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SLW Chapter 39 : Dark Temple of Asshai
🕑 Added 2025-03-06 22:07:41 +0000 UTCAs Aeron stepped deeper into the temple, the air shifted thicker, charged with something unseen yet palpable. The heat from unseen fires pulsed against his skin, carrying the scent of burning incense, hot wax, and something older…
The corridor ahead was vast, stretching deeper into the temple’s black belly. Strange red runes burned faintly along the walls, their flickering glow casting elongated, twisting shadows that seemed to move on their own.
A voice, ancient yet strong, cut through the silence.
"Welcome, traveler," it said, warm yet laced with something unreadable.
Aeron’s gaze snapped forward.
At the end of the corridor stood a Red Priest, his robes flowing like liquid ember. He was old, but not frail, his body still holding the strength of one who had touched true fire and survived. His head was shaved, the skin smooth but marked by deep burns that curved along his scalp like forgotten scripture.
His eyes burned red, but they held no madness only calm, knowing intensity.
"You have come far," the priest continued, stepping closer. "And you stand at a crossroads."
Aeron said nothing, letting his sharp gaze drink in every detail. The way the man moved, how he breathed, how the flames behind him flickered ever so slightly in his presence.
‘Is this the Apostle?’
The system had warned him one of the Eight Apostles was nearby. But was it this man? Or was something else lurking in the depths of this temple, Aeron felt that something else was watching from the dark.
The priest smiled, as if reading his thoughts.
"I sense great power in you," he said. "Power… and curiosity. You came here for a reason, did you not?"
Aeron tilted his head slightly. "That depends," he said, his voice calm but firm. "What exactly do you think I came here for?"
The priest extended a hand, gesturing to the grand chamber ahead.
"Knowledge," he answered simply. "Power."
Aeron followed the gesture and finally stepped fully into the main hall and what he saw made him narrow his eyes.
The hall was enormous, its ceiling lost in blackness. All around, figures in red and black robes moved about, whispering chants in a language older than Valyria.
At the center of the hall, a great bonfire blazed, its flames not orange, but blood-red. The fire twisted and danced unnaturally, shifting into shapes faces, symbols, shadows.
Aeron’s gaze drifted to the side chambers, where apprentices practiced their craft.
And that’s when he saw it.
Shadowbinding.
Young men and women, robed and kneeling, extended their hands towards the ground. Dark tendrils crawled from their fingertips, writhing and twisting like dying serpents. Their foreheads dripped with sweat as they strained, their shadows flickering unnaturally against the stone floor.
But to Aeron, it was laughable.
"This…?" he murmured, eyes narrowing. "This is what you call shadowbinding?"
He watched as one apprentice collapsed, gasping, his frail shadow barely responding to his call. Another let out a sharp breath, his summoned darkness slithering an inch before dissipating into nothing.
Aeron couldn’t help himself.
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat.
The priest raised a brow. "You seem unimpressed traveler."
Aeron’s gaze flickered back to him, his voice laced with amusement.
"This is an extremely lesser version of my power," he said bluntly. "If you call this shadowbinding, then what I do must be something beyond your comprehension."
The priest studied him, unfazed. "You wield the shadows as no man should," he said, his voice calm. "if that what you are saying, you should know that not all of them will succeed in this only the chosen."
He gestured again, this time towards a great black stone altar at the far end of the chamber. Atop it, a massive, ancient tome lay open, its pages shifting on their own.
"You came here for a reason, Aeron of the Shadows. Perhaps you do not know it yet, but you seek more than strength. You seek understanding."
Aeron's eyes glowed faintly as he observed the room. "And what do you seek?" he asked.
The priest smiled again, stepping closer.
"You."
The room fell into silence.
Aeron held his ground, his muscles tensed, ready. His instincts screamed at him to remain alert.
"They were expecting me."
"They knew my name."
"This place… this temple… is not just another gathering of priests and sorcerers.”
His shadow curled beneath his feet, responding to his will, eager for a fight.
"You should choose your next words very carefully, priest," Aeron said, his voice low, dangerous. "Because I don’t take kindly to people who think they know me."
The priest simply chuckled, his burned lips curling into an amused smile.
"Oh, but I do not think, Aeron Grim of Westeros."
His flame-red eyes gleamed.
"I know."
The air crackled.
Shadows stirred violently, the torches lining the temple walls flickering as if caught in an unseen storm. Aeron’s patience had run dry.
His purple eyes began to glow brighter, fiercer until they burned with an almost celestial intensity. His shadow stretched unnaturally beneath him, pulsing as if something inside it was alive.
Then, with a single word “Come out.”
The temple shook.
