Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

"Mortal minds can never comprehend the gods," R'hllor said, his tone calm and unyielding.

At last, he lifted his head, revealing his face.

But it was strange. No matter how hard Samwell tried, he couldn't make out the god's features.

It was as though a veil of mystery shrouded R'hllor's visage, deliberately obscuring it from mortal sight.

"And mortals certainly cannot grasp the true mysteries of this world," R'hllor continued. "Caesar, I know you have doubts, but you must understand this: only I can help you. Only I can save humanity from annihilation."

He stepped forward, and the entire molten realm seemed to tremble with his movement.

"Caesar, all you need to do is kill Daenerys Targaryen…"

Samwell followed R'hllor's gaze and looked ahead through the fiery mist.

There, he could faintly see the outside world.

Daenerys was atop Drogon, diving headlong through the chaos. Her face was etched with desperation.

The black tide of energy from the Night King surged below, brimming with lethal power and oppressive might. Yet Daenerys showed no sign of retreat. Her eyes were fixed on the wavering golden figure trapped within the dark storm, rushing toward him without hesitation.

"Why must I kill Dany?" Samwell asked.

"It is her destiny," R'hllor intoned, his voice heavy with divine certainty. "Long ago, Azor Ahai tempered Lightbringer with his wife's heartblood. Now, you must do the same. All things come at a cost. Light demands sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" Samwell chuckled bitterly. "Before I came here, I heard that King's Landing was nearly lost to an ice dragon. At the critical moment, Tyrion Lannister, riding the injured Viserion, miraculously defeated it.

"Later, I learned the truth. The ice dragon's rider was Jaime Lannister. In the end, he allowed his brother to kill him.

"Now that is true sacrifice. Giving one's own life for justice can be called sacrifice. Taking someone else's life? That's not sacrifice—that's murder."

R'hllor shook his head slowly. "You do not understand, Caesar."

"Perhaps I understand more than you think." Samwell's smile grew sharper. "Tell me, R'hllor, why do you insist that your chosen ones kill their wives? Is it to prove unshakable faith? To ensure greater control? Or is it some necessary ritual?"

As he spoke, Samwell stared intently at the red god, searching for any flicker of expression that might betray his thoughts.

But there was nothing.

"I have told you—it is the price that must be paid," R'hllor said. "Make your decision quickly, Caesar. Time is running out for you… and for humanity."

But Samwell, instead of hurrying, seemed to relax, his words taking on a meandering tone.

"I've heard a story from the distant east, about a land once called the Great Empire of Dawn, or Yi Ti.

"Two gods, the Lion of Night and the Maiden Made of Light, had a son—the God-on-Earth—who ruled the Great Empire for ten thousand years.

"But his descendants ruled for shorter and shorter spans, and with ever-increasing chaos.

"Finally, the brother of the Amethyst Empress killed his own sister in a bloody coup, crowning himself the Bloodstone Emperor. This act of kin-slaying enraged the gods.

"The Maiden Made of Light withdrew from the world, and the furious Lion of Night unleashed the Long Night and countless demons to destroy the empire."

"Are you seriously telling a story at a time like this?" R'hllor asked.

"I just find the parallels interesting," Samwell replied. "Back then, the Lion of Night brought the Long Night, and now it's the Great Other. The Maiden Made of Light returned light to the world, and now you, the Lord of Light, claim you will save it.

"Tell me, R'hllor—is it possible that you are the Maiden Made of Light from those Yi Tish legends?"

"Nonsense!" R'hllor's voice grew sharp. "Choose, Caesar!" His tone carried an uncharacteristic urgency. "I cannot maintain this subspace forever. Once you return to reality, the Night King will tear you apart."

"You won't let that happen," Samwell said confidently.

"I certainly don't want it to happen, which is why you must cooperate!"

"A god, needing mortal cooperation to end the Long Night?" Samwell's words were dripping with mockery.

