New week, new goals for bonus chapter!
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3rd bonus chapter: 250 powerstones
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The chamber was utterly silent. Even Benerro looked momentarily shaken. The flames receded, lowering themselves as though in reverence. Moqorro stared openly now, awe undisguised. Kinvara's composure remained but her eyes sharpened.
Benerro descended two steps from the dais, voice quieter now, reverent like he was approaching something sacred. "You have seen him didn't you." A murmur passed through the gathered priests from disbelief to awe, hope, and fear.
Jon did not answer immediately. He did not know how to put into words what could not be contained by them.
Then to the utter astonishment of every soul present the High Priest of Volantis dropped to one knee. Tears streamed down his face unchecked.
"Ow… how I have longed…" His voice trembled, cracking beneath the weight of decades of devotion. He clutched the edge of jon crimson robes as though steadying himself against a storm. "How I have longed to behold the true vestige of our great Master."
Jon froze. This was the Voice of R'hllor. The man who commanded endless mobs of believers. The one whose sermons set cities ablaze with faith. And he was balling his eyes out before him and everyone. Jon did not know how to feel. Embarrassed. Uneasy. Honored. Overwhelmed.
Moqorro's staff struck the stone with a resonant crack that silenced the chamber instantly. "The Lord of Light has weighed him in flame and found him worthy."
He turned to the assembly. "Behold our new brother!" All twenty-eight priests struck their fists to their chests in unison. Even the projections in the braziers bowed.
Jon stood still, breath steadying. The divine weight had not vanished. It lingered faint but undeniable coiled within his marrow. He had not merely entered fire. He had stood before something eternal. And it had not reduced him to ash.
Kinvara's voice cut cleanly through the charged silence. "Welcome child to our order," her gaze never leaving him.
Jon lifted his head fully. The fear he had carried into the chamber was gone. He had glimpsed something vast beyond kings and cities, beyond Old Bloods and rival faiths. The games of Volantis suddenly felt smaller. He had stood before a god and walked away from it.
"Truly our order is blessed by your presence child," the man wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes. "I name you, the Red Son!" The words struck like a bell tolling across the great gathering.
A shock passed visibly through the priests. That was not a casual title. That was not ceremonial flourish. It was proclamation. "Blessed child of our Lord," Benerro continued, voice strengthening as fervor returned but now it burned hotter, sharper. "One with the flames. Witnessed by His true vestige. The first in living memory to draw forth such manifestation and endure."
Benerro turned slowly to the assembly, raising his staff high. "Hear me, servants of the Light!" The braziers flared in answer. "The darkness gathers across the world. False gods whisper. The night stretches its claws."
His voice rose like a roaring furnace. "But the Lord has answered!" He pointed toward Jon. "He has sent us His Red Son!"
The chamber erupted with fervent declaration. "R'hllor!" dozens of voices cried.
"R'hllor!" The cry became rhythm. A pulse. A chant. Jon stood at the center of it, heat rolling off him in subtle waves. Wasn't this just suppose to be his initiation ritual into the Priesthood. When did he become the child of the Red God?!
…
The roar of devotion did not fade at once. Jon descended from the center of the chamber, the mantle of fire around him receding to a faint aura. His hair remained flame, though subdued; his eyes dimmed from blinding gold to molten amber. The weight of what had just occurred still coiled within him, vast and incomprehensible.
He had come to be initiated. He had left the pyre named something else. The Red Son. The title clung to him like heat.
He took the only empty seat along the lower inner tier beside Azula. She did not look at him at first, though the corner of her lips curved faintly. "Well," she murmured under her breath, voice dry as ash, "you do not do anything halfway, do you?"
Jon exhaled slowly. "That was not… planned."
"Nothing that important ever is."
Above them, the three thrones were reoccupied. Benerro had regained his composure, though his eyes still burned with heightened fervor. Kinvara's expression had returned to calculated calm. Moqorro sat silent, heavy hands resting upon his knees.
Benerro raised his staff once more with deliberate authority. "Brothers and sisters," he said, voice steady now, "the rite has concluded. The Lord has given us His sign. We will not ignore it."
A pause. "But we are not gathered solely for celebration and welcome a new minister of the faith."
The air shifted. Even Jon felt it. Politics returned like iron beneath velvet. Kinvara spoke then, "The Old Blood has requested an alliance."
A ripple of tension passed through the gathered priests. "The proposal?" one of the brazier projections asked, voice crackling like iron. The old man was the Red Priest in charge of the faith craftsman.
As a Red priest now Jon could lead or co-lead different operations within the Faith or lead a temple in one of the cities if he wished. However he had no interest in that and preferred to continue learning under his master to try to reach beyond.
