The massive white wolf shifted its weight, stepping back just enough for Sir Theodore to see the man approaching through the dappled moonlight. It was indeed the leader of the Golden Dawn, the youth with the deceptively calm eyes: Aldric Seres.
Theodore, clutching his mangled arm, hissed through the pain. "What am I doing here? I'd ask you the same, Captain Seres. Why are you haunting these woods with monsters?"
Aldric folded his arms, his expression unreadable. "What I do is my own affair. Perhaps you should tell me what you saw tonight."
Theodore's eyes narrowed into slits. "I saw a den of heretics. I saw men practicing how to butcher the faithful of the Seven, mending their own flesh with dark sorcery to do it again and again."
Aldric shook his head. "I have put many men to the sword, Theodore. Some were faithful, yes—but their hands were slick with the blood of the innocent. If you tally the souls, I doubt I've taken more than the 'pious' lords you serve."
"Speak your lies," Theodore spat, a cold sneer touching his lips. "It was my folly to trust Northmen. Kill me and be done with it. But my men in the camp know nothing of this. If there is a shred of knighthood left in you," he glanced toward Roger Hughes and Duncan, "let them ride away. They are blameless."
Roger Hughes stepped forward, his voice calm. "Sir Theodore, you are of Dorne, are you not? Your people whisper to the Mother Rhoyne. The North kneels to the weirwoods. Do you name every man who keeps a different god a monster?"
Theodore was a man of the blade, not the book. He could read a ledger and identify a hundred sigils, but theology was a fog he had never cared to navigate. His hatred for the "Sun-God" wasn't born of logic, but of the instinctive revulsion a man feels for a stray dog in a high hall.
"Bah," Theodore spat a glob of blood. "A gutter-god from the wastes. Do not compare your heresy to the Old Gods. Stop your honeyed words and give me a clean end."
Kevin, his jaw set, drew his steel. The blade hummed as it cleared the scabbard. "Master," the boy urged, his eyes fixed on the Dornishman's throat. "Let me pay him for his insults. One word, and the unbeliever is silenced."
But Aldric was not a small man. He believed in his cause, and he knew that for others to believe, he had to be better than the world that broke them. He did not execute prisoners. He did not pillage. He did not take women. He held his men to a standard that made them icons, not just soldiers.
Moreover, he knew that the Faith of the Seven was a pillar he could not simply knock down—he had to hollow it out from within.
Aldric sank to one knee beside Theodore. He reached out, gently pressing his hand over the knight's mangled arm.
"We follow Anshe, the Sun-God," Aldric said softly. "We are Light-Seekers. We seek to bring hope to the dark corners of this world, just as the Seven claim to do. We heal the broken. We shield the weak. We honor the brave. If these are the ideals of your gods, why do you say we cannot coexist?"
Before Theodore could retort, a flash of white light, brilliant enough to blind, erupted from Aldric's palm.
Theodore gasped. The searing pain in his arm vanished, replaced by a warmth so deep it felt as if his very bones were being reforged in a smith's fire. When the spots cleared from his vision, the bite marks were gone. The skin was smooth, unscarred, and stronger than it had been in years.
It was the same sensation he had felt with "Rainbow John," but pure. Undiluted.
Aldric stood up, walking toward the unconscious Dylan. "Tell me, Sir Theodore... how do you know that John's 'rainbow' isn't merely the Sun's light filtered through a different lens?"
Theodore froze. His mind raced back to the ruined hall of St. Maur's Monastery. He remembered John's strange prayer: "...may the Sun's glory become a prism for the people of the Seven, may the Light wash away the dark..."
He had dismissed it as a monk's rambling. Now, a cold realization settled in his gut. Had John changed his stripes?
After Aldric healed Dylan, he turned back to Theodore. The Sunwalkers stood in a silent circle, their golden armor shimmering.
"I have no wish for your blood, Sir Theodore. Nor do I wish to insult your Faith. I am going to St. Maur's to see an old friend. If you doubt us, follow us. Watch how we march. Watch how we treat the smallfolk. When we reach the monastery and you speak with John, if you still wish to draw steel against us... then bring your men. The Golden Dawn will be waiting."
Theodore watched them go. He knelt in the dirt, staring at the spot where the blood of the Sunwalkers had soaked into the earth.
