Chapter 2: The songs of the souls and the dances of the spirit
The boy took the woman's hand as she guided him through the motions of a graceful dance. Their surroundings transformed into a grand ballroom where the other gods watched from the sidelines. Instruments began to play, and the woman's enchanting voice filled the air. Her song was a breath of fresh spring, like the first bloom after a harsh winter, and her movements synchronized perfectly with the music. To his surprise, the boy found himself keeping up, his steps smooth despite having been dormant for so long. He was still a prince, after all, and his body remembered.
The woman's face lit up with joy as the song's tone softened, becoming somber. Gradually, she allowed her voice to fade into silence and looked to the boy, inviting him to take the lead. Confused but understanding, he took a deep breath, his voice starting with a low hum. As his confidence grew, he began to sing, his song bursting forth, chaotic and frantic. The tune spoke of a frightened child, abandoned, who had survived the darkest winter all alone. Even as the instruments tried to match his erratic melody, the song remained raw and sorrowful, carrying the weight of his pain.
The boy's heart pounded as his voice filled the room, casting a heavy silence over the gods. But then, the woman joined him, her voice blending with his, smoothing out the rough edges of his anguish. She guided him through his song, transforming his lament into something hopeful, drawing him away from his sorrow. Images of his family appeared before him—clear, untainted memories instead of the bloodied figures from his past. His song lightened, filled with spring's promise, leaving behind the bitterness of winter. Together, they brought the melody to a peaceful close.
The boy felt calm, a profound tranquility settling over him for the first time in years. One of the silken threads around him disappeared, merging with his throat, a warm pulse settling there. The woman beamed, her smile radiant. "You are brilliant, child. Truly brilliant." Then, turning to the other gods, she called out with excitement, "Who's next?"
An old woman swooped in, moving with surprising agility, her cloak enveloping the boy as they appeared in a library filled with endless shelves of books. She looked down at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I could never teach you all there is to know in Planetos," she cackled, "but I can teach you to absorb knowledge like no other!"
Her voice shifted between rhythmic humming and frantic mumbling, and pages fluttered around the boy, each one glowing with knowledge. "Open your mind, boy. Fear not the truth. See with your mind." A book opened before him, its pages filled with strange symbols. His eyes struggled to make sense of them until a sharp slap on the back of his head jolted him.
"Close your eyes, child!" she ordered, circling him as her humming grew more intense, reaching a frantic pitch. "Quiet is your friend. Curiosity is your right. You are human—fear nothing! Even the unknown will reveal itself if you dare to look."
The boy squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on her words as her chanting and humming enveloped him, drawing him into a trance-like state. Memories and emotions flowed freely, but this time, he could see beyond them. Slowly, his eyelids stopped fluttering, and his expression relaxed as he grasped new understanding. A silken thread settled onto his forehead, its warmth soaking into his skin, and the woman's laughter rang out, sharp and joyful.
As she drew back, applause rose from the other gods. "The maesters will envy this one," they murmured, impressed.
The old woman gave him one last, playful slap on the back of his head, breaking the spell. "Wake up, boy!" she barked. "Now, who's next?"
A man with a stern expression and an air of authority stepped forward, surrounding the boy in what appeared to be a courtroom. Faceless figures argued in a cacophony of voices, some common folk, others nobles. The boy looked to the grandstand, where the man sat holding a gavel, watching the chaotic scene below.
In the center of the room, a nobleman stood on trial, his expression smug as he faced a distraught peasant woman. She clutched her child, her husband holding them both tightly. The nobleman's father, seated nearby, sneered in contempt. Anger boiled within the boy as he observed the scene. He looked down and found a gavel in his hand, his grip tightening with conviction.
"Revenge is not justice, boy," the man's stern voice echoed. "Hate is not justice. You must judge fairly."
Conflicted, the boy watched the nobleman be sentenced, only to witness the cycle of vengeance spiral out of control: the nobleman's family retaliated, slaughtering the peasant woman's kin in a cruel wave of bloodshed. Revenge begat revenge until it escalated into a devastating war. The boy gasped, horrified, as he saw the ruin that unchecked hatred could bring.
Opening his eyes, he found himself back in the courtroom, the man's voice steady beside him. "Serve the justice you think is fitting, boy. Serve it with conviction, honor, and impartiality. Only you know the pain of the wronged, the suffering of the powerless. You have been denied justice—now, judge them with the wisdom only you possess."
As his thoughts settled, the boy's vision shifted. He saw a future where the nobleman was stripped of his wealth and title, left to die forgotten, buried in an unmarked grave. In contrast, the peasant woman found peace, building a loving family that flourished. A gravestone marked her resting place, honoring her as a beloved mother and grandmother. This, he realized, was justice.
With new resolve, the boy lifted the gavel and brought it down with finality, silencing the chaotic courtroom. The man's voice echoed once more as another silk strand merged with his right hand. "You have served justice, fair and true. You have judged both the pure and the impure. Now," he said, his voice carrying a satisfied edge, "who is next?"
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In these moments, the boy understood that each figure was teaching him something fundamental, each trial and lesson revealing a truth about life, humanity, and himself. The journey had only just begun, and he was no longer afraid.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
FeatheredPen
FeatheredPen hoping to fix supplement my own writing by having re structured and made better for the readers getting rid of the mistakes
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