"A witchcraft message in a bottle? Or rather, a 'shake to connect'? The two of us activated the glass candle at the same time, and by a one-in-a-million chance, our magical frequencies matched—what are the odds?"
"No, that's not right. The other person hasn't noticed me, yet I can sense them."
The gray light at the tip of the glass candle had stabilized, no longer expanding and contracting. At its core, a shimmering, ethereal cluster of colored light flickered—sometimes as dazzling as snow, sometimes as brilliant as molten gold, sometimes as vivid as the deep blue sea.
Dany's expression was complex—shock, confusion, and a hint of thoughtful contemplation tinged with uncertainty. She could sense the other person, yet they remained completely unaware of her. They continued their exploration, seemingly fumbling in the dark, using the candlelight to randomly observe whatever they could perceive.
The opposing sorcerer was not performing the same kind of coordinate-based magic as she was. Instead, they were blindly probing, hoping to catch glimpses of the unknown through the flickering flame of the glass candle.
Dany understood this state well—sometimes, one might see the future, sometimes a distant landscape, sometimes vague echoes of the past. But in 99.99% of cases, one would see nothing at all—just illusions.
This was basic knowledge in the mystical world. Anyone who had ever used a glass candle or inherited even a fraction of magical teachings should be aware of it.
Thus, Dany had never considered using a glass candle to glimpse the future.
"The mage on the other side is very close to me, incredibly close. Most likely, they're a sorcerer from the Citadel. That would explain why I can detect them while they remain oblivious to my presence.
Because… the Citadel's glass candles come from Valyria!
If those Valyrian Grand Sorcerers hadn't left some kind of backdoor in them, I wouldn't believe it for a second."
Dany's expression grew more certain. She had almost figured out the truth—she just needed to confirm it.
"Let's test it out."
With that thought, a strand of her spiritual energy slipped into the illusory cluster of light like an eel.
Oldtown, by the Honeywine River, the Citadel, Raven Isle.
The mist-shrouded city at night lay under a heavy, oppressive sky. The white ravens, so raucous during the day, now nestled quietly in their tower-top nests.
Inside the round tower beneath the rookery, an entire floor was dedicated to a vast chamber.
A circular stone room, over a hundred square meters in size, was cluttered with books and scrolls—some stacked haphazardly on tables, others simply piled in heaps on the floor.
The walls were almost entirely covered with tattered, multicolored maps.
A fire burned in the hearth, heating a brass kettle that let out a constant "woo-woo-woo" whistle. In the shifting candlelight, the rising steam shimmered like misty clouds.
At the center of the room stood a tall black candle, a meter high—thin, twisted, and casting an even glow throughout the space. Its light did not brighten with proximity nor dim with distance.
A glass candle.
Two men stood beside it—one a burly, butcher-like man, the other a tall, lean black youth with cropped hair.
The "butcher" wore a chain around his thick, bull-like neck, made of countless interlinked metal pieces—a maester, perhaps even an archmaester. The young man, with a slender neck, had a rope tied around it, connected to three chain links—an acolyte maester.
"Archmaester Marwyn, something feels off," the delicate-featured young man said softly.
"What do you see, Sphinx?" The burly archmaester's eyes remained fixed on the candle flame.
The young black man hesitated, uncertain how to describe it. "It feels like… someone is watching us through the fire. But I can't be sure if it's real or just an illusion."
"It's not an illusion," a melodious female voice suddenly echoed from the flames.
"Ahh!" Sphinx's eyes bulged in terror, and he let out a frightened scream.
Archmaester Marwyn frowned. "Why are you screa—ahh!"
As he turned to glance at his apprentice, the seasoned archmaester froze in horror.
The young man's onyx eyes had turned gray. Two streams of pale light trickled down like tears, merging at his lips. Slowly, the light coalesced into a large, ghostly shape—a human head.
From the apprentice's mouth, a head emerged, followed by a torso, then arms and legs.
Compared to this… the image of Sadako crawling out of the TV screen in those horror films was nothing!
Even a man as experienced as Archmaester Marwyn was utterly shaken.
"This is bad—the glass candle has opened a gateway to the underworld and summoned a vengeful spirit!" He staggered backward until he reached the table, groping for a dagger. The moment his fingers closed around it, he lunged forward.
"How ignorant—don't even recognize me?"
By now, the spectral figure had fully emerged, standing on the ground. Her form gradually expanded into that of a normal woman—about 1.7 meters tall, long-limbed, but with a blurred face.
"Who are you?"
Her clothing was indistinct, its colors and patterns unclear, but a fiery sigil was unmistakably imprinted on her chest. Marwyn felt it was oddly familiar.
"A fire mage, heir to the Valyrian mystical arts."
Once again, Dany had "verbally reassigned" herself to a different magical profession.
"You… how did you… how did you—" The young black man stumbled back, covering his mouth in horror. "Why did you crawl out of my mouth?"
"My name is Xikui, from Braavos," Dany introduced herself before explaining to the two wary and frightened men. "I didn't actually come out of your mouth.
The eyes are the windows to the soul. Your pupils are the gateway to your spiritual sea.