When Dylan finally groaned and sat up, the bear and the wolf were gone. He saw his master staring at the ground.
"Ser! The monsters... we must warn the camp!"
Theodore shook his head slowly. "Warning them will do no good now, Dylan. They are... something else entirely. We watch. We wait."
The knight's religious fervor had cooled into a sharp, calculating curiosity. If this power wasn't unique to John—if it could be taught—what would that mean for a land drowning in blood?
The journey continued. Theodore kept his men at the rear, a silent, wary shadow behind Aldric's company. To avoid further trouble, Aldric had the scout Sean Hunt lead them through the "Whispering Paths"—narrow, overgrown tracks that bypassed the main roads.
Two days later, they crested a ridge and saw St. Maur's Monastery. It was a grim sight. The once-stately manse was a scorched shell, its stone walls licked by black soot.
Aldric spurred his horse forward. "Is Brother John within?" he bellowed at the gates.
A young monk with a brass bell peered over the wall. "Who asks? If you seek healing, Brother John's ledger is full. Return in three days."
"I am Aldric Seres," he shouted back. "Tell John that his friend from the West has come to collect on that invitation."
The monk paused, murmuring the name. "Wait here."
Minutes later, John appeared on the ramparts, flanked by a tall, gaunt man with silvering hair and sharp, intelligent eyes.
"Aldric!" John's voice broke with joy. "By the Smith, it is you!"
"You promised me a cup of wine and a roof, John!" Aldric laughed. "I'm here to collect."
The gates groaned open. John practically tumbled down the stairs, catching Aldric in a bone-deep embrace. "I thought the lions had taken you, my friend."
"Fate has a funny way of missing me," Aldric replied, clapping him on the shoulder.
John stepped back, gesturing to the gaunt man who had followed him down. "Forgive me, Brother Sparrow. My manners have fled. This is the man I told you of—the Captain of the Silver Hand, Aldric Seres. Aldric, this is Brother Sparrow."
Aldric blinked. "Sparrow?"
The old man smiled, a humble, thin-lipped expression. "We are all sparrows, Ser. Small, brown, and overlooked by the great—but we fly together."
Aldric nodded, though his gut tightened. He knew a wolf in sheep's clothing when he saw one. "The sparrows are the heart of the world, Brother. Just like the folk behind me."
Sparrow looked at the ragged line of refugees entering the gates. His eyes clouded with sorrow. "I would grant them more than a roof, Captain, but the 'Bloody Mummers' visited us a fortnight ago. They took the grain and the silver, leaving only the dead."
"I brought wagons," Aldric said. "If you provide the land and the protection of the Faith, I will provide the seed and the steel to keep them safe."
John and the Sparrow exchanged a long, weighted look. "We shall discuss this tonight," the Sparrow said. "For now, find rest."
As Aldric walked through the courtyard toward the main hall, he saw the truth of John's words. Dark, fresh bloodstains marred the stones. The scent of ash was everywhere.
"The Tylos company," John whispered, his face darkening. "Lannister sellswords. They killed forty of the brothers. Only a handful of us hid in the crypts."
"May the Seven grant them peace," Aldric said.
John snorted, a bitter sound. "The Seven didn't do a damn thing, Aldric. If they had power, they wouldn't have let those dogs into a house of prayer."
Aldric glanced at him. "Your faith sounds brittle, John."
"You knew it would be," John countered. "Why else did you put that... that thing in my head when we parted?"
Aldric laughed. "The Sun-Seed. I wondered if you'd felt it."
"I felt it," John muttered. "I've been playing the fool, letting them call it 'Rainbows.' But the light doesn't feel like the Seven, Aldric. It feels like... the morning."
They reached the third floor of the main building. John opened a door to a Spartan room. "This was the Overseer's. He's dead now. It's yours. Kevin and Jon are below. I share the next room with Sparrow."
John paused at the door. "One more thing. Where is Rennel? Is he...?"
"Collecting secrets in the Reach," Aldric said. "He's fine."
John nodded, then turned to leave, but stopped. He raised his hand. A faint, shimmering golden glow gathered in his palm, casting long shadows against the scorched walls.
"Sparrow wants to talk to you at supper, Aldric. About this." John gestured to the light. "About the North. And about why the Sun is rising in the middle of a war."
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