We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

 It started as a faint little flame.

 Draezell watched as the young red-robed priest was enveloped by the pale fire, his body slowly charring, yet he seemed unaffected by the pain. Instead, his eyes glowed with fervor, fixed on Draezell, as if urging him to hurry.

 These two red-robed

Priests were not orthodox followers of the Red God. They were, in fact, notorious heretics within the great temple.

 The Red God, R'hllor, or the Lord of Light, the Heart of the Sacred Flame, the God of Shadows and Fire, of Heat and Life. His faith was widespread across the trading city-states of Essos. His followers believed in the eternal struggle between the great Red God and the evil Cold/shadow God, which determined the fate of the world. They considred the Lord of Light as the true god, denouncing all other gods as false or evil.

 However, Ben Throro and his young disciple, Malak, had some disagreements with this view. Before they had taken vows, both Priests came from ancient Valyrian families. Though they still worshipped the lord of Light and acknowledged his greatness, they believed more in the power of dragons and the grandeur of the ancient Valyrian gods and dragonlords. During the reign of the Valyrian Freehold over the lands west of the Bone Mountains, the worship of R'hllor had been relegated to slaves and commoners. The Valyrian dragonlords saw themselves as gods and even regarded the Valyrian gods as mere puppets of mud. It was no wonder that the faith of the common people had been ignored.

 The more radical young Malak even believed that R'hllor was merely a lie created by the dragonlords to placate the masses. He did not even realize that his own name was linked to R'hllor's.

 Though his faith was pure—more so than many of the temple Priests who worshiped the "one true god"—his convictions were firm and sincere.

 It seemed that their Valyrian bloodline had granted them superior fire magic compared to other Priests of their age. Though the temple Priest disapproved of their heretical views, they tolerated them because their magical power was invaluable in the temple's work.

 That tolerance continued until they were recruited by Cleorius and began studying the secrets of magic and dragons together.

 "Master Ben Throro, you promised me," Draezell raised the dagger. "Malak won't die, will he?"

 Ben Throro shook his head. "My lord, before coming here, I received a vision from the lord of Light in the flames. He is pleased to see your attempt today. His demand is only a little blood, not a life."

 The red priest lowered his head. "The blood of a dragonlord's descendant, the flesh of a devout believer, and pure fire can pierce through the mists of history, revealing the true path to the lost boy."

 Malak nodded in encouragement once more. Without hesitation, he took the dagger and gouged out a large piece of his own flesh from his chest, throwing it into the fire.

 The flames flared up, growing from their previous pale form into a solid, vibrant fire, swirling around Draezell without consuming him, as though craving something.

 "Father... I hope this will help me solidify my resolve," Draezell whispered.

 He pierced his palm.

 A drop of silver-colored blood slid down the Valyrian steel dagger, staining it with a strange black gleam.

 That drop of blood slowly fell.

 The moment it hit the fire...

 The flames seemed to exhale in pleasure, and instantly, they surged up.

 The sea of fire spread, engulfing the entire laboratory in what felt like an instant.

 Ben Throro watched the raging flames with rapture, stepping onto the fire as though it was nothing, allowing the flames to scorch his body.

 The sensation of drowning rose like a tide, then receded. Draezell warily looked around at the pitch-black surroundings.

 Without warning, a blinding light exploded from the darkness, and Draezell instinctively closed his eyes.

 Then came the sound of a magnificent symphony.

 It was as if countless hands reached out from all directions, strumming the same chords that filled the air.

 First, a deep and powerful melody.

 Draezell felt his way through the vast light that had reclaimed his vision, until the music began.

 Grasslands grew, forests blossomed.

 A small green shadow wandered through the endless forest, while towering mountains rose from the earth.

 Then, the music softened.

 The omnipresent melody became gentle and soothing, like a river flowing quietly. A giant turtle sang in the river, the forest split, and the great river surged.

 A figure with goat horns, human-like in shape, built cities by the river, planting seeds.

 Draezell furrowed his brow.

 Is this history?

 The young man slowly approached the goat-headed figure. The shadow, whose face could not be seen, raised a hammer and struck down heavily.

 Sparks flew.

 The music grew intense.

 The ubiquitous music, now both uplifting and piercing, swelled around him.

 Half the world was burning, while the other half seemed frozen, trapped in boundless, endless silence.

 Draezell couldn't help but quicken his pace, feeling an endless terror chasing after him.

 Figures crowned with crowns swept past him, some with pearl-like eyes, some with eyes the color of emeralds, others with eyes of yellow jade.