Just now, when you used the glass candle to 'spirit-walk beyond the world,' your consciousness projected through your eyes into the candle's illusionary realm. I intercepted that strand of your spirit, followed it into your mind, and then projected myself outward through your vision."
"I see…" Sphinx still looked dazed, but Marwyn seemed to grasp the concept. "So, in our pursuit of truth, the spiritual energy we released connected with Lady Layla's glass candle?"
"More or less," Dany admitted, then added after a moment's thought, "But the real reason is that this little girl here has been practicing Valyrian meditation techniques."
The young Black man's face darkened and turned red. He stole a glance at the short and stocky scholar beside him. Seeing that the scholar was deep in thought rather than angry, he hesitantly asked, "Master Mage, h-how did you… discover me?"
Dany let out a long sigh, as if making a grand declaration: "No matter how delicate, long-legged, fair-skinned, or charmingly beautiful a cross-dresser may look, there is one thing that can never change—their soul still carries a little d***!"
The black girl disguised as a man blushed again. Although she didn't fully understand, she grasped the general meaning: the other party's spirit body had projected into her soul sea, and most likely determined her gender through her soul.
"The Citadel does not admit female students, nor does it allow women to become scholars," she explained softly.
As she spoke, she kept sneaking glances at the burly Maester Marwyn.
But the Citadel scholar had no interest in her gender. He simply furrowed his brows in deep contemplation. After a long moment, he looked at the glowing Dany and said, "The Citadel's glass candles originate from Valyria, and the fundamental meditation techniques within them are an offshoot of Valyrian sorcery.
Your level of meditation must be extremely high; otherwise, it would be impossible to enter Rhaella's mind sea with your spirit body without her permission."
"Yes, I inherited fragments of knowledge from a Grand Sorcerer," Dany nodded.
"So the Valyrians tampered with their inheritance all along, and yet for thousands of years, no one ever noticed," Marwyn said grimly.
"There's always a trade-off," Dany shrugged before turning to the black girl. "How old are you? How long have you been practicing sorcery? You haven't even fully inscribed the basic meditation runes."
Faced with a powerhouse—an elder in the supernatural world—the black girl was both nervous and honest. "I'm 18 years old. I came to the Citadel a year ago. After forging my second chain link in six months, Maester Marwyn recruited me as his apprentice.
About four months ago, while cleaning my room… I was just really curious. The glass candle had always been like something out of a legend, so whenever I had the chance, I would secretly stare at it.
Then one day, all of a sudden, I had no idea what happened—it just lit up, and then, and then…"
At this point, the black girl became so excited that she was nearly incoherent.
Dany, however, suddenly understood. "You have an innate supernatural gift. You ignited the glass candle and received the inheritance of a firemage."
Then, she turned to the Citadel scholar. "See? In just four months, she hasn't even fully constructed her meditation runes, yet she already possesses this level of sorcerous power. Though the Valyrians left a backdoor in the meditation technique, the technique itself is extremely powerful—at least beyond the second tier."
"Beyond the second tier? What does that mean?" the black girl asked in confusion.
"Your mentor hasn't told you?" Dany glanced at Marwyn. "You're a supernatural being yourself. You seem to be a Moon Singer."
At this, Dany's expression turned strange. She scrutinized the thick-necked, broad-shouldered, butcher-like scholar. "Moon Singers should wear women's clothing and present themselves as women."
If this guy really became a cross-dresser, the scholars of the Citadel would probably all be blinded by the sight.
"You even saw through my identity as a Moon Singer?" Marwyn was shocked.
This was the benefit of broad experience.
If Dany hadn't attended supernatural gatherings or personally "seen" various different practitioners, even with her keen insight into meditation rune structures, she wouldn't have been able to guess his identity.
"The aura of sorcerous power in your body," Dany said, clasping her hands behind her back in the stance of a worldly master.
And indeed, with such an impressive entrance—seeing through people at a glance—even the Citadel's scholar now viewed the "flaming-eyed" firemage as an extraordinary powerhouse.
"In my youth, I traveled to Volantis, to Qarth, to many cities around the Jade Sea. I even studied for eight years in shadowed Asshai.
In Asshai, I traded my scholarly knowledge for a meditation technique of prophecy. I never expected it to actually be connected to the Moon Singers.
I mastered the meditation technique and a few simple sorceries twenty years ago. But when I returned to Westeros—no, the moment I left Asshai—the magic stopped working, and my meditation runes nearly collapsed.
Then, two years ago, one day, the meditation runes in my mind suddenly lit up again.
I suspect the sailors' rumors about dragons, about the Mother of Dragons, are true. Dragons have brought magic back to this world. I truly wish I could see it with my own eyes!"
The burly scholar's eyes were filled with longing and nostalgia.
You've already seen it. I am the true dragon, the miracle!
Dany shamelessly thought to herself.
But then, another question arose in her mind: Marwyn was a maester—a high-ranking figure in the Citadel. He should have access to the highest level of confidential information. How could he still be uncertain about the reality of dragons?
Half of the Free Cities had already joined the war to hunt the "Evil Mother of Dragons." Even Westeros, at the very least, should be stirring with hidden turmoil.
That meant someone must be deliberately blocking news from the East!
But was it the Citadel's own doing, or was it an order from higher powers, aimed at controlling the narrative?
(End of Chapter)
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