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2: Burning Fury

YUNHO

Yunho could see his breath forming in the air as he stood in the dimly lit chamber. The room was cold, the air numbing his skin. He could feel his heart thump, but he paid it no mind. Torches flickered, casting dancing shadows that played upon the stone walls. The air within the chamber hung heavy with the scent of burning, and while the room was adorned with tapestries bearing the sigil of his house, he could find no pride in them.

He should not have been here, he thought to himself. None of it should have happened the way they did. His house was in shambles, and the Realm found itself in a place where uncertainty loomed like an unyielding presence. The burden pressed upon him like the weight of a thousand crowns as the cold air seemed to seep into his bones, echoing the chill that gripped his heart.

He had hesitated to enter the threshold when he stood in front of it. He knew what he would expect to see, but he was unsure whether he was able to face it. It seemed that his destiny would be sealed in fate if he did, though he knew that there was no escape from it. The Gods had chosen him, just as the Stranger had chosen to reach for his father's hand. Yunho failed to understand why it had to be done now, of all times. Before everything, Yunho found content in his position of general, relishing in his strategic brilliance. He had been on his father's small council, given the prestigious title of Master of War, and he was satisfied. And now, there was a certain end tied to it. No longer would he command a single battalion. Instead, a much greater burden was thrust into his hands – the hands that held the reigns of the Realm.

In the centre of the room, he stood in front of the stone table where the King's body lay, shrouded in pristine white linen. The Silent Sisters moved gracefully around him, their faces hidden by hooded cowls with their hands veiled in white gloves. Yunho could barely discern their presence, his mind in a different place than the room he found himself in. Their silence seemed to mirror the sorrow that echoed within him, a void left by the absence of the one voice he had relied upon. Now, he was left in wavering waters; every time he would try to take a breath, the waves would topple him under once again.

It was a strange thing to him. He had seen roses wither and snow melt on a sunny day. He had felt the sun fade away and his skin cool underneath a darkened sky when every light seemed to be doused out. He was there when his mother died, but so many years had already passed since then. It was a memory that he had stored away long ago, and he felt uneasy to be reminded of the unknown that seemed to be present in this world.

Growing up, his father, much like his father before, preached the Faith of the Seven. As a result, Yunho learned to preach the Faith as well. He knew that there was one god consisting of seven different aspects. He had been taught about the Mother, a nurturing figure who bestowed mercy and protection upon her children; the Father, a stern dispenser of justice; the Warrior, a god of strength and valour in battle; the Maiden, symbolizing purity and innocence; the Smith, representing craftsmanship and labour; the Crone, a wise and foresighted deity; and the Stranger, a mysterious and often feared aspect, associated with death and the unknown.

Not much was he told about the Stranger in his youth. The Septa, who usually arranged the many lessons and taught him the things that a Prince was required to know about, only told him that the Stranger was there like there was fire to water and light to dark. Whereas the Mother or the Crone offered blessings, the Stranger took it.

''Now, my Lord,'' Septa Darna spoke, opening the leather-bound book on the designated page. Yunho's eyes travelled from the window, where he had previously seen a white bird fly away, to the symbol of the seven-pointed star that appeared on the page. ''Let us speak of the Seven, the guiding lights of our Faith. Have you heard of them, Yunho?''