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Chapter 486
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 16:58:29 +0000 UTCIt was just a dream.
That was Aegor’s first thought upon opening his eyes. There was no surprise or emotion behind it, just a faint sense of relief.
Any lucid dreamer skilled enough to master their dreams would inevitably worry about this: what if one day, thinking they were in a dream, they let loose, indulging in all the darkest corners of their humanity, only to find they couldn’t wake up—that they had lost their grip on reality, confusing dreams for life?
That’s why, every time he woke from a lucid dream, Aegor always felt a small wave of relief wash over him, even in his groggy state. At least this time, he hadn’t gone mad.
But this time, before he could fully exhale in relief, he caught the acrid smell of something burning. Glancing down, he realized his blanket was on fire.
“Shit!”
The haze of sleep disappeared in an instant. Halfway through cursing, Aegor kicked the smoldering blanket off the bed and jumped to the floor with a surprising agility. When he turned back, he saw that the fire was only a small flame on the surface of the blanket, already extinguished by the force of his movement, leaving behind a few sparks and a thin trail of smoke.
There was no time to think. He quickly resorted to the safest method of handling potential fires: flipping the blanket over and smothering the glowing embers beneath it, cutting off the air supply and preventing any chance of reignition.
At that moment, hurried, heavy footsteps came from outside the bedroom. The door burst open as two guards on duty outside kicked it in and rushed in. Seeing Aegor unharmed, they froze awkwardly on the broken door.
“My lord… uh… we heard a loud noise from your room and then you shouted,” one of them explained, his voice unsure.
“We thought something had happened, so we rushed in.”
Aegor didn’t blame the guards for doing their duty. He simply nodded to show his understanding and began scanning the room, searching for the cause of the fire.
The oil lamp was mounted on the wall far from the bed and was never left lit while he slept, so that couldn’t have been the cause. The door and windows had been securely closed until the guards broke in, and there were no signs of an intruder setting the fire. Picking up the blanket and inspecting the burn site, he found a charred black circle with a small hole in the center, one you’d only notice if you scraped at it with a finger.
He couldn’t immediately determine the cause of the fire, but after surveying the room, he found the source of the "loud noise" the guards had mentioned. Above his bed, in the roof of the room, was a fist-sized hole, offering a clear view of the bright morning sky. Scattered debris from the hole had fallen onto his bed and the surrounding floor.
Only then, with his pulse finally steadying, did Aegor notice something strange. The sharp pain he had felt in the dream... was still present in his chest.
He reached for his chest, his fingers tracing the spot slightly above his heart. Beneath the fabric of his undershirt, he found a small burnt hole, and beneath it, embedded in his skin, was something hard and plate-like.
The Red God’s scale?!
Everything suddenly clicked. Aegor’s now-clear mind pieced it all together: the scale R’hllor had promised as an advance payment in the dream had appeared in reality. It had shot down from the sky, pierced through the roof, burned through his blanket and clothes, and embedded itself into his body, now resting just beneath his skin. The strangest part? Despite its violent entry—crashing through reinforced roofing, igniting a fire, and breaking his defenses—it had neither killed nor even seriously injured him. There wasn’t a single visible wound on his chest, only a faint lingering pain.
This was a miracle. A clear, undeniable display of divine power.
That crazy woman!
Aegor took a deep breath, struggling to suppress the urge to curse aloud. He wanted to step outside and check the sky for any anomalies, but something deep inside told him he’d find nothing. After a moment’s hesitation, it hit him: this wasn’t recklessness on R’hllor’s part. It was a deliberate, well-thought-out move.
She could’ve delivered the scale quietly, making it appear beside him without anyone noticing. At the very least, she could’ve sent it through the door or window to minimize the damage. But instead, she’d chosen the flashiest, most destructive method possible—plunging it straight through the roof, the one part of the building most vital for protection against the elements.
It wasn’t just about making an impression. It was a message, a statement of power, intended to cement the credibility of everything she had said in the dream.
...
No matter how logical and convincing R’hllor’s story had been in the dream, Aegor hadn’t entirely believed her. The very setting—a dream—naturally made it less credible. Beyond that, there were too many beings—human or otherwise—who could have similar motives for deceiving him.
Just off the top of his head, two came to mind.
First, there was the Cold God, the very enemy he had defeated in the previous war. In the dream, R’hllor had claimed the Cold God now possessed the power to reclaim the world but hadn’t yet realized it. That sounded plausible, but the opposite was just as likely: the Cold God had truly been beaten, its centuries of accumulated strength wasted in a single night. Now weak and desperate, it might fabricate a dream to dissuade Aegor—the person most likely to lead a campaign against it—from striking the final blow.
Second, there was the greenseer Bran Stark, right here in Winterfell. Though an ally by faction, his actions were anything but straightforward. Through Catelyn Stark, he had revealed Jon Snow’s true parentage, creating a cascade of complications for Aegor. This inexplicable move had already put Aegor on guard, and he wouldn’t rule out the possibility that Bran had fabricated a dream to mislead him, sowing confusion to further his own unknown schemes.
But the violent, over-the-top delivery of this "advance payment" shattered those suspicions completely.
Aegor’s quarters—reinforced and designed to withstand wind, rain, and even some degree of physical assault—had a roof far sturdier than his own body. If the force behind the scale’s descent had been directed at him instead of the building, it could have killed him several times over. If any enemy had this kind of power, why waste time spinning an elaborate lie? Why not simply crush him and be done with it?
And if someone like Bran or another schemer had concocted this dream to manipulate him, well, the math didn’t add up either. A being who could snap its fingers and send a scale through fortified walls wouldn’t need deception to achieve its goals.
In short, the overwhelming strength behind the miracle simplified everything: if R’hllor was real, then her story was true, and Aegor’s actions aligned with her wishes. If she wasn’t real, then whoever orchestrated this had such absolute power that going against their wishes wasn’t even an option.
Rationally, Aegor chose to stop doubting. Emotionally, he believed as well—because this was exactly the kind of insane, chaotic stunt a goddess like R’hllor would pull.
Touching the scale embedded in his chest, still radiating a faint warmth, Aegor’s mind raced with possibilities. Meanwhile, one of the guards tilted his head toward the roof, utterly baffled. “What happened here? Looks like something smashed through the ceiling, but the sky outside’s clear.”
The second guard, sharper than the first, focused on Aegor instead. “Are you alright, my lord? Should we call for a healer?”
“I’m fine.” Aegor pushed his thoughts aside and realized the most pressing matter now was keeping the scale’s existence a secret while figuring out its functions and uses. “Notify the craftsmen. Have them repair the roof and door this afternoon. You can go now—I’ll get dressed and come out soon.”
The two guards nodded, retreating to the outer room. After hesitating a moment, they propped the broken door back into its frame before leaving completely.
Once Aegor confirmed they were gone, he walked to the window and tore open the burned fabric of his undershirt. In the daylight streaming through, he examined the scale embedded beneath his skin—this long-overdue blessing, this cheat code befitting the protagonist of a transmigrator’s tale.
...