 Only the last two figures stood out—one with eyes like amethyst, looking down at the running youth, and the other with eyes like bloodstone, gazing upward toward the endless sky.

 The stars struggled to tear apart the infinite light, and flesh grew wildly, these stars hanging in the sky like eyes, staring intently at the vast earth below.

 A man raised a flaming sword, and a faint melody played, only to be overwhelmed by the shifting, intense, and sharp music.

 The figure with amethyst eyes suddenly exploded. Countless blurry dragons flapped their wings and flew high—some toward the stars in the sky, some toward a land of frost.

 Boom!

 Draezell only heard an earth-shattering explosion behind him. Then, magic dragons fell, and before him was a scene of ruin. Two silver dragons danced gracefully upon the wreckage. The young man, momentarily stunned, watched the dance of the silver dragons. The larger of the two suddenly flapped its wings and, in the blink of an eye, was beside Draezell.

 I'm flying.

 Draezell instinctively crouched down, gripping the raised surface in front of him.

 It's west.

 Draezell immediately deduced the direction.

 I'm flying west.

 He saw an endless expanse of plains and hills.

 Iron swords like a forest, the corpses of six great dragons resting among them. A young dragon had its head severed, lying outside the forest of swords, while a half-decayed dragon drifted beside them.

 Hunters drew their bows, tall towers burned. Roses hid behind the scenes, blooming silently.

 Great wolves howled in the north. A trout fell, another rose, and on the towering fish-beam wood, crows pecked at the eyes of a stag.

 The sun set to the west, and a long star passed through it. The iron gate was tightly closed, blocking the last light of the setting sun.

 The green dragon bled in the fire.

 A falcon was struck down by lightning.

 The dragons soared, and then, one by one, they fell.

 Dragon's blood spilled, and countless living beings and plants grew in its wake.

 A multicolored giant dragon crowned with a crown drifted across the sea.

 The silver dragon still flew.

 Draezell saw a high wall.

 And a pair of blue eyes.

 Consciousness blurred for a moment.

 When he regained his senses, the only thing left was the fading flames.

 And a voice that only he could hear.

 "Go east. If you wish to conquer the east, you must first go west."

 "Go west, and wait for the final chapter of the Song of Ice and Fire."

 "Silver dragons and stars, flames and ice, smoke and salt—go, wait for the final chapter of fate."

 "These prophetic ramblings," Draezell thought, though he had little respect for prophecies and divine messages, at least it proved he hadn't made a mistake.

 The flames died down, and Draezell rushed to the side of the scorched Malak, not bothering to put on his clothes. He and Ben Throro helped the self-sacrificing red-robed Priest.

 Ben Throro didn't hesitate. He gently placed his lips near Malak's face, which was no longer distinguishable, and a surge of flame flowed into Malak's body.

 Malak suddenly opened his eyes, which were now blackened, with no visible pupils. "Did it succeed?" His charred lips split open, revealing more burnt flesh. His vocal cords had been destroyed, and he could only make muffled sounds.

 Seeing Draezell and Ben Throro nodding, Malak finally relaxed.

 Draezell placed his hand over Malak's lips, and a drop of blood fell.

 Almost visibly to the naked eye, flames reignited within Malak's body. Flesh began to grow anew from the charred remains.

 "Malak still needs time to recover," Ben Throro said, closing his disciple's eyes. "The resurrection spell of the lord of light only returned his soul to his body. Fire is both the source of life and the source of destruction. Without your blood, all I would have revived is a corpse."

 "So, you still kept it from me, right, Throro?"

 "It was a necessary sacrifice," Ben Throro replied, looking at his disciple. "Malak was eager to return to the side of the Lord of Light and guide your path. But you have given him a chance for rebirth, so I ask you to keep him here. Let this child take my place, the old man, and provide you with magical counsel."

 Draezell nodded. "Don't worry. I won't treat my own people poorly. But I still have one question."

 "Please ask."

 "What did you see in the flames?" Draezell asked.

 As a servant of the Lord of Light, interpreting prophecies in the flames was a vital skill. Though he was not at the center of the ritual, Draezell was certain that Ben Throro had seen something.

 "I saw you sailing on a ship of great distance, drawing a sword from the fire and shadow."

 "I saw you standing beside the crimson mountains, silver piled around you like an ocean."

 "I saw you donning a bronze crown, standing beside the throne forged from iron swords."

 Ben Throro spoke.