."
— Jin Mu-Won
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The Summons of Blood
The Red Keep loomed above King's Landing, its towers crimson in the rising sun. The streets below were alive with rumor — Brandon Stark had ridden hard from Harrenhal, demanding his sister's return. His men stood at his side, their swords rattling in their scabbards.
Jin Mu-Won walked among the throng outside the gates, his staff steady. He had left Harrenhal quietly days before, following whispers of the wolf's reckless charge. He had seen enough pride destroy lives in Murim — he would not leave this storm to fester unchallenged.
Within the gates, shouts echoed. Guards shoved back the crowd, their voices strained.
"The Hand summons Lord Rickard! Bring him before the king!"
Jin closed his eyes briefly, qi flowing through him. He felt the fear of the smallfolk, the fury of the northern men, the sharp tension of steel drawn too quickly. He exhaled, steady, then moved.
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In the Hall of the Mad King
The throne room was vast, the Iron Throne looming jagged and cruel. At its height sat Aerys II Targaryen, hair tangled, beard wild, his violet eyes burning with madness. His fingers tapped the arms of the throne, nails broken, lips twisted in a manic grin.
Before him knelt Brandon Stark, his wrists bound in chains, his men forced to their knees beside him.
"You dare demand your sister from your prince?" Aerys hissed, his voice sharp as glass. "You dare bark in the hall of kings?"
Brandon struggled, his voice fierce. "Bring me Rhaegar! Bring me my sister, or I will have his head!"
The court gasped. Some knights shifted uneasily, others sneered. Aerys's laughter rang out, shrill and broken.
"Bring me his father," he commanded. "Bring me Rickard Stark of Winterfell. Let him watch his son's pride burn."
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The Trial of Fire
Rickard Stark arrived by midday, grim and tall, his grey eyes steady even as guards shoved him forward.
Aerys descended into madness. "A champion, you said? Then let fire be your champion! Let the North see how dragons consume wolves!"
They bound Rickard in chains, suspending him above the throne room, wood and oil stacked beneath his feet. Torches flared, the smell of pitch rising.
The hall buzzed with fear and horror. Nobles whispered. Some turned away. Others, eager for spectacle, leaned forward.
Brandon was chained with a noose around his neck, a strangler's device looped tight. Each time he strained toward his father, the cord tightened.
The fire was lit. Flames licked the pyre, smoke rising, heat thick. Rickard Stark stood unflinching, his voice strong even as the fire roared beneath him.
"Winterfell endures," he said, his words steady. "The North remembers."
The court gasped as the flames rose — and then the air shifted.
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The Shield Steps Forward
The torches guttered. The smoke swirled. And from the crowd stepped Jin Mu-Won, staff in hand.
His voice rang out, deep and calm, cutting through the chaos.
"This is not justice. This is cruelty dressed as law."
All heads turned. Aerys's eyes bulged, spittle flying from his lips. "Who speaks? Who dares—"
Jin walked steadily into the open, the crowd parting unconsciously around him. His robes were plain, his staff scarred, yet he moved as though the world itself made way.
"I dare," Jin said, his words long, measured, carrying to every corner. "I am Jin Mu-Won, a man without banners, without name in your realm. Yet I will not stand idle while fathers burn and sons choke. If your crown demands such cruelty, then your crown is ash already."
Gasps rippled through the court.
Aerys screeched. "Seize him! Burn him too! Burn them all!"
Guards surged forward.
Jin's staff moved.
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The Qi Unleashed
The first guard swung his sword — Jin's staff flicked, striking the flat, twisting it aside. The blade flew from the man's grip, clattering across stone. Another thrust his spear — Jin stepped within, staff rising, qi surging. The spear cracked in two, the shockwave hurling the man back into his fellows.
Gasps filled the hall. The air itself trembled with Jin's qi. Torches bent as though in wind, banners snapped though no breeze blew.
"Enough," Jin said, his voice deep, resonant, like thunder far off.
He thrust his staff into the floor. Qi rippled outward, a wave invisible but undeniable. The flames beneath Rickard guttered, bending back, smothered as though the fire itself bowed. The noose around Brandon's throat loosened, the device cracking. Chains rattled, broke.
Rickard fell to his knees, coughing but alive. Brandon stumbled, breath ragged but free.
The hall was silent, stunned. Even Aerys froze, his madness quivering at the sight of a man who bent fire itself to his will.
Jin's gaze turned upward, steady, piercing.
"You call yourself king," he said slowly. "Then remember — a king who rules by fire alone will rule only ash."
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The Escape
The Kingsguard shifted, torn between duty and awe. Jaime Lannister's golden head bowed slightly, his hand tightening on his sword but not moving. Arthur Dayne's eyes narrowed, studying Jin, weighing, as though glimpsing another swordmaster in flesh.
Amid the chaos, Elia Martell's handmaiden slipped to Jin's side. "You must go," she whispered fiercely. "If you stay, Aerys will kill you all."
Jin nodded. He turned to Rickard and Brandon, steadying them both with qi, guiding them to their feet. "Come. Your fight is not here."
Guards hesitated, unwilling to strike again after what they had seen. The hall parted reluctantly as Jin walked forward, Rickard and Brandon at his side.
Aerys shrieked from the throne, his voice cracking. "Stop them! Kill them! Burn them all!"
But no one moved. Fear, awe, and something else — respect — stilled their hands.
And so Jin Mu-Won, the nameless stranger, walked out of the Red Keep with two Starks alive who should have been dead, and history itself shifted in his wake.
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Aftermath
On the streets outside, the crowd surged, voices rising as the Starks appeared alive. Jin raised his staff, his voice carrying.
"Remember this day," he said, his words long, each syllable a vow. "Remember that cruelty need not rule you. Remember that a shield can stand against fire, if it does not break."
The people murmured, some wept, some cheered. The legend of the nameless shield was born.
Beside him, Brandon gasped, still furious. "You should have let me die fighting! My sister—"
Jin turned sharply, his gaze like iron. "If you had died here, your sister would still be lost, and your father ash. Reckless pride saves no one. Live, Brandon Stark. Live, and shield those you love instead of rushing to burn with them."
Rickard placed a hand on his son's shoulder, his voice low. "He is right. Winterfell endures, because men endure. Not because they burn."
Jin's staff lowered, his breath steady. He looked toward the horizon, where storms gathered.
The rebellion had begun — but it was already a different war than the one history had written.