The torches snuffed out all at once, plunging the chamber into darkness but not silence. A deep, guttural hum filled the air, like the growl of something vast, something inhuman.
From the blackness, they emerged.
Shadow soldiers.
One by one, knights of darkness rose from the void, their armor black as midnight, their forms twisting yet solid. A Giant, Beasts of shadow and Dothraki and shadows assassins, all ready to attack at a command.
A dozen. Two dozen. Fifty. A hundred.
The Red Priests and Shadowbinders in the temple staggered back...some gasping, others murmuring hurried incantations. Their eyes widened in a mix of fear and reverence.
“By the flames of R’hllor…” one of them whispered.
“This… this is beyond shadowbinding.”
“Impossible…”
Some fell to their knees, not in submission, but in awe. Others clenched their fists, anger laced with jealousy flashing in their eyes.
The old priest remained still. His grin widened.
Aeron stepped forward, his presence alone commanding attention. The shadows around him coiled and pulsed like living things, responding to his will.
“Enough mystery talk, priest.” His voice was calm too calm. “Tell me about the Shadow Lands. What should I expect? Anything I need to know before I enter?”
Silence.
The old priest said nothing.
He just… smiled.
That was all the answer Aeron needed to attack.
His eyes narrowed.
“Tch.”
Then, movement.
The apprentices moved first, their hands weaving sigils in the air. Shadows leapt from their fingertips, twisting into grotesque, half-formed creatures, long-limbed horrors with glowing red eyes.
Aeron’s reaction was instant.
A single step back just enough. One of the shadow creatures lunged, its claw swiping through the air where his chest had been a heartbeat before.
Another came from his left. He twisted, a ghostly blade slicing just past his throat.
Then, without hesitation he countered.
His own shadows lashed out fluid, fast, merciless. A dark sword slammed into one of the creatures, sending it splintering apart like fragile glass. Another wrapped around a second one’s throat, lifting it effortlessly before crushing it into oblivion.
The priests and shadowbinders watched, stunned.
This wasn’t shadowbinding.
This was domination. A full authority over the shadows.
Aeron wasn't summoning shadows.
He was the shadow.
"Enough."
His voice cut through the madness. Sharp. Final.
The remaining creatures withered away, their forms unraveling like smoke in the wind.
His hundred shadow soldiers stood unmoved, unreadable, waiting for his command.
Aeron exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if he had just been mildly inconvenienced. Then, his glowing gaze turned back to the old priest.
"That all you've got?"
The priest chuckled. "Not at all Aeron Grim, bear in mind that the consequences of harming a priest and all who practice magic here are very severe. The land itself will denounce you, and shadowlands will swallow you whole."
Aeron’s lips curled into a smirk.
“I would like to see that.”
The air in the temple shifted.
A weight, unseen but tangible, pressed against the stone walls a force of undeniable power. The torches flickered wildly, shadows stretching unnaturally.
“I was getting tired of weak foes.”
He raised his hand.
And twisted it mid air.
A sickening crack echoed through the chamber.
The old priest’s eyes bulged, his mouth opening in a silent gasp. His head twisted sharply to the side, spine snapping instantly under the weight of Ruler’s Authority. His body slumped, lifeless, crashing to the floor like a discarded puppet.
Silence.
Then
Chaos.
"Burn it to the ground."
Aeron’s shadow soldiers moved as one.
Black blades cleaved through stone and flesh alike. Dark flames ignited, swirling around the pillars, climbing the walls like living serpents.
Screams filled the air.
Red priests and shadowbinders scattered, some casting desperate spells, their flames swallowed instantly by Aeron’s darkness.
“What is this?!—”
“The shadows—THEY WON’T OBEY!”
Some tried to fight. Some fell to their knees, begging. It made no difference. The moment Aeron deemed them worthless, their fate was sealed.
The temple quaked as the inferno spread, black flames licking at the ancient stone, consuming knowledge, artifacts, and secrets that had survived for centuries.
Aeron stood amidst the destruction, his gaze cold, unbothered.
“Nothing to learn.”
He turned on his heel, stepping over the smoldering corpse of a priest who had tried to crawl away. His shadow stretched behind him, vast and all-consuming.
“Why bother keeping this place?”
The screams grew distant as the temple collapsed in on itself.
"I might be doing the world a favor."
With a final glance at the roaring inferno, Aeron turned to leave.
But then
A voice slithered through the smoke and flames, deep and smooth, laced with something old… and powerful.
"Well, well… Shadow Monarch."
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a taunt.
It was a statement. A knowing declaration.
"You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?"
Aeron froze.
His purple eyes snapped wide open, a sharp breath leaving his lips as a wave of raw, suffocating magic crashed over him.
