Tension gripped every corner of Qohor. Ever since Lynd's proclamation at the docks—one that was nearly a declaration of war—the city had been thrown into disarray. Panic spread like wildfire.
It didn't take long for the truth behind the situation to surface, spreading through the streets as those in the know whispered the details. The blame fell squarely on House Soyed.
The noble families of Qohor denounced the Soyeds for their selfishness, cursing them for bringing trouble to the city. Even the common folk, who rarely concerned themselves with the affairs of the elite, turned against them.
And why wouldn't they?
House Soyed had stolen Lynd's magical knowledge, hoarded his enchanted armor, and kept their ill-gotten gains to themselves. Now, their greed had invited an enemy of terrifying power to their gates. Why should the rest of Qohor suffer for their arrogance?
For a time, it seemed as though the entire city was ready to tear the Soyeds apart. There were even murmurs—at first ridiculous, then increasingly serious—of offering the family as a sacrifice to the Black Goat of Qohor in the hopes of appeasing Lynd's wrath.
Of course, the common folk had no real understanding of whether such a sacrifice would calm Lynd. But they didn't care. They just wanted an excuse to trample House Soyed underfoot.
Then, suddenly, the outrage vanished.
Only half a day after the city had reached a fever pitch of condemnation, everything fell silent.
The noble families who had been shouting for House Soyed's downfall fell quiet. The most vocal commoners—the ones who had screamed loudest for blood—were quietly taken away, never to be seen again.
Rumors soon followed.
It was said that in a desperate attempt to buy their survival and rally the city's elite against Lynd, House Soyed had surrendered vast amounts of wealth. Their family's fortune was halved overnight. Qos Soyed even relinquished all research on magical armor, offering it to the noble houses, ensuring that they were well-fed with enough riches and knowledge to turn the tide in House Soyed's favor.
And just like that, the storm passed.
But the cost was heavy.
Once one of Qohor's most powerful families, House Soyed had fallen to ruin. Stripped of influence, they had been reduced to mere mid-tier nobility—survivors, but barely.
...
With the internal crisis settled, the city turned its focus outward.
The entire population was mobilized.
In the speeches of Qohor's nobility, Lynd became the new Temmo Khal, a foreign invader, a monstrous force of darkness seeking to destroy their home.
The noble houses gathered their Unsullied, forming a disciplined army.
The city's standing mercenary companies—hardened warriors employed by the noble families for generations—were fully conscripted and stationed along the outer walls.
Even the warlocks, pyromancers, and blood mages of the Mage's Association were deployed. Their magic might not be enough to decide the outcome of a battle, but any advantage was better than none.
For the first time, the priests of the Black Goat and the red-robed priests of the Lord of Light stood together, offering blessings to the soldiers as they prepared for war.
The docks were sealed. The population was forced inward. The gates between the harbor and the city were locked, turning Qohor into a fortress.
The city's leaders were convinced that Lynd's army must be lurking nearby. They couldn't believe that he would so brazenly declare war on Qohor without an army at his back.
And so they prepared as they once had against the Dothraki.
But this time, they believed they had the advantage.
Unlike in the past, Qohor now commanded over ten thousand Unsullied.
Their mercenary forces were not hastily assembled sellswords like the Second Sons or the Bright Banners—they were well-trained, battle-hardened warriors, long employed by the noble families. Their numbers had swelled to over forty or fifty thousand, far more disciplined and loyal than any ragtag band of mercenaries.
And above all, Qohor had its walls—fortifications strengthened over decades, strong enough to withstand a siege of a hundred thousand men.
Confidence swelled.
...
By the morning of the third day, the weather was clear. The sun's rays crept over the distant mountains, casting their glow upon the towering walls of Qohor. The light brought a fleeting sense of warmth to the Unsullied and mercenaries who had stood guard through the night.
Then, a report arrived.
The scouts sent out the day before had returned.
There was no army. No sign of any approaching forces.
Lynd had come alone.
It was nothing but a bluff.
At this news, tension eased. The mages who had spent the night in tents beneath the walls emerged, stretching in the morning sun, enjoying the warmth after a long, cold night.
For the first time in days, the city dared to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, the danger had been exaggerated.
Among the assembled figures, one stood out starkly—a woman draped in the crimson robes of a priestess of the Lord of Light. Her copper-red curls framed a face of striking beauty, her blood-red eyes captivating the moment they met another's gaze.
A mercenary captain overseeing this section of the city wall immediately stepped forward, eager to please.
"Lady Melisandre, you shouldn't be here. Leave the frontlines to us crude warriors. Your place is in the temple of the Lord of Light, praying for our victory."
"Victory?" Melisandre turned her gaze to the mercenary captain, a hint of disdain curling her lips. Clearly, she did not share his confidence.
She was none other than Melisandre, a priestess of the Lord of Light, originally stationed at the temple in Lys. Days ago, she had been assigned to the Red Temple in Qohor to assist the High Priest in spreading the faith.
For years, the followers of the Lord of Light had hoped to convert Qohor entirely. But the Black Goat of Qohor held sway over the city's elite—nearly every noble house had ties to the Black Goat Temple. As a result, R'hllor's faith had only managed to take root among the lower classes.
Melisandre had been sent here for a reason. She was experienced in conversion efforts, particularly when it came to winning over the powerful. The High Priest of the Red Temple believed she could crack open the door to the nobility's ranks.
But before she had even spent a full day in Qohor, chaos erupted.
She had been at the docks that night. She had seen it with her own eyes.
Lynd Tarran, the Chosen of the Seven, was declaring war on the entire city.
To her, his actions were pure madness—more reckless than anything she had witnessed, even in the shadowed depths of Asshai.
Even the most fanatical zealots of the Shadowlands would not dream of challenging an entire city alone.
