On either side of the Citadel's ancient, weighty gates crouched two colossal green-gray sphinxes.
The one to the left had a stern, angular male face.
The one to the right bore gentler lines and a serene female visage.
Weathered by centuries, they loomed like silent sages, their deep-set eyes watching every visitor who passed between them.
Between the two statues stretched a broad staircase of white marble, rising directly to the Citadel's great gate—the symbol of wisdom and mystery.
Lo Quen and Janice climbed the steps and reached the entrance.
At the top stood a semicircular desk, where several assistant maesters in gray wool robes, each with chains of different metals at their throats, lounged idly as they handled the small petitions of Oldtown's residents.
Lo Quen went straight to one of the older assistants. From his breast he produced a sealed letter, which he handed over with a calm, steady tone.
"Good morning. Please announce us. We wish to see Archmaester Marwyn. This is a letter from a distant friend of his. I believe its contents will interest him greatly."
His words—and his striking appearance—immediately drew the attention of the other assistants.
One by one, they looked up, their eyes full of curiosity as they studied the silver-haired, violet-eyed pair standing before them.
The assistant who had taken the letter wrinkled his nose slightly, his voice edged with quiet suspicion.
"Lyseni?"
He had clearly mistaken them for Valyrian descendants from the Free Cities.
Lo Quen nodded without hesitation.
Before arriving, he had used the ruby Chai Yi gave him to cast a simple illusion, altering his features. In Essos, Valyrian looks were common enough, but his true face in Westeros might have drawn unwanted trouble.
Yet, to his surprise, the resistance he half-expected never came.
The assistant only murmured briefly with a colleague to confirm whether Marwyn was within the Citadel and receiving visitors. Then he called over a young apprentice and instructed him to deliver the letter at once to Archmaester Marwyn himself.
The wait was not long.
Soon the apprentice came running back, breathless. "The Archmaester asks for you. Please, follow me."
He led them through the Citadel's labyrinth of corridors and arched passages until they stopped before a heavy oak door.
Before the boy could knock, a rough, rasping voice barked from inside, harsh as sandpaper scraping wood.
"Ah, get in already! What are you dawdling for?"
The apprentice flinched at the sound, as if relieved to be dismissed. He quickly pushed open the door, gestured them inside, and then slipped away in haste.
Lo Quen and Janice stepped into the chamber.
Marwyn's office was less a study and more a chaotic alchemist's den, crammed with strange objects and hazardous contraptions.
Books, scrolls, and parchment lay piled in heaps on the floor, across tables, even spilling from chairs. Odd-shaped glass vessels brimmed with powders and liquids of unsettling colors. Rusted metal devices of unclear purpose leaned against the walls, which were plastered with star charts, anatomical sketches, and diagrams scrawled with esoteric symbols.
Archmaester Marwyn himself was hunched over a mess of papers, as disheveled as ever.
He lifted his head, and his sharp, penetrating eyes—keen enough to strip a man bare—raked over the two figures at the door. For an instant, expectation flickered in his gaze, but it was quickly replaced by suspicion.
"I thought it would be that Yi Ti boy. So why..."
He bared his mottled teeth, stained with a disturbing red hue, and growled in irritation. "Too frightened to come himself, so he sends you two messengers instead?"
"Archmaester Marwyn, would I ever be so discourteous?"
Lo Quen smiled easily, his composure unshaken.
Without a sound, he tightened his grip on the ruby hidden in his sleeve. With a mere thought, the illusion rippled and faded like water, revealing his true features—the face of distant Yi Ti.
The sudden change made Marwyn jolt upright from his chair.
His eyes went wide, fixed on Lo Quen as if he'd seen a ghost. For several long seconds he simply stared before finally exclaiming in realization, his expression twisting into a mix of annoyance and amusement.
He strode quickly to the door, peeked out with sharp caution, then slammed it shut and slid the bolt firmly into place.
"You audacious little Yi Ti brat!"
Marwyn spun around, lowering his voice, the rebuke carrying both shock and lingering fear. "You dare use a Shadowbinder's trick in the Citadel of all places?! Do you even know where you stand?"
Lo Quen arched a brow, his tone laced with mockery. "What? Do you think the maesters here would start screaming 'heresy' and 'witchcraft' the moment they saw magic, then drag me off to burn on a pyre?"
Marwyn rolled his eyes and stomped back behind his cluttered desk. He shoved a handful of sourleaf into his mouth and chewed noisily as he muttered, "Hmph. Not burned, no. But those gray-robed 'sheep' are stubborn to the bone. Nothing disgusts them more than magic or mysticism.
If you showed off your tricks in front of them, they'd first sneer and call it some cheap street performer's scam. Then they'd have the guards 'politely' escort you out of the Citadel like a fly, blacklist you forever.
And whether they'd send someone afterward to study you—or deal with you—that, only the Seven know."
Lo Quen smiled faintly, letting the matter drop as he cut straight to the heart of it. "Archmaester, tell me honestly—setting appearances aside—do you truly believe magic is nothing more than smoke and mirrors?"
Marwyn stared at him as though he'd gone mad, chewing his sourleaf harder. "You just pulled off a vanishing act right under my nose, and you ask me if I believe? Tricks like that... I saw them five hundred times if not a thousand in that pit of shadows, Asshai."
Unbothered, Lo Quen pressed on with his true purpose. "Then, Archmaester, would you be willing to leave this ivory tower of stifled thought and come with me? Help me solve a real magical riddle."
His gaze was earnest, carrying an invitation that brooked no refusal.
Marwyn's chewing slowed to a stop. He frowned, his heavy brow ridge casting a deeper shadow. "Go with you? Solve a magical riddle?" He looked Lo Quen up and down with sharp suspicion. "Where do you come from? And where is this 'place' of yours?"
"The Stepstones," Lo Quen said calmly.
Marwyn choked on his own spit. "Cough—cough, cough, cough!" He hacked until his face went red, wheezing for breath.
At last he steadied himself, eyes bulging as his finger trembled, pointing straight at Lo Quen. "The Stepstones?! Don't tell me... you're that eastern pirate lord the merchant sailors won't shut up about—the one ruling the Stepstones?"
"I didn't expect my name to travel all the way to Oldtown so quickly," Lo Quen replied with a touch of amusement.
Marwyn let out a harsh snort and dropped heavily into his creaking chair. "Oldtown's the biggest port in Westeros. More ships pass through here than fish swim in the sea. With the Stepstones in upheaval, trade routes cut to pieces—how could people here not know?"
He leaned in, voice dropping, his sharp gaze boring into Lo Quen. "Judging from your tone... you've dealt with that so-called 'Prince of the Narrow Sea,' haven't you?"
Lo Quen nodded evenly, his voice calm but heavy with force. "Yes. The Stepstones are mine now."
Marwyn narrowed his eyes, leaning forward as if to strip away every layer and look straight into Lo Quen's soul. "So tell me, boy—why? Why go to all that trouble, crossing the sea to unite that cursed scatter of rocks? The Iron Throne won't tolerate some pirate king ruling the Stepstones under their nose. And the Free Cities—Lys, Tyrosh, Myr—you've strangled their trade routes, cut off their lifeblood. They'll come for you as well. Why not stay in rich, mysterious Yi Ti? Why stir the waters of the West?"
Lo Quen spread his hands, a smile flickering across his face—casual yet carrying unfathomable weight. "What if I told you... my goal is to conquer the world. To make the Known World crawl at my feet. Would you believe me?"
"Con... conquer the world?!"
Marwyn froze as if struck by lightning, his mouth falling open wide enough to swallow an egg. In the dim light, his teeth—stained a disturbing red—glared all the brighter.