Kinvara took three measured steps toward him, her sandals barely making sound on the polished stone floor. The scarlet skirt of her robe rippled like liquid blood around her ankles. The light from the sacred fire cast her elongated shadow over Ethel, as if the priestess's presence physically extended to claim him.
"Stay in Volantis," she pronounced with a voice that was both invitation and command. "The Temple of Light offers you refuge and knowledge."
Her words hung suspended in the air thick with incense and heat, awaiting response. Benerro, beside her, maintained a hieratic posture, but his eyes—the healthy one and the one partially veiled by scars—gleamed with barely contained anticipation.
"Stay?" Ethel repeated, evaluating the implications of such an offer.
"Your nature has barely begun to reveal itself," Kinvara continued, extending a hand with elongated fingers adorned with red gold rings. "Here, under the Temple's tutelage, you could learn to understand what you truly are, the gifts that have been granted to you. The fire has already recognized you. Imagine what you could discover with proper guidance."
Benerro nodded gravely.
"The knowledge this temple treasures has been accumulated for millennia," he added, his rough voice contrasting with Kinvara's melodious cadence. "Texts dating back to ancient Valyria, secrets rescued from Asshai, rituals predating even the founding of the Free Cities. All of this could help you."
Ethel remained silent, weighing the proposal. Part of him—the pragmatic part, the one that had learned to survive in this brutal world—recognized the unprecedented opportunity being offered. If there was any place where he could discover the nature of his interdimensional transplant, his apparent immunity to fire and his accelerated healing capacity, surely it would be under the tutelage of priests who dedicated their lives to studying the supernatural.
But another part—perhaps the one still clinging to memories of rationality from his previous world—deeply distrusted. The followers of R'hllor were not known for their disinterested benevolence. Their faith was fierce, demanding, often bloodthirsty.
"What would you gain?" he asked directly, keeping his gaze fixed on Kinvara. "Every price has a cost, especially knowledge."
An almost imperceptible smile curved the priestess's lips, as if the question pleased rather than offended her.
"Perceptive," she murmured. "Yes, of course there is an exchange. We gain the opportunity to study an unprecedented phenomenon: you. A man with fire affinity that goes beyond what we have witnessed even in the purest descendants of Valyria. Every test we perform, every discovery about your nature will expand our understanding of the Lord of Light's designs."
"And when the time comes," Benerro added with unusual frankness, "we hope the knowledge you acquire here will guide your actions in favor of light in the war against darkness."
It was, at least, honesty. Ethel appreciated that, even if the proposal came with evident ulterior motives. More importantly, his instinct told him the priests were genuinely intrigued by his nature, enough to offer him a relatively equitable deal. He would not be a prisoner, but a mystery to unravel through mutual cooperation.
The fire pit in the center of the chamber seemed to intensify briefly, flames twisting in patterns that formed ephemeral faces and dancing figures. Ethel wondered if they were simply random patterns or if the priests could actually discern messages in those shifting forms.
"I need time," he said finally. "To consider your offer and... to speak with my companions."
Kinvara nodded, as if she had anticipated exactly this response.
"Of course. The Lord of Light appreciates decisions made with clarity and purpose, not those precipitated in confusion."
"You will be welcome when you decide to return," Benerro added. "The Temple remains open day and night."
With one last look at the central fire, whose flames seemed to continue calling to him with their hypnotic dance, Ethel bowed respectfully and turned to leave. As he passed through the temple's outer halls, he felt the gaze of dozens of acolytes and priests following him, as if his presence had altered the very atmosphere of the sacred precinct.
When he finally emerged into the Volantene night, the comparatively cool air hit him like a revelation. Only then did he realize how oppressive the perpetual heat inside the temple had been.
Daario immediately straightened upon seeing him, sheathing the dagger he had been toying with. His inquisitive gaze evaluated Ethel's face with the sharpness of a predator detecting subtle changes in his environment.
"You have the look of one who has seen too much," the mercenary commented with false lightness. "Temples tend to have that effect. That's why I prefer brothels; there at least the revelations are of a carnal nature, much less disturbing to one's sleep."
Ethel tried to smile, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes. His mind was still processing Kinvara's offer, weighing possibilities, evaluating divergent paths for his future in this strange world.
"I need to speak with you and Nymerio," he said finally. "A situation has... arisen."
Daario's expression turned serious instantly, abandoning his usual mask of nonchalance.
"Trouble?"
"Not exactly. More like... an opportunity. Or perhaps both."
They walked through Volantis's streets in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The torches illuminating the main avenues cast dancing shadows that reminded Ethel of the temple flames, as if R'hllor's fire pursued him even at a distance.
At the Merchant's House they found Nymerio in a private salon, reviewing accounting scrolls by the light of silver candelabras. The Myrish merchant looked up when they entered, his unfathomable eyes immediately evaluating Ethel's altered expression.
