Having been pulled into unknown domain before, Thaddues felt no surge of panic. He simply straightened his posture, pulling the heavy fabric of his coat about his shoulders as he smoothed his expression into a mask of cold detachment.
"A rather dramatic method of invitation, Madam," Thaddues said, his voice quiet, clear, and ringing with a crisp, commanding cadence that echoed across the silent courtyard. "In my experience, a simple raven or a formal letter usually suffices when one wishes to grant an audience."
The woman did not turn her head, yet her voice rose around him.
"You speak with the arrogance of those who measure time in winters and decades, small shadow," she murmured. "You severed the thread that was tied to my name. The blood that was spilled in the drought-ridden soil, the song that was raised to the sky to command the clouds—it was offered to me."
Thaddues eyes narrowed slightly, his sharp mind piecing together the words spoken to her.
"The Host of the River," He murmured, a subtle tilt of his head acknowledging her stature. "You are Mother Rhoyne. The Mother River of the ancient Rhoynar."
"I am the breath of the current, the life of the valley, and the grief of the drowned," the woman replied, turning her face toward him at last. Her gaze was heavy, dragging at his mind like an undertow. "You dismantled a sacred rite forged in my honor, outsider. You broke the vessel of blood that my water-mages raised to summon my hand into the mortal realm."
"I broke a slaughter, Lady," Thaddues replied smoothly, his tone cool and unwavering, imbued with absolute authority. "I have little patience for blood-sorcery that seeks to drown men like rats in a trench. If that offends your divine sensibilities, then I suggest your followers cultivate a more refined method of worship."
"Though that was a mistake," He added as he killed the sacrifice anyway. It's body is in his pouch, another research waiting for him to dissect.
The River Mother look at the pond. She look at the falling leaf to the water that sends tiny, golden rings across the surface.
"You do not understand the laws that govern the stars, child of another shore," she said, her voice dropping into a solemn, ancient cadence that resonated within him. "There is a reason why the gods, for millions of years, do not step openly upon the soil of men. Why we do not walk among the halls of stone, nor strike down kings with lightnings from our palms."
Thaddues tilted his head, listening intently.
"And what reason is that?"
"Because we are the echoes, not the voices," Mother Rhoyne whispered,crouchinh down and extending a hand over the pond. "The gods do not shape the living; the living shape the gods. We exist because the mother weeps for her parched field. We exist because the sailor fears the deep, and the soldier prays to survive the dawn. Millions of minds, crying out in unison through the centuries, carve our shapes into the invisible veil. We are bound by the very belief that birthed us. To intervene directly is to break the vessel—to collapse the delicate balance between the dreamer and the dream."
Her words should have made sense.
According to the book he had read in his previous life, the gods had always been distant, enigmatic beings. Whether the Seven, the Old Gods, R'hllor, or the countless deities of Essos, none were known to walk openly among mortals or wield their power without intermediaries. Faith moved men, and perhaps, as she claimed, it also gave shape to the gods.
Yet everything he had encountered since his transmigration challenged that understanding.
He had witnessed sorcerers command fire, blood rituals reshape entire regions, and spells that skirted the very edge of divinity. The power mortals wielded was far greater than the books had ever suggested—raw, catastrophic, and profoundly unbalanced.
The contradiction gnawed at him. If the gods were bound by ancient laws that forbade direct intervention, why did mortal magic seem capable of defying those same laws? Had the books he once read been incomplete, or had the world itself changed long before his arrival?
"If you are bound by the prayers of your people," Thaddues said, his dark eyes fixed on hers with unwavering scrutiny, "then why do your followers wield power that tears through the very fabric of the world? The threshold of magic is corrupted—too raw, too violent. It no longer reflects the balance of the ancient laws."
The River Mother looked at him, and for the first time, something akin to sorrow softened the terrifying majesty of her fluid features.
