GOT: The Prophecy of Shadow and Steel

The night was still when Torak stirred awake, his limbs heavy and his mind fogged. Grogginess clung to him like a shroud as he blinked against the dim light of the tent. His mother, Alaena, was seated beside him, her head resting on her hands, eyes red from days of worry.

"You've woken," she said softly, her voice trembling with relief. "I thought I'd lost you, my son."

Torak's lips twitched into a weak smile. "I'm not that easy to kill, Mother," he replied, his voice hoarse. "But I'll admit, this time was close."

Her hand brushed over his hair as she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "The gods themselves must watch over you," she whispered.

Torak thought of the red priestess, Thyra, and the ritual that had supposedly brought him back from death's grasp. "Perhaps they do," he murmured, though skepticism still lingered in his mind.

After some time, Torak motioned for Alaena to call Malika. His mother hesitated but relented, leaving the tent briefly to summon her. Malika entered swiftly, her face a mask of concern.

"You called for me, my Khal?" she asked, her voice steady yet tinged with emotion.

"I need a bath," Torak said. "Something to wash away this... haze."

Malika nodded and helped him rise carefully, her hands firm yet gentle. Together, they walked to the small bathing area, where Malika prepared warm water and assisted him in washing off the remnants of his battle and recovery. The warm water soothed his aching muscles, and he felt life slowly returning to him.

As Malika handed him a cloth to dry himself, she broke the silence. "You've been through much, my Khal. But the people—they believe in you more now than ever before."

"Belief alone won't keep us alive," Torak said. "We must remain strong, united. I'll need you, Malika, more than ever."

Her eyes met his briefly before she nodded, her loyalty unspoken but clear.

Later, dressed in fresh clothes, Torak stepped out of the tent into the cool night air. His gaze swept across the camp, where fires burned low and the stars above glittered like scattered jewels. He walked with deliberate steps, seeking Thyra. He found her seated near a small campfire, the flickering flames casting an otherworldly glow on her crimson robes.

Her golden eyes lifted, meeting his. There was an intensity in her gaze—a worshipful fervor that made Torak pause, a memory of his strange dream stirring in the back of his mind.

"You," he said, voice low. "I've seen you before."

Thyra's lips curved into a knowing smile. "In your dreams, my Khal. The Lord of Light has shown me the truth of you. You are the prince that was promised."

Torak moved closer, his brows furrowing. "I don't care much for titles or prophecies, priestess. But I do care for results."

"And results I will help you achieve," Thyra said, her voice reverent. "The path ahead is steep and blood-soaked, but it leads to greatness. I am here to guide you, to serve you, and to see you fulfill your destiny."

He studied her, his skepticism battling with a faint flicker of belief. "We'll see about this destiny of mine. But if you can help me build this army, then we'll work together."

Thyra inclined her head, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "You will not regret it, my Khal."

From the next morning, Torak resumed his duties with renewed vigor. The training of his warriors continued with precision, their once-chaotic clashes now replaced with coordinated maneuvers. At the forges, the sound of hammers striking metal rang out as new weapons and armor were crafted. Slowly but surely, the wild Dothraki of his khalasar were transforming into a disciplined and formidable force.

Six months passed, and Torak's khalasar had grown stronger in skill and unity. Thyra's presence, though once met with distrust, was now tolerated by most. Her visions and counsel had proven invaluable, and even the most skeptical warriors begrudgingly acknowledged her influence.

On one particular day, Torak sat in his war tent with Nakarro, his bloodriders, and other key figures of his khalasar, discussing their next move. The decision was made to conquer nearby small khalasars to grow their strength further.

After the meeting concluded, Torak leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. The tent emptied except for Malika, who stood behind him, her silent presence a constant reassurance. As he stared at the maps spread before him, Thyra entered.

"My Khal," she greeted, her voice soft yet commanding. "Malika."

"Thyra," Torak acknowledged, gesturing for her to sit. "What brings you here?"

Thyra moved closer, her golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "I have seen a new vision," she said. "The girl from your dreams—the one who haunts your thoughts. Her name is Celyna. You will meet her soon, and she will play a role in your destiny."

Torak's eyes narrowed. "Celyna... Are you certain?"

"The flames do not lie," Thyra said firmly. "She is out there, and the Lord of Light wills your paths to cross."

Torak exhaled slowly, his mind racing. His dreams had been vivid, unrelenting. If this Celyna truly existed, what did her presence mean for him?

As Thyra stood to leave, she added, "Trust the path, my Khal. Even the darkest roads lead to light if the Lord wills it."

That night, Torak sat alone in his tent, his mind heavy with thoughts. The dreams, the prophecies, the growing army—they all pointed to a future fraught with challenge and glory. He stared into the flickering candlelight, a faint smile touching his lips.

He murmured to himself. "I'll be ready."