"You have found something," he said, not as a question but as a statement. "Or something has found you."
Ethel wasn't surprised by the merchant's perceptiveness. After weeks traveling together, he had concluded that Nymerio perceived much more than he let on, as if he possessed an additional sense that allowed him to detect invisible currents of destiny and chance.
"The Temple of R'hllor has offered me to stay in Volantis," Ethel explained without preamble. "To... study."
Nymerio arched an eyebrow with calculated elegance.
"And what exactly do the red priests wish to study, if I may ask?"
"Me," Ethel replied simply.
A dense silence settled in the room. Daario let out a quiet curse and poured himself a cup of wine from a nearby pitcher.
"R'hllor's followers are not known for their casual interest in random foreigners," the mercenary observed after a long drink. "If the High Priestess herself has made you this offer, it means you have powerfully caught their attention."
Instead of responding verbally, Ethel extended his hand toward one of the candles burning on the table. Before both men's astonished gaze, he inserted his fingers directly into the flame and held them there, impassive.
"By all the gods," Daario murmured, leaning in to observe better.
"Fascinating," was all Nymerio said, though his eyes gleamed with unusual intensity.
Ethel withdrew his hand, intact as expected.
"I discovered this today, in the temple," he explained. "Or rather, they led me to discover it. According to Kinvara, not even the Targaryens possess such complete immunity to fire."
"The red priestess from Qohor," Daario remembered, understanding dawning on his face. "She saw something in you from the beginning."
Nymerio remained silent for a few moments, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the table in a pattern that seemed to follow some inaudible melody. Finally, he spoke with measured voice:
"Coincidences are rare in this world, Ethel. You appear from nowhere, with extraordinary learning abilities, accelerated healing capacity that did not escape my eyes, and now this immunity to fire..." he paused significantly. "To the red priests, you represent a walking miracle, a confirmation of their beliefs. To others... you could be a threat or an invaluable tool."
"Do you think I should accept?" Ethel asked directly.
"I believe knowledge, especially knowledge about oneself, is the most valuable currency in any world," Nymerio replied enigmatically. "But all knowledge has a price, and R'hllor's priests collect theirs in devotion and service."
Daario, less given to philosophical reflections, was more pragmatic:
"If you want to stay, I would learn everything you can from them without surrendering your soul in the process," he advised, swirling the wine in his cup. "Fanatic believers are useful as allies but dangerous as masters."
Ethel nodded slowly. Deep down, his decision was already made. He needed answers, and the Red Temple offered the most direct path to them. Moreover, accepting meant remaining in Volantis, one of the largest and most cosmopolitan cities in Essos, where he could establish his own contacts and resources while exploring his strange condition.
"I'll stay," he announced finally. "At least for a time."
Nymerio nodded, as if he had anticipated the decision.
"We'll maintain contact," the merchant said. "Volantis is a crucial node in my trade networks. We'll return here in a few months, after completing our business in Norvos and, possibly, Braavos."
"By then," Daario added with a crooked smile, "I hope you'll have learned some impressive tricks. It's always useful to have a friend who can't be burned alive."
Despite the tension of the moment, Ethel couldn't help but smile. During the last month, these men had become something close to friends—or at least, reliable allies in a hostile world.
"I'll miss you," he admitted, surprising himself with the sincerity of his words.
Daario clapped him on the shoulder with forced joviality.
"Don't get sentimental now. Mercenaries don't cry at farewells; we save our tears for when they stab us in the back, which generally occurs shortly after said farewells."
Nymerio, always more reserved in his emotional expressions, simply inclined his head.
"Fate has curious ways of weaving its patterns," he commented. "Something tells me our paths will cross again, Ethel. And when they do, it will be under significant circumstances."
The farewell with the rest of the company was brief but sincere. Lazko, the enormous mercenary from the Summer Isles who had been his main training companion, gave him a wavy-bladed dagger with a carved ivory handle.
"So you remember that not everything is resolved with fire," he said with a smile that revealed gleaming white teeth against his dark skin. "Sometimes, good steel between the ribs is more effective than any magic."
The next morning, as he watched the ships depart down the Rhoyne under the golden light of dawn, Ethel felt a strange mixture of apprehension and anticipation. For the first time since his arrival in this world, he would be truly alone, without the safety net that Daario and his company had provided.
From one of the Red Temple's towers, a figure dressed in scarlet observed the same scene. Kinvara smiled to herself, the ruby at her throat pulsing with inner light like a living heart.
"The flame has found its way back to the fire," she murmured to herself, her voice mixing with the morning breeze. "Just as the visions promised."
Beside her, silent as a shadow, Benerro contemplated the horizon with an unfathomable expression.