Kinvara's gaze swept the chamber. "The noble houses of Volantis seek expansion beyond our current borders. They claim stagnation weakens us. They claim Braavos grows too bold."
At the mention of Braavos, several priests muttered darkly. This was a city which was hard for them to grow a large following since the faith of the many-faced-god held sway.
Nonetheless that single statement carried centuries of implication. Volantis had not expanded in generations. Not since its ambitions had ground into stalemate against Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. Now the city had turned inward; wealthy, powerful, but stagnant. At long last the Old Blood wanted movement forward, for them not to fall behind.
"Volantis has grown fat and safe in the trade that flows through from deeper in Essos, into the other Free Cities and Westeros. It has not seen war in many years," Volarik, his martial instructor in the Flame Hall snorted.
A projection in one of the braziers flickered more brightly. The face that formed within was that of a sharp-featured priestess from Myr, Priestess Selene. "Braavos has already reduced Lorath to subordination," Selene said, her flame-form crackling with agitation. "Their navy crushed them decades ago. Lorath bends the knee in all but name."
Another projection, this one broad-faced and scarred Priest Harad of Qohor spoke next. "And Pentos," he added. "Defeated in the field. Forced into treaties favorable to Braavos with their Prince slain. Tribute flows northward."
Jon listened carefully. He knew the Free Cities by reputation, but this was a different scale of awareness. Kinvara nodded. "Norvos and Qohor have formed a defensive alignment," she said. "Volantis has supported them quietly."
At that, several brows lifted. "The Old Bloods are playing a dangerous game," a tall priest in person spoke. He was Maelor, one of the senior masters of flame from Lys.
Benerro leaned forward slightly. "The Old Blood fears Braavos will surpass Volantis as the dominant Free City," he said plainly. That struck harder than any war declaration. Volantis prided itself as heir to Valyria. The oldest. The strongest. The truest successor. To fall behind Braavos, founded by escaped slaves was unthinkable.
"They wish to expand their territory once more. To reclaim strength. To assert dominance."
"And at what cost?" asked an old priestess in person, robes heavy with gold embroidery, she led the fire Seers.
"They request partnership," Kinvara answered. "The Faith's blessing. The Faith's full support."
Azula whispered under her breath in disgust, "They want our fires to do their dirty work."
Others seem to in agreement with her reluctance, his teacher in the flame hall, mistress of healing called out. "We will just be fuel for their ambitions."
Kinvara did not soften the truth. "They have offered much. An equal share of the soils. The Faith would receive significant holdings in any newly conquered lands; temples, estates, authority over captured slaves and treasures."
That caused visible interest. One of the younger priests leaned forward openly. "What sorts of treasures?" he asked.
Kinvara's gaze sharpened. "Artifacts from fallen Valyrian outposts. Dragonlord vaults. Sorcerous remains buried in disputed territories." Now the chamber hummed. Even Jon felt his pulse shift. Valyrian relics were not mere trinkets. They were power.
"All we need to do is give them military support," Kinvara stated evenly. "Our flame on the battlefield. Priestly endorsement. Public sermons declaring the expansion divinely sanctioned."
The room was divided.
Priestess Selene's projection flared brighter. "This is an opportunity," she argued. "Braavos spreads influence through coin. We spread truth through fire. If Volantis expands with our blessing, temples will rise in every conquered city."
Harad of Qohor nodded. "And Braavos will hesitate to challenge a city openly endorsed by the Lord of Light."
Across the chamber, however, another voice spoke calm, measured. Priestess Lyra of Lys, robed in pale crimson, stood slowly. "Or we entangle ourselves in noble greed," she countered. "The Old Blood does not seek divine truth. They seek dominance. They will use our legitimacy to cloak conquest."
A murmur of agreement followed her words. Azula crossed her arms. "She's not wrong," she whispered to Jon.
Moqorro remained silent, but his eyes drifted toward Jon briefly as if gauging his reaction. Benerro allowed the arguments to swell for several minutes before raising his hand.
Silence followed swiftly. "There are three positions before this Council," he said.
He gestured with deliberate clarity. "First: Full support. We declare Volantis' expansion the will of R'hllor. We commit priests openly to their campaigns. Thus we get half the spoils."
Selene inclined her head firmly. "Second: Conditional support. We aid discreetly. No public endorsement. We leverage some elite strike teams to strike out for some relic acquisition and influence without binding our doctrine to noble ambition."
Looking around, Jon could see some wanted the middle path.
"Third: Refusal. We remain neutral. We focus on internal strengthening while the Free Cities exhaust themselves." Lyra's chin lifted slightly.
The factions were now clear. The Expansionists. The Pragmatists. The Isolationists.
Jon however wanted to know where exactly Volantis wanted to strike so he raised his hand. From a nod of his master his voice echoed faintly against the volcanic stone walls, carrying over the soft roar of the central pyre. "Where do they want to strike?"
