The grand temple of Volantis was alive with the crackle of flames, its towering brazier casting a deep red glow over the shadowy figures of the faithful. The heat was stifling, thick with the scent of burning incense. Melisandre stood before the central fire, her crimson robes billowing slightly in the waves of heat, her eyes transfixed on the blaze. She had seen many visions in her time, but tonight, the flames were unusually active, dancing higher than ever before, as if calling her.
She stepped forward, her breath steady, her mind reaching into the fire as she whispered the ancient words of R'hllor. "Show me the truth," she murmured, her voice soft yet firm. "Show me what is to come."
The fire flared in response, and her vision shifted. Before her eyes, the world blurred, and she was no longer standing in the temple. She found herself in the middle of a vast, arid desert. The sun burned high in the sky, but despite the blistering heat, there was something odd, something unnatural. The land was desolate, lifeless—save for one strange anomaly.
In the middle of the desert, like a mirage, stood a house. It was no simple dwelling; it was an oasis. Lush gardens stretched out around it, green grass shimmering in the sunlight, and a shimmering pool of crystal-clear water glistened under the sky. The structure was unlike anything she had ever seen, and it radiated a power that made her pulse quicken.
Her vision shifted inside the house, and she was met with the sight of a man—Mark. He was unlike any man she had ever seen, beautiful beyond words, his presence overwhelming in its intensity. He stood in a darkened room, surrounded by glowing rectangles—screens, though she did not know their purpose. On these screens, an image flashed: a man nailed to a wooden cross. The man was broken, bleeding—the crucified one.
Mark's cold blue eyes stared at the image on the screen, and he pointed an accusing finger toward the crucified man. The temperature in the vision dropped suddenly, and Melisandre shivered. Her breath began to show in the air as frost formed around her. The cold seemed to come from him. His beauty was icy, unnatural. She tried to move closer, but the chill of his presence stopped her, rooting her to the spot.
Before she could gather her thoughts, the vision shifted again. This time, she saw Clara. The woman was in a luxurious room, filled with strange objects and furniture that seemed otherworldly to Melisandre. Clara was kneeling before a giant wooden cross, whispering in a language Melisandre couldn't understand. It sounded like a prayer, but the words were foreign, ancient. Unbeknownst to her, Clara was reciting a Hail Mary in Latin.
In one hand, Clara held a glass of wine, but it was almost empty. Suddenly, the wine ran dry. Melisandre watched in horror as Clara's body began to swell and redden, her skin turning the color of fire. Clara grew larger and larger until she stood over twelve feet tall, her form a raging red giant. The cross behind her twisted and turned upside down, and the room darkened. The air grew thick with a malevolent energy as Clara's body pulsed with uncontrollable power, threatening to consume everything around her.
Melisandre recoiled, her heart pounding. What was this dark power? Who were these people?
The vision shifted one last time, and she found herself by the pool outside the house. Two boys stood in the water—Taren and Orin. Their skin was tan from the sun, their faces smiling, and both wore golden crosses around their necks. They seemed peaceful, innocent, waving at her from across the pool, their laughter echoing in the still air. But there was something unnerving about their presence, as if they too held a piece of the dark power that surrounded this place.
Suddenly, the vision ended, and Melisandre found herself back in the temple, standing before the roaring fire. Her heart raced, her breath shallow as she tried to comprehend what she had seen. Sweat dripped down her face, but the cold she felt in the vision still clung to her skin.
Before she could gather her thoughts, a voice, deep and ancient, echoed in her mind.
"Go to the city of Qarth."
The words rang through her head like a bell.
"Find the family in the Red Wastes, or the world of men will fall to the Great Other's incursion."
Melisandre gasped, clutching the side of the brazier for support. The fire had shown her many things before, but never something so strange, so filled with contradictions. A family, bound to a house in the middle of a desert, surrounded by magic and danger. What role did they play in the battle against the Great Other? How could they, these beings of cold and heat, of beauty and darkness, be the key to stopping the doom that awaited the world?
She wiped the sweat from her brow, her resolve hardening. She knew what she had to do.
The Red Wastes. The family. They held the key to the future, and she would find them. For the sake of all mankind, she had to.
With one last glance into the fire, Melisandre turned and strode out of the temple, her crimson robes trailing behind her. The road to Qarth awaited her, and she would follow the flames wherever they led.