Chapter 33: Chapter 32
As the ship approached the shores of Dragonstone, Melisandre stood at the prow, her crimson robes billowing in the wind. The ancient castle loomed ahead, its black stone imposing against the backdrop of the sea. To her, it was not just a fortress but a bastion of power, a place where the will of the Red God could manifest in the mortal realm.
As she stepped onto the damp sand, the sensation of magic enveloped her, but it was not the wild, chaotic energy she often encountered. Instead, it felt controlled, deliberate, almost divine. With each step toward the castle, the presence intensified until it felt like a weight pressing down upon her soul.
Her senses heightened, Melisandre scanned the surroundings, searching for the source of this overwhelming power. A feeling of terror gripped her heart as she sensed a gaze fixed upon her, intense and unrelenting. She spun around, expecting to find some monstrous creature lurking in the shadows, but there was nothing.
Confusion clouded her mind as she reached out with her magic, trying to grasp the elusive presence she had felt moments ago. Yet, there was only emptiness, as if the very essence of the place had slipped through her fingers.
Shaking off her unease, Melisandre continued her ascent toward the castle, her determination unshaken. At the gates, she was met by the stern faces of the guards, their eyes wary beneath their helmets.
"I demand an audience with your lord," she declared, her voice unwavering.
The guards exchanged glances before one of them stepped forward. "Lord Stannis has granted you permission to enter," he said gruffly, motioning for her to follow.
Inside the castle, Melisandre was led through winding corridors until she stood before the man she had come to see. Stannis Baratheon, the self-proclaimed king, regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.
"What brings you to Dragonstone, priestess?" he asked, his voice cold and clipped.
"I come bearing a prophecy, my lord," Melisandre replied, her eyes blazing with fervor. "A prophecy that speaks of a chosen one, a prince who was promised. And I believe that prince to be you.".
Stannis's brow furrowed in disbelief, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Tell me more," he demanded, leaning forward eagerly.
And so, in the dim light of Dragonstone's halls, Melisandre began to weave her web of prophecy, spinning tales of fire and shadow, of destiny and redemption.
Stannis remained silent, his skepticism plain upon his face. But Melisandre would not be deterred. With a wave of her hand, she conjured flames from the very air, the flickering tongues dancing in her palm. The guards tensed, hands going to their swords, but Melisandre held up a placating hand.
"Fear not, my lord," she said, her voice honeyed and persuasive. "These flames are but a glimpse of the power that resides within you. Look into them, and you shall see the truth of my words."
Stannis hesitated, his eyes locked on the dancing flames before him. Slowly, reluctantly, he stepped forward, drawn towards the fire as though in a trance. And as he gazed into the heart of the flames, Melisandre knew that her influence over him was growing stronger with each passing moment.
"I see... I see..." Stannis murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
With a knowing smile, Melisandre knew she had succeeded in her task. But her work was far from over. Turning to Stannis's wife, Selyse, who had entered the hall unnoticed, Melisandre began to weave her web of persuasion once more.
"For too long have you suffered, Lady Selyse," she said, her voice gentle yet persuasive. "But fear not, for the Lord of Light has shown me the way. Embrace his teachings, and you shall find solace.".
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As Xerneas returned to the forest by the Gods Eye river, memories of his encounter with Shira lingered in his mind. She was the first human he had interacted with since becoming a deity, and her adventurous spirit had left an indelible mark on him.
The forest welcomed Xerneas with open arms, its familiar sights and sounds a comforting embrace after his brief absence. The gentle rustle of leaves and the soothing murmur of the river greeted him as he ventured deeper into the woodland.
With a graceful stride, Xerneas made his way towards the heart of the forest, his presence casting a radiant glow upon the surrounding foliage. The creatures of the forest, from the smallest insects to the mightiest beasts, sensed his return and offered silent reverence as he passed.
As he reached the secluded clearing where he had rested before, Xerneas paused, his gaze drifting towards the distant fisherman village. In the fading light of dusk, he could just make out the silhouette of the village against the horizon.
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