"Because the mortal realm is breaking, Thaddues of another shore," she said, speaking his true name for the first time, her voice heavy with sadness. "I feel its wounds with every current that flows through me. I hear them in every river's song. The mortal realm bleeds from scars left by those who seek to hoard the flame. They have twisted the old songs into whips of fire and rain. But you..."
She stood up and step toward him.The air around them grew warm, smelling briefly of blooming lotus and fresh rain.
"Your existence gives another possibility to this place," the deity said, reaching out to hover her hand inches above his chest, where his heart beat with a steady, unyielding rhythm. "You carry a strange magic, a light that does not require the slaughter of innocence to shine. You are a pebble thrown into a stagnant pond, causing ripples where none should exist."
She leaned closer, the scent of the river surrounding him entirely.
"Help my people," The River Mother commanded, her voice turning soft, desperate, yet commandingly regal. "Save those who dwell along the banks from the rot of the dark sorcerers, and I shall grant you my blessing. The deep waters shall know your name, and the currents shall obey your path."
Thaddues opened his mouth to reply, his mind weighing the strategic value of an alliance with an ancient entity. Unlike the ancient valyrian god who had blessed him with ancient power, he was no longer a helpless mortal standing before the divine. If Mother Rhoyne sought to force his hand, he now possessed the strength to resist.
Mother Rhoyne saw his hesitation and sighed. The serene blue of her gown darkened into a sickening rust-red.
The still waters of the courtyard pond at her feet began to boil. Thick crimson foam frothed across the surface as the sweet fragrance of blooming lotus vanished, replaced by the metallic stench of fresh blood and the acrid scent of burning timber.
The once-tranquil pond blackened, its rippling reflection dissolving into a churning pool of blood.
"Look upon the cost of your hesitation," She whispered, her voice warping into a hollow, echoing scream.
The dark river wall collapsed, and the vast, misty expanse of the domain shattered like fragile glass.
Thaddues blinked, he was no longer standing in the courtyard.
Instead, he found himself within the familiar Great Hall of Sunspear. The lofty sandstone columns, carved cedar beams, and broad oak tables were unmistakable. Silver platters and overturned goblets lay scattered across the feast, while dark wine pooled over the pale stone floor.
Then he realized it was not wine staining the wood.
It was blood.
The hall had become a tomb. Scores of bodies lay slumped over the banquet tables, their silks and velvet doublets soaked in crimson. Above them, the banners hanging from the high rafters were scorched and slick with gore, swaying in a cold, unseen draft that carried the stench of burnt flesh and ozone.
A sharp, unnatural chill settled over Thaddues' chest as his gaze swept across the hall. For the briefest instant, disbelief pierced his composure. Yet he had walked through visions and seen the phropecy before. He neither flinched nor panicked. His jaw tightened, his breathing remained steady, and he studied the scene with the detached precision of a man refusing to surrender to emotion.
At the center table, seated as though still sharing a quiet feast, were the people he had sworn to protect.
Merlin rested near the head of the table, his head tilted against the high-backed chair. His throat had been opened from ear to ear, dark robes drenched in blood, his pale face frozen in quiet, uncomprehending stillness.
Beside him, Mereya lay collapsed across the linen tablecloth, one delicate hand reaching toward an overturned goblet, her golden hair matted with drying crimson.
Then his gaze found Dareya.
Her dark eyes remained open, glassy and unseeing, fixed upon the shadowed ceiling. A silver dagger, its blade etched with runes that pulsed like the last dying ember of a fire, protruded from her chest.
She did not breathe.
None of them did.
The hall itself seemed to hold its breath.
A cold fury stirred behind Thaddues' eyes. He stepped toward the table with deliberate calm, every movement measured despite the violent beat of his heart.
"An illusion," he said, his low baritone carrying effortlessly through the silence. "Or a promise meant to sway my hand."
As his gloved fingers brushed the edge of the table, a deep, resonant crack rolled through the hall, like the snapping of an ancient weirwood root.