"You do not understand. The Night King is backed by the Great Other. He—"

"The Great Other?" Samwell interrupted with a scoff. "R'hllor, have you ever seen someone freeze to death?"

Without waiting for an answer, he continued:

"Before they die, they feel an illusory warmth, even a searing heat, compelling them to strip off their clothes.

"And frostbite? Perhaps you've never felt it. But the pain of freezing is strikingly similar to the pain of burning."

"What are you trying to say?" R'hllor's voice grew complex.

"Targaryens often have prophetic dreams—Dragon Dreams, they call them. These dreams saved them from the Doom of Valyria, but they also drove many of them to madness.

"Rhaegar Targaryen once wrote a song called A Song of Ice and Fire. One of its lines goes:

'If ice can burn, then fire can freeze.'"

"If you continue rambling like this, the long night will shroud Westeros forever." R'hllor threatened.

"Really?" Samwell sneered. "Wasn't the Doom of Valyria your doing too, R'hllor?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, I do." Samwell smiled coldly. "You don't understand humanity, R'hllor. You think gods can control everything. But I know the truth—you gods are far weaker than you appear. And humans… are far stronger than they believe."

"Arrogance will lead to destruction," R'hllor warned. "If you won't cooperate, you'll face the Night King and the Great Other alone."

Samwell's grin widened.

"The Lion of Night and Maiden Made of Light were a couple. Tell me, R'hllor, what's your relationship with the Great Other?"

R'hllor remained silent.

"The Three-Eyed Raven said the Long Night is a trap—a lie. It seems he was right."

"You will pay for your arrogance," R'hllor said, his voice carrying a note of resignation. "The Valyrian Freehold fell to its hubris because of arrogance, as will you. Ridiculous mortals wielding a little power always think they can challenge the gods. But they never understand.

"Your dragons, Caesar, are nothing compared to Valyria's."

"Dragons aren't true power, R'hllor," Samwell retorted. "Jaime Lannister became a wight and rode an ice dragon—but he still died in King's Landing. Do you know what killed him?

"A crippled dragon and a dwarf.

"Do you understand now what makes humanity strong?

"Do you understand what true sacrifice means?"

At those words, light exploded around him.

R'hllor's figure dissolved like smoke, along with the molten wasteland.

The searing cold returned, biting into Samwell's flesh. Wind and snow howled. The dark tide surged, and Daenerys was still hurtling toward him, shouting his name.

"Sam!"

"Dany."

Samwell leapt, catching his wife in his arms.

Whoosh!

Drogon roared, unleashing torrents of fire to hold back the encroaching darkness. The other two dragons swooped in, joining their flames.

But the dark tide surged ever closer, threatening to overwhelm them all.

Samwell raised the greatsword and held it upright in front of him.

His pupils had turned completely pure gold, with countless golden flames swirling and dancing in them.

Golden threads coiled into a massive three-headed dragon, blazing in the dark void behind him.

Roar!

The golden dragon's cry pierced the heavens, its energy surging forth like a sword of light. It cleaved through the darkness, striking the Night King.

Boom!

Two overwhelming forces collided, annihilating each other.

The resulting shockwave tore through the battlefield, shaking the earth and skies.

Arya Stark was flung through the air by the force of the explosion.

She landed hard, shielding her head with both arms, gasping for breath.

It wasn't until the swirling snow and the black energy field began to dissipate that she cautiously raised her head.

The White Walker who had been holding her captive was gone.

She was left alone in front of the strange altar.

But she wasn't alone.

The Night King was still there.

Arya's heart pounded as she stared at the terrifying figure, standing only a few paces away.

The previous clash had left its mark on him—his crystalline armor was cracked, spiderweb fissures running across its surface, revealing faint gray light seeping from within.

But he wasn't defeated.

Slowly, the Night King raised his hands, and thick, inky energy began to coalesce around him once more.

"I have to kill him," Arya whispered to herself.

Faced with an enemy of unimaginable power, the young Stark didn't think of running.

