Chapter 83: No Secrets
Staring at the crowned stag banner planted atop the city walls, Charles felt a dull ache in his teeth.
The banner alone didn't say much—after all, the sigil used by Stannis and his brother Renly was largely the same. But once combined with the soldiers' uniforms along the battlements, the truth became impossible to ignore.
Blue-green whirlpool banners.
Sun-and-moon banners.
Rose banners…
Though Charles wasn't familiar with every house sworn to Renly, he knew the lords and bannermen of Dragonstone all too well. Clearly, the Red Keep was no longer held by the same people.
Which meant only one thing.
The wildfire would be ignited tonight.
He raised his head and glanced at the sky. Beneath the ashen heavens, that eerie green glow shimmered far too brightly. Another thought crossed his mind.
Find the wildfire?
But… where would I even start?
He lowered his gaze to the staff in his hand. No matter how he tested it, the staff refused to become any kind of guide or compass.
No response at all.
"So you're not a god," Charles muttered. "Or at least—not the omnipotent kind."
With a quiet sigh, he turned to look out over King's Landing beneath the Red Keep, feeling at a loss.
In his current state, he wasn't worried about being burned alive by wildfire—but the countless people living in this city…
Perhaps sensing his hesitation, the staff suddenly trembled again, accompanied by that all-too-familiar surge of responsibility.
Find a way to save them.
Yes. I must do something.
Save lives.
This tragedy must not be allowed to happen.
The impulsive pressure in his heart urged him to act immediately. But Charles clenched his teeth and forced himself to resist.
He looked down at the staff, half-tempted to throw it away just to clear his mind—but feared that doing so might end this strange state altogether. Grinding his teeth, he snapped,
"If I had a solution, do you think I'd just be standing here? If you really can think, then figure something out yourself!"
The trembling stopped.
By now, Charles was almost certain the staff housed something akin to a spirit—or perhaps raw sentience.
It wasn't very intelligent. It could understand speech and had rudimentary awareness, but its thoughts were immature, like a child of four or five—or perhaps more like a creature driven purely by instinct.
And what was that instinct?
Saving lives?
Doing good deeds?
Spreading faith?
Charles couldn't quite pin it down. All he knew was that it could be irritating—especially when it interfered with his emotions.
After studying it for a moment, he spoke again.
"If you can understand me, then right now we have three options."
"First: find the wildfire and neutralize it—or kill whoever plans to ignite it."
"Second: make everyone in this city aware of the danger, and get them to flee as fast as possible."
"Third—" He lifted the two sheets of parchment covered in runes and gestured with them.
"Make this work—and make it work on a massive scale."
After his words fell silent, the staff still did not react. Charles felt a flicker of disappointment.
Just as he was about to rely on himself to hunt for clues to the wildfire's location, the parchment suddenly slipped from his hands and drifted upward, settling atop the crystal at the staff's head.
Then, without flame, the paper began to burn away. Every rune peeled off and sank into the crystal.
The once-clear crystal now looked as though it had been smeared with black sludge—or coated in sticky honey that had drawn a swarm of ants.
Seven-colored light burst forth from within the crystal and spread along the entire length of the staff. Moments later, the black runes detached from the crystal, spinning as they fell, transforming into strange, dangling chains that wrapped around the staff.
The black chains existed alongside the prismatic glow, not clinging to the wooden shaft, but floating freely—circling it as though suspended in midair.
A restless, stirring sensation rose in Charles's heart.
He seemed to understand.
This… was a signal.
So he turned his gaze toward the Red Keep, intending to test it there.
But after a few moments of consideration, he instead turned and left.
There was always a difference between kin and strangers. For now, it was better to ensure the safety of those he actually knew.
As for the people inside the Red Keep—he didn't even know them. Who cared if they lived or died?
With that thought in mind, by the time he reached the depths of Flea Bottom, night had fully fallen. He stepped into the courtyard and glanced at the silent bedroom. This time, Charles hesitated no longer. Guided by instinct, he planted the staff firmly into the ground.
There was no sound.
Yet the seven-colored glow enveloping the staff began to fade. At the same time, strands of black "chains" surged forth from where the staff met the earth, rolling outward in all directions like a tide of pitch-black serpents. They crawled across the ground, up window frames, along walls, over rooftops…
Only when the entire courtyard was completely covered did this strange movement finally stop.
Charles lowered his head to look at the staff. The black "chains" still coiled around it, but the once-brilliant rainbow light was now noticeably dimmer. Understanding dawned on him.
"So this consumes some kind of its power…"
With that realization, Charles decided this thing should be used sparingly. At the same time, another thought surfaced.
It couldn't save everyone.
He silently offered a brief prayer, then his figure appeared one after another along Flour Street, the harbor, Steel Street, the Silent Sisters' Way…
He didn't dare let the staff cover entire districts—that would only waste its strength. Instead, he focused on areas with the densest populations, abandoning the rest with helpless resignation.
Patch after patch of black "serpents" spread outward. The sleeping residents noticed nothing at all, and even those still awake seemed oblivious.
These runes should have required elemental crystals to function; otherwise, they would have been inert. Yet under this strange power, they transformed into chains instead. Charles had no idea whether this would truly work—but it was the only option he had.
The price, however, was the gradual depletion of that unique power it had accumulated—or perhaps, the power Charles himself had accumulated.
As more and more "seals" were laid down, the light of the staff grew weaker and weaker. By the time he left a shantytown near Mud Gate, the glow was barely flickering, on the verge of extinction.
"One last place."
That thought crossed his mind as he looked toward the Red Keep.
By coincidence, faint prayers drifted out from within the castle, growing clearer as Charles focused on them.
"Alright," he murmured. "You, then."
Golden flames erupted around him. When they faded, he found himself in a noisy banquet hall.
He glanced at the young woman before him, her eyes closed in prayer. The crown on her head—roses entwined with antlers—gave him pause.
After a moment, he turned away and began to survey the hall. The nobles laughing and celebrating around him were utterly unaware of his presence.
A dark-haired king. A brown-haired knight. A great number of finely dressed lords and ladies.
It seemed to be a victory feast.
Celebrating the capture of the Iron Throne?
A pity. None of them had any idea what fate awaited them next.
Flirtatious glances exchanged between noblewomen and young knights; hushed conspiratorial whispers among middle-aged lords; servants weaving through the hall with trays of food; and, in secluded corners, faint, suggestive gasps.
Nothing escaped Charles's ears. No secret was hidden from him. The realization made him wonder—perhaps he really should leave.
What was the point of saving people like this?
Yet before he could truly change his mind, a thunderous explosion erupted outside the hall.
He turned his head. At the far end of the doorway, the base of a fortress burst into bloom—
Green flames danced violently into the night.