Jon stared at the object in his palm, identified by the System as a Sealing Stone. A flicker of unease gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the suspicion that the System was leading him into a trap; he knew all too well that Jaqen H'ghar represented the collective might of the Faceless Men of the House of Black and White.
While the prospect of generating 1,000 points of Soul Energy per month was a powerful lure, Jon understood the cost. This artifact was likely siphoning energy away from the so-called Many-Faced God.
In the high-stakes game of divinity, cutting off a god's "incense"—their flow of power—was a direct declaration of war. Jon believed only the Lord of Light and the Great Other held true, primordial power in this world, but that didn't mean the "lesser" deities were toothless.
Ever since the Red Comet had streaked across the sky, the Seven Kingdoms had spiraled into a fever dream of religious fervor and conflict. Jon didn't fear the Many-Faced God personally, but having a guild of world-class assassins systematically targeting his expansion plans was a headache he didn't need.
Don't screw me over on this, Jon thought, his grip tightening on the stone. I've played along so far. But if I wake up to a Faceless Man at my throat every single morning, we're going to have a problem.
Suddenly, a new notification flared in his vision.
[The Holy Stone descends. As the most influential deity in this world, the power of the Seven-Who-Are-One is sealed here. Explore...]
Jon's pulse quickened. Wait... can this thing actually hear me?
"System? Are you sentient?" Jon asked aloud, his voice echoing through the hollows of the Dragonpit. "I have questions. Plenty of them."
Silence followed. The interface remained static and indifferent, as if mocking his sudden burst of curiosity.
Jon exhaled, letting the frustration pass. For now, he had to focus. Braavos's reach didn't extend to the Stepstones yet, and while the Faceless Men were supernatural enigmas, Jon's own burgeoning power was nothing to scoff at. Besides, he had already crossed the Old Gods of Thunder Isle; adding another angry deity to the list didn't change the stakes much.
The System had guided him this far. He sensed an underlying pattern—a deliberate, calculated move against the established gods of this world. According to Garona, Jon possessed the spark of a god himself. Perhaps the System was a god in its own right—or at least, its functions were divine enough to be mistaken for one.
To hell with it. Fortune favors the bold, he thought, his jaw setting. I'm tired of overthinking. If it benefits me, I move forward. No matter what comes, I'll just have to crush it.
With his mind cleared, Jon's focus returned to the present. He began to navigate the sprawling ruins of the Dragonpit. Given that Jaqen H'ghar had been lurking here, Jon suspected the assassin had been hunting for the very same thing.
No wonder the System wanted that guy dead. His boss was trying to jump the claim.
The Dragonpit was a cavernous wasteland of stone and shadow. Following the System's guidance, Jon eventually reached a tunnel entrance choked by massive fallen boulders. Pale light filtered through the cracks in the walls above, illuminating the jagged edges of the debris.
Sss... sss...
Recognizing the scale of the blockage, Jon summoned his two remaining Giant Poison Spiders. The massive arachnids skittered forward, their multifaceted eyes gleaming in the dark.
Boom! Crack!
At Jon's command, the spiders fell upon the rocks with terrifying force. Debris flew as their powerful limbs hammered and pried at the stone, clearing the path with inhuman efficiency.
Jon used the time to study the murals etched into the surrounding walls. The history here felt ancient—older even than the Dragonpit itself. The carvings depicted the early deeds of the Faith of the Seven. Though the heart of the Faith had always been Oldtown, the Sept of Remembrance in King's Landing had once housed the most influential septons in the realm, especially after Aegon the Conqueror established the capital.
The Church had moved its seat here to curry favor with the Targaryen Family, but the dragon-blooded kings and the pious Faith were a poor match. Conflicts had flared for generations until Jaehaerys the Conciliator finally brokered a tenuous peace.
When Jon had watched the history of this world back on Earth, he'd always wondered why the Seven—gods who never seemed to perform a single miracle—held such absolute sway over a continent. Looking at the System's task, the answer began to take shape: the Seven weren't powerless; they were sealed.
Siss...
The spiders emitted a satisfied hiss, signaling that the way was clear.
Jon ignited a torch. Flanked by his two venomous guardians, he descended into the depths. The tunnel sloped downward at a sharp forty-five-degree angle. The walls showed clear signs of deliberate excavation—chiseled and hewn with precision. However, it was the material that caught his eye: a strange, oily black substance that resembled pitch or bitumen.
It was the same "oily black stone" found at the base of the Hightower, the Five Forts, and the Seastone Chair of the Iron Islands. Maesters at Oldtown had long theorized that these structures belonged to a vanished, prehistoric civilization.
And here it was, hidden beneath the Dragonpit. Jon realized that perhaps his ancestor, Aegon I, hadn't chosen this site by accident. He hadn't just built a capital; he had built it over something ancient.
Whoosh...
As he delved deeper, a moist, salt-tinged breeze brushed against his face. Jon frowned. The scent suggested an underground river—or perhaps something darker.
Clack.
His torch began to sputter. Jon reached into his pack and retrieved a whale-oil lamp he'd requisitioned from the Red Keep using Eddard Stark's authority as Hand. This Myr-crafted lamp was wind-resistant and, thanks to its unique optical design, cast a light several times brighter than a standard torch.
The deeper he went, the more ruined the architecture became. Shattered pillars of black stone lay like the ribs of a gargantuan beast. Curiously, unlike the murals above, these ruins bore no carvings, no language, and no art.
After another ten minutes of descent, a sudden sensation slammed into Jon's mind. It was a pressure so immense it made his very soul tremble—the unmistakable aura of a power that dwarfed anything he had encountered.
The main event, Jon thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. I don't know if I can take this thing, but I've come too far to turn back.
In his past life, he had lost countless opportunities by being too cautious. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Even if a demon king was sealed at the bottom of this pit, he was going to see it for himself.
He stepped into a colossal cavern. It was less like a cave and more like a void carved out of the earth. Stretches of oily black stone rose up like stalactites, but their arrangement was too precise to be natural.
Before him stood a massive, cage-like structure formed of interweaving stone pillars. Within the "cage," ribbons of red, green, and blue light pulsed and writhed like living things.
Around the perimeter of this cage stood seven crystal statues, each a different figure. Under the shifting glow of the lights within the cage, the statues shimmered with an eerie, prismatic radiance.
"Lost follower of a foreign god... depart..."
"I am the Three-as-One..."
"Slaughter..."
As Jon drew closer, a cacophony of whispers—like the fevered dreams of a thousand souls—began to flood his mind.