Quarth
Inside a gray and ancient stone ruin skulking low in the Queen of Cities, robed men with deep blue lips and pale blue flesh convulse on the ground after drinking shade-of-the-evening as they had done hundreds of times before.
Now, however, things are different.
They no longer dream of past glories and ancient power. Instead, they see a future. One of many, to be sure, but that they know not. To them, it is a future set in stone. A future where the House of the Undying returns to its former place of prestige, where kings and queens and magisters of all cities and nations come crawling on their knees for a whisper of their wisdom.
There is only one certainty in this dream. One way for them to achieve this great power. Just as they had foreseen a young girl waking dragons from stone in some twenty year's time, and just as they had foreseen themselves draining deeply of her Valyrian power, now they must do the same to one man.
One man with eyes of blood red and royal purple.
The Neck
On a night like any other, the heir to Greywater Watch dreamed a terrible dream.
Later, when he could no longer stand inside that terrible reality, Howland Reed woke up on his bed, cold sweat plastered on his skin. He sat up, heart pounding like the tail of a lizard lion inside his chest.
He was no greenseer, Howland knew that. But he needed no great power to have felt what he did. Anyone with a sliver of must have felt that pulse of power spreading across the world.
One man stood at the center of it. And worse of all, he was in the North. Beyond the Wall, yes, but he was here all the same, and the Starks of Winterfell needed to know of it.
In the morning, when his father woke up and he could explain what had happened, a raven flew due north toward Winterfell.
Isle of Faces
The council of the order of the Green Men met under the moonlight in the center of the Isle of Faces. Around them, carved into the faces of dozens of weirwoods, the gods watched them with their wooden eyes leaking sap.
They had not needed the sight of the red comet to know the world had changed. They had felt the coming of the powerful one. Felt the slumbering cold gods shift in their sleep. Watched Brynden Rivers bumble his way like a buffoon as he was wont to do.
They spoke deep into the night, spoke plans and futures erased, of new powers blooming and old enemies awakening. In the end, there was only one thing they could do.
They had to meet with the men with god in his eyes and ask of him much, for their order knew the cold gods were not the only threat facing the world they had sworn to protect.
Asshai-by-the-Shadow
Inside a sweltering room deep in the bowels of a red temple, a large brazier burned like the sun. Sitting in front of it, bathed in the firelight, a beautiful woman with hair the color of blood looked into the flames with horror and wonder in her eyes.
In those flames, the woman saw it all. One man. Two sides of the same coin. Salvation and Damnation. Dark and Light. Cold and Warmth.
She let out a gasping breath, then, as if coming out of a trance. She swayed in place, rattled by the backlash of returning from such a powerful vision, and a deep, rich laugh escaped her. She had never been so blessed by a vision as she had just been.
Yet in truth, she did not know what to do. The Lords' visions were as certain as the sunrise, but she was only human, prone as all to failing. One thing was certain, however. She needed to meet this man, for he would either be the Prince that was Promised or the Great Other's greatest champion.
The next day, Melisandre bought passage on a ship heading west.
On All Corners of the World
In Essos, in a village that bore no name, a woman who had long since discarded her own name sat quietly on a bed, contemplating the future. Could this be what she had been waiting for so long? A single tear fell from her eye and became lost inside her lacquered wooden mask.
In the tallest room in the tallest structure in the known world, Lord Leyton Hightower and his daughter Malora spoke in hushed tones about the red comet and the power they had felt coming from the North.
Nearby, in a dusty room atop a tower in the Citadel, Marwyn the Mage watched with wonder as the Glass Candle lit up for the first time in living history.
And in King's Landing, in the same room where a queen quietly sobbed nursing her wounds, the Targaryen King dreamed of waking dragons from stone.
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