The blood pooled across the floor ignited with crimson light. Fractures raced through the walls, bright as lightning, splitting the vision from floor to vaulted ceiling. One by one, the corpses dissolved into ash, scattered by a howling wind that tore through the hall.
The sky split apart.
The ground beneath his feet vanished.
The vision collapsed into countless glittering shards of darkness.
Thaddues fell into the void, his mind unyielding even as the world unraveled around him, and his consciousness was hurled back toward the realm of the living.
The gray chill of dawn was still clinging to the stone when Thaddeus opened his eyes, but the blood-soaked visions of his nightmare hadn't faded. They burned behind his eyelids—vivid, terrifying, and merciless.
He didn't waste a second trying to shake the dread away. Instead, he took the warning for exactly what it was: a grim promise of what would come if he remained idle.
With a sharp breath, he called the system.
"System, cast Protego Totalum bound to the castle's ancient ley-lines," Thaddues muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on the floating cursive text.
--
"Host, analysis complete. The optimal defensive ritual for protecting Sunspear is the Aegis Antiqua Matrix. Requirements are the spell Protego Maxima, Fianto Duri and Repello Inimicorum. "
"Host the estimated magical cost is 85% of Host's maximum reserves. The estimated casting duration is 45 minute
The primary anchor is Central Spire (Sunspear Tower)."
--
"Warning host. Your magical reserves will be reduced to critical level. Do you want to continue? "
--
"Confirm," he whispered, tapping the glowing seal with his fingertips. "Bypass safety limiters and draw directly from the palace foundation."
--
"Host, your command has been accepted. The ancient warding nodes have been revealed. Your wand and magical intent are now synchronized with the Aegis Antiqua Matrix. The ritual may now begin."
--
Instantly, the System overlaid a grid of luminous, fiery gold runes across his vision, highlighting the structural ley-lines of the castle walls and pinpointing the exact coordinates where the warding nodes needed to be anchored.
Guided by the system's precise spell-mapping, he moved through the quiet corridors like a ghost, weaving ancient protective magic into the very foundation of the palace. He concentrated his efforts on the central tower, fortifying its stone, arches, and doorways with invisible layers of defensive runes.
"System, give me a status report on the ward network," Thaddues gritted out, pressing his palm into the third sandstone archway as liquid gold magic seeped into the stone.
---
"Host, the third ward anchor has been secured. Three of the twelve anchors are now in place. The ritual remains stable. Current magical consumption: 1.2% per second. Proceed without interruption. Fluctuations in magical output may cause the ward to destabilize."
---
"Keep the flow constant. I won't stop until this place is secure," he thought back, sweat slicking his forehead as the sheer strain of channeling high-tier magic pulled heavily at his reserves.
"You are going to collapse before the sun even finishes rising."
The voice was gentle, carrying the soft, rasping rhythm of someone who had just woken up.
Thaddues didn't need to turn to know it was Princess Dareya.
She stood at the edge of the terrace, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, wrapped in a simple morning robe. She looked serene, a stark contrast to the horrific memory burning in Thaddues' mind—the image of her pale, lifeless form, drenched in crimson, eyes glassy and vacant.
A sharp pang seized his chest.
I will never let that happen.
Never.
"I am almost finished," Thaddues replied aloud, his voice slightly raspy from the toll of the casting.
He kept his fingers steady as he finalized another glowing node in the air, watching it sink seamlessly into the sandstone wall like molten gold.
--
"Host ward anchors 7 of 12 complete."
--
Dareya stepped closer, crossing her arms against the crisp morning air, her brow furrowing with genuine concern.
"You need your rest, Thaddues. Tonight, you're the guest of honor. It would be a poor feast indeed if its brightest star arrived looking as though he'd fought a war before breaking his fast."
Thaddues finally paused, letting his hands drop to his sides as the glowing parchment Interface faded into a subtle background aura.
He turned to face her, his expression uncharacteristically grave.