Her fingers tightened around the dragonglass dagger hidden in her clothes. A single moment of resolve surged through her—a moment that erased all fear.

She crouched low, holding her breath, and began to creep toward the Night King's back.

With every step, the bone-chilling cold grew stronger, as if trying to freeze her blood.

"Swift as a deer, silent as a shadow…" Arya recited her teacher Syrio Forel's lessons in her mind, moving like a black cat stalking its prey.

Closer.

"Fear cuts deeper than swords…" she whispered internally, forcing her trembling hands to steady. "Quick as a snake, calm as still water…"

She crept closer still.

The Night King remained oblivious.

"Strong as a bear, fierce as a wolf. Fear cuts deeper than swords…"

She was behind him now, close enough to see the fine cracks in his icy armor.

The cold was paralyzing. Her legs felt like lead. Her lungs burned. But she summoned the last of her strength, surging forward with a single thought—

"Stick them with the pointy end!"

Arya thrust her dragonglass dagger toward the gap in the Night King's armor.

Whoosh!

Just as the dagger's tip was about to pierce his back, the Night King turned.

Arya froze.

Her blood turned to ice.

He's seen me.

The thought barely formed before she pushed the dagger forward again.

Through the snow. Through the swirling darkness. Into the crack in his armor.

It sank in.

Arya couldn't believe it.

It felt surreal, as though she had stepped into a dream.

She looked up, her eyes meeting the Night King's.

His glowing blue eyes gazed back—not with anger, but with something else entirely.

Something familiar.

Something… warm.

Her initial elation twisted into unease.

Why? Why do I feel regret? Why does it feel like I shouldn't have stabbed him?

Thunk!

Before she could dwell on it, a golden greatsword pierced through the Night King's chest.

Samwell had arrived.

"Your Majesty…" Arya whispered weakly. "Did we… win?"

The king didn't answer.

The accumulated cold, exhaustion, and terror overwhelmed her, and Arya's vision blurred. Her body went limp.

Before she hit the ground, the Night King caught her, cradling her in his arms.

"Eddard Stark," Samwell said, his voice heavy with certainty. He had no doubt left.

The Night King turned his head toward him.

The glow of his blue eyes had dimmed, revealing their original gray-brown hue.

They were no longer empty and emotionless but filled with a storm of feelings:

Sadness. Regret. Guilt. Pain. Relief.

"All of this ends here," Samwell said grimly.

"No…" The Night King's voice was soft, his head shaking ever so slightly. "It's just beginning…"

Samwell frowned, confused. He opened his mouth to question him further, but his words caught in his throat as he saw the Night King's armor begin to melt away like morning dew.

Pale blue blood gushed from his wounds, hissing and steaming as it touched the golden sword.

With his final strength, the Night King lifted Arya, holding her out toward Samwell.

Samwell reached forward, taking the unconscious girl in his arms.

The Night King stood still, his body unraveling into streams of white vapor that spiraled upward into the sky. Only a faint outline of milky-white, glasslike bones remained, glowing faintly.

Then even those dissolved.

The leader of the White Walkers was gone.

Hissssss—

The surrounding White Walkers let out unnatural screeches, while the wights broke into frenzied chaos.

The dark sky above them cracked open, letting through a brilliant beam of sunlight for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Sam!" Daenerys's voice rang out behind him, filled with joy. "We've won! The Long Night is over!"

Samwell turned, a smile of relief beginning to form. But before he could respond, the strange altar ahead of him exploded.

A dark, pulsing wave of energy erupted outward, suffocating in its sheer presence.

The force pierced through Samwell's armor, his flesh, and deeper still—to his very soul.

He froze, his mind overwhelmed.

As he felt the pull of this impossible power, he turned his head one last time, his gaze locking on Daenerys as she ran toward him.

His lips curved into a wry smile, helpless and bittersweet.

He whispered, echoing the Night King's parting words:

"It's just beginning…"

(End of Chapter)