Kinvara's gaze swept the chamber again, deliberate, precise. "East," she said, "toward Mantarys, Tolos, and Elyria."
A ripple passed through the assembly. Even the fire projections flared slightly, reacting to the weight of her words. Selene's flame-face snapped forward. "Those are good targets; Lys, Myr and Tyrosh would be hard to crack open."
Jon could see how Volantis did not want a repeat of many years ago so they were going for the softer targets if you could call them that. Jon leaned back slightly, letting the words settle. Mantarys, Tolos, Elyria… he'd heard the whispers of their dark reputations.
Mantarys was said to be a city of monsters, things straight out of nightmares filled the streets. Its towers were said to be haunted by ghosts of tyrants long dead, and its streets ran with rumors of blood rites performed under moonless nights.
Tolos had a reputation for decadent nobles, their courts steeped in intrigue and vice. Wealth masked cruelty, and the city's ports were infamous for smuggling everything from slaves to cursed items. Sailors told stories of ships vanishing in the harbor, swallowed by the city's hidden currents or greedy tides.
Elyria, smaller but fiercer, was a fortress city of mercenaries and poisoners, its streets crawling with hired killers and secret cults. No one outside its walls could trust what passed for law there; contracts were ironclad, but betrayal came cheaper than bread.
"Mantarys is fertile, yes," Moqorro said, his voice crackling like dry timber, "Tolos is less fortified, yet still a thorny region. Elyria… Elyria is wealth unmatched, but its ruler is cunning, and their terrain favors defense."
A priest's projection flared. "Volantis offers half the spoils. Half of Mantarys, Tolos, and Elyria for the Faith. Half the lands, half the treasures, half the authority in each city. This is not trifling. This is power."
An older priestess in the chamber leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "This is precisely why we must act. The Lord of Light demands strength. Shall we let Braavos surpass us in influence, in wealth, in devotion?"
Kinvara's gaze swept slowly over the assembly again. "You have heard the arguments. Each voice speaks truth in part. Each choice carries consequence." She paused, letting the heat of the chamber press on them all. "So decide. Shall the Faith openly march with Volantis? Shall we act in shadows? Or shall we refrain?"
-
"Let us give out Full Support," Jon spoke at last, rising to his feet. Every eye in the chamber shifted. It was Jon. The Red Son.
The air tightened around him, heat shimmering faintly along his shoulders. Azula turned slowly in her seat, studying him. Above, Benerro's gaze sharpened with interest. Kinvara did not interrupt.
"If Volantis expands," he said, voice steady, carrying across stone and flame, "it will expand with or without us." A murmur. He continued. "If we offer only partial support, we gain scraps and suspicion. If we refuse, we isolate ourselves while Braavos tightens its grip across Essos."
He looked toward the projection of Selene. "You are right. Braavos spreads influence through coin. But coin cannot inspire fear."
Then toward Lyra. "You are right as well. The Old Blood seeks dominance."
He turned, allowing his gaze to sweep the entire chamber. "So let them."
Silence deepened. "But let them dominate beneath our fire."
The central pyre flickered higher. "If we give full support, we do not become their tool. We become indispensable. The battlefield will see flames. The soldiers will see miracles. The conquered cities will know who truly delivered victory."
He turned slightly toward Kinvara. "Mantarys, Tolos, Elyria—they are not just conquests in which we do not hold strong positions in. They offer plenty of resources, treasures, new followers, and temples."
His eyes hardened faintly. "If Valyrian vaults lie buried there, we secure them. If sorcerous remains exist, we claim them. If territory can strengthen the Faith's reach before the greater war arrives, we take it."
The chamber further at his mention of that. However Jon knew what was on the horizon and maybe that was why the Red God took interest in him. "Mantarys is whispered to harbor horrors. Tolos rots with decadence. Elyria thrives on poison and betrayals."
His amber eyes glowed faintly. "Those cities are fertile ground for purification."
Moqorro struck his staff once against the stone. A deep, resonant crack. Kinvara studied Jon for a long moment. Measuring. Weighing. Finally, she inclined her head. m"So be it."
Benerro rose slowly from his throne, eyes blazing with calculation layered over devotion. "The Red Son has spoken," he said quietly. The title hung heavy in the air.
Benerro lifted his staff high. "By decree of this Council, by flame and blood we grant our full Support to Volantis' campaign. We shall bind our magic and faith to their legions!"
The braziers erupted in synchronized fire. "Let Mantarys burn. Tolos fall. Elyria kneel."
The chant began, low at first then swelling. "R'hllor! R'hllor! R'hllor!"
Jon remained standing as the chamber thundered. Inside him, the vast golden presence remained silent. Watching.