And yet, Melisandre couldn't dismiss what she had seen in Lynd's eyes that night. The confidence in his words was not empty bravado.
Over the years, she had heard his name again and again. The tales of his deeds had spread far beyond Westeros—slaying White Walkers, capturing wights, retrieving the Horn of Winter, taming the sea dragon. His name was sung in every tavern, his legend twisted into exaggerated ballads by bards.
For a time, she had dismissed it as myth, propaganda crafted to bolster his renown.
But the intelligence gathered by the Red Temple told a different story. The rumors were true.
Lynd was no ordinary man.
He was a hero of a kind not seen since the days of legend.
Melisandre had long wondered—could he be turned to the Lord of Light?
He was already known as the Avatar of the Storm God. What was one more title?
If the Chosen of the Seven also became the Chosen of R'hllor, the faith of the Lord of Light would spread across Westeros like wildfire.
That night at the docks, she had been shocked by his boldness. But deep down, she knew—if anyone could stand alone against an entire city, it was Lynd Tarran.
"Lady, do you not believe we will win?"
The mercenary captain frowned at Melisandre's smirk. He did not like the condescension in her expression. Raising his voice, he made sure the others on the wall could hear.
Melisandre did not flinch.
Because the mercenary captain deliberately raised his voice, the others on the city walls could hear him, and they all turned to look in their direction.
Feeling the gazes on her, Melisandre gave a contemptuous smile and said, "If you had carefully studied the past battle records of the Chosen One, Lynd, you would realize just how ridiculous your words were…"
Mid-sentence, she abruptly stopped and turned her head toward the forest beyond the city, as if she had just noticed something.
"What? What is it? My lady, you should finish your sentence," the mercenary captain pressed, confused by her sudden shift in attention.
"Shut up, you fool," Melisandre snapped, no longer in the mood to deal with his pestering. She glared at him and infused a touch of magic into her gaze.
To the mercenary captain, Melisandre's entire head suddenly transformed into a skull, her eyes blazing like twin flames. The terrifying sight sent him stumbling backward in fright, putting as much distance between himself and Melisandre as possible.
"He's here!" Melisandre quickly dispelled the illusion and turned back to the forest she had been watching. "Lynd Tarran has arrived!"
With her powerful sensitivity to magic, Melisandre was the first in all of Qohor to detect the immense surge of magical energy emanating from the forest outside the city. Shortly after, those within the Mage's Association, the Black Goat Church, the Red Temple, and other factions dealing in the arcane also began to sense it. The sheer magnitude of the magic gathering outside the city was beyond anything they had ever encountered. It was so overwhelming that nearly everyone who felt it had the unsettling illusion of standing on a ship caught in the heart of a storm.
"Fog! There's fog outside the city!"
Panic spread across the city walls as voices shouted in alarm. A dense fog had suddenly appeared beyond the city, and it was unlike anything natural. It ignored the sunlight, expanding rapidly toward the outskirts of Qohor, as if intent on engulfing the entire city.
At that moment, everyone knew something was terribly wrong. They all understood that this unnatural fog could only have been conjured by Lynd, yet there was nothing they could do to stop it. Even the Black Goat Temple, the Red Temple, the Mage's Association, and every other faction that dealt in the arcane stood powerless. All they could do was watch as the thick mist consumed the forests beyond the city and crept over the river, ultimately enshrouding Qohor in its entirety.
Had someone been able to observe the city from above, they would have seen that the fog encircling Qohor was not excessively thick—only about twenty meters wide—but it loomed high, surpassing even the height of the Black Goat Shrine Altar, the tallest structure in the city. From within Qohor's walls, it appeared as though the mist had swallowed the entire outside world, creating an unprecedented sense of suffocating oppression.
The weight of this eerie presence bore down on those stationed on the walls. Even the Unsullied, trained to be fearless, felt a sliver of unease creeping into their hearts. The mercenaries fared far worse—some were visibly trembling, their hands shaking uncontrollably.
Soon after, strict orders were passed down: news of the unnatural fog was to be contained within the walls. The city's smallfolk, sheltered from the sight of the encroaching mist, remained unaware of what was transpiring beyond, and thus panic had not yet taken root. For the time being, order within Qohor was maintained.
But that order did not last long.
Without warning, faces began to emerge from the thick fog—countless faces, all identical to Lynd's. They turned toward the city and spoke in unison:
"Have you made your choice? You would protect House Soyed at the cost of an entire city. Very well… then suffer my wrath!"
His voice boomed through the streets, echoing like the toll of a great bell. Just as on that fateful night, every soul in Qohor heard his words with perfect clarity. He spoke in High Valyrian, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.
The moment his voice faded, the sky darkened. What had been a bright, cloudless day was abruptly swallowed by an onslaught of thick, churning storm clouds. They gathered at an unnatural speed, piling upon one another until they blotted out the sun, plunging the entire city into darkness.
Faced with this apocalyptic scene, fear gripped the hearts of all. Countless citizens dropped to their knees, whispering desperate prayers to their gods. Even the soldiers atop the walls were too terrified to lift their weapons. Within the halls of power, Qohor's rulers turned ashen, a dreadful realization dawning upon them—they had made the worst possible decision.
Yet, of all those in Qohor, none were more afraid than the members of House Soyed. Deep down, they knew—there would be no escape this time.
However, not everyone trembled in fear. Among those who had long sought magical power, awe and exhilaration burned in their eyes. They understood that everything unfolding before them was the work of magic—true, unfathomable magic. Compared to what they now witnessed, the arcane knowledge they had pursued seemed pitifully shallow. In their minds, Lynd Tarran was no longer just an enemy. He had become something else. A mentor. A prophet. And in the hearts of some, even the embodiment of the God of Magic itself.