"Can the banquet be canceled?"
Dareya blinked, taken aback by the sudden, deadpan request. A small, dry smile tugged at her lips, though her eyes remained searching.
"Stop the banquet? Thaddues, half the noble houses are already en route. The high lords have crossed deserts for this. We can no more halt tonight's feast than we can order the sun to stop rising."
Then you are walking into a death trap, he thought bitterly.
He couldn't force the royal family to cancel a political feast, but he could change where she was when the hammer fell.
He took a step toward her, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pause.
"Will you visit my estate, princess?"
Dareya froze.
The unexpected question hung in the quiet terrace air between them, sudden and heavy.
A soft flush crept up her neck, her usual royal composure faltering for a brief, vulnerable second.
"Of course," she stammered softly, caught off guard. "If... if given the chance."
"Why not today?"
This time, she was utterly stunned.
"I—I..."
The words caught in her throat.
For a fleeting moment, Thaddues saw the desire in her eyes—the yearning to simply say yes, to shed the heavy armor of her title and escape the suffocating politics of Sunspear, if only for an afternoon.
But almost instantly, the hesitation returned.
The subtle shift in her posture, the quiet weight settling back onto her shoulders—it was the burden of her birthright. She was the heir. She had duties to uphold, guests to receive, and a realm to represent.
Thaddues recognized that look all too well.
A pang of sympathy crossed his heart, tempered by the desperate, protective instinct driving him. He had asked to guarantee her safety, to pull her far away from the tragedy waiting in the shadows.
He didn't want to lose another person.
Not again.
Recognizing her dilemma before she could voice it, he gave her an out.
"I cannot," Dareya murmured, regret lacing her voice. "There is too much required of me today. How about another day?"
He had expected the answer, but the disappointment was easily masked by a soft, reassuring smile.
"Yes," Thaddues said gently, his tone softening the tension between them. "Another day is good."
Dareya offered him a grateful, lingering look before turning to attend to her morning duties, leaving him alone once more on the high terrace.
As her footsteps faded into the stone hallways, Thaddues' expression turned ice-cold.
He called the system. "System, bind the final sequence. Set the perimeter spell filters to target Dark Magic and malicious intent."
--
"Host ward anchors 12 of 12 complete. All ward anchors have been secured. The advance Shield, 'Aegis Antiqua,' is ready for deployment. To complete the spell, recite the spell. Salvio Hexia... Cave Inimicum.'
"Be advised host, this casting will consume approximately forty percent of your remaining magical reserves, leaving you with only 3.1%. Your reserves will enter a critical state. Further spellcasting is strongly discouraged. Do you wish to proceed?"
--
"Yes," Thaddues commanded aloud. "Channel everything."
Closing his eyes, he steadied his breathing before giving voice to the final incantation.
"Salvio Hexia... Cave Inimicum."
--
"Host the Protection Charm is active. Those who cross these wards with malice in their hearts shall be turned to ash."
--
The air hummed with immense, ancient magic as the protective barrier locked into place, sinking deep into the foundational ley-lines of the palace.
The invisible barrier settled with a subtle, resonant thrum that vibrated right through his boots.
System... final status check, Thaddues demanded mentally, swaying slightly as the sudden magical drain hit him like a physical blow.
--
"Host Sunspear Defense Network is Fully Fortified. Threat Mitigation are Dark magic, ill intent, and unauthorized hostile entry rendered impossible. "
--
It was complete.
The protection charm now blanketed Sunspear like an impenetrable, invisible shield. From this moment forward, no individual carrying ill intent or sinister magic could set foot within the palace walls without the dynamic wards exposing them or striking them down.
Thaddues wiped the sweat from his brow, closing the floating parchment windows with a quick flick of his hand.
He gazed out over the waking city as the morning sun finally broke over the horizon.
Sunspear was safe.
Every stone now answered to his will.
If fate wished to claim another life beneath this roof...
...it would first have to break him.
TBC
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