Dawn had scarcely broken on the twenty-sixth day of July when the square before the Great Sept of Baelor filled with countless faithful.
For two days prior, word had spread through the narrow streets and winding alleys of King's Landing that the Faith would henceforth designate every seventh day as holy—a day when all true believers must serve with piety and pray with hearts stilled of worldly concerns.
The devout had come in droves to the Great Sept, eager to demonstrate the depths of their faith. Yet they had arrived before the Faith itself stirred to welcome them. The seven great doors of the Sept remained steadfastly closed, and neither septon nor septa could be glimpsed within its marble confines. The faithful had no choice but to wait in the vast square, beneath the shadow of the towering sept.
Most sat or stood in reverent silence, eyes closed in prayer, though here and there whispers began to stir among the crowd.
"They say His Grace arrived in the darkest hour of night and has prayed without rest until dawn," murmured a woman with a voice like rustling parchment. "The day of worship itself was his notion. Small wonder the gods shower him with divine grace without measure."
"Aye," agreed her companion. "A true emissary of the divine, spreading glory and gospel wherever he treads. The world is blessed by his coming."
A man leaned close to those nearby, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Have you heard what they're saying?" He glanced about as though fearing unseen ears. "The Faith has been wrong all these centuries. 'Tis not the seven-pointed star that is holy, but a six-pointed star, with the Father at its center."
"Impossible!" scoffed another. "Those are naught but the whispers of heretics. Seven gods, seven stars—what else could it be?"
"The gods are one and seven at once," ventured a third, his words cautious as a man testing thin ice. "The Seven we worship are but facets of a single divinity. 'Seven gods' is merely how our mortal minds comprehend what lies beyond comprehension."
"If that be so," reasoned another, "then why must it be seven stars at all? A six-pointed star or even a circle would serve as well. These are but mortal conceits."
The debate grew steadily warmer, voices rising despite their owners' attempts at discretion.
A cold laugh cut through their theological musings. "Debating dogma at the very doors of the Great Sept? How very brave." The speaker's lips curled with disdain. "A gathering of fools beyond remedy."
At once the debate withered, its participants falling silent as though by mutual accord, none wishing to draw further notice.
Before long, another voice rose in complaint. "Did you mark the guards at the city gates this morn? Standing with eyes wide as owls, as though each of us conceals a blade beneath our cloaks."
"Aye, I saw them too. Fresh from the Goldcloak barracks, those new recruits."
"You know nothing of it," declared an old man with a back still straight despite his years, his eyebrows dancing with self-importance. "My sister's boy serves as an officer among the Goldcloaks, commanding a hundred men."
The crowd around him leaned closer, hungry for whatever morsel of knowledge he might deign to share.
"He told me himself that His Grace will speak before the Sept today. They've doubled the watch at all seven gates and inspect each who passes to ensure the king's safety."
"Who would dare harm a divine emissary?" someone asked, voice thick with indignation. "Who would be so foolish?"
"Word has reached the king's ears that Lord Renly, fearing defeat in the field, has purchased the services of hired knives. They may strike at any hour, from any shadow." The old man nodded sagely. "That's the truth of it."
"How dreadful!" gasped a woman.
"How despicable!" spat another.
"Indeed," agreed a stout man with a merchant's hands. "The price of bread has risen these past days. I'd wager Renly takes pleasure in our suffering."
Another joined in, eager to contribute. "I've heard tell that Storm's End hosts feasts each night without end—wines and meats in abundance, and young maids gathered from across the Stormlands to dance and warm their beds. When they tire of the girls, they cast them to the common soldiers."
"By the Mother's mercy, such wickedness!"
"He is the Duke of Storm's End," someone said with a bitter laugh. "The Stormlands and all within belong to him, to use and discard as he wills."
"His Grace Robert was too gentle with the boy."
"Who could argue otherwise?"
With each whisper, Renly's name took on a darker hue in the minds of those gathered.
"Look there!" A shout cut through the murmurs. "The Father's Gate opens!"
The square stirred as one body, all eyes drawn to the great doors swinging wide. Reverent gazes fixed upon the figures emerging from the Father's Gate.
The High Septon, corpulent beneath the weight of his gaudy raiment, wore his gleaming crown of crystal and gold. Yet its brilliance dimmed to nothing beside the figure who walked before him—His Grace King Joffrey, First of His Name, wreathed in boundless white light.
The young king stepped forward, and to the awestruck faithful, he seemed to grow with each stride until he towered as tall as the Sept itself, his radiance outshining the sun.
The people fell to their knees as one, ready to receive the divine will from the lips of the gods' chosen vessel.
Joffrey stood upon the dais and gazed down at the sea of humanity. Tens of thousands had gathered, and this without any royal summons. The power of the Faith was undeniable.
The sight filled him with deep satisfaction, vindicating his decision to manifest divine power during his coronation.
Let the Faith grow as strong as it might, he thought. It cannot escape its own chains. It must forever rely on the image of the Seven to spread its teachings.
In ordinary times, such matters were merely a contest of who could best beguile the masses. But here and now, a single miracle could seize the fruits of centuries of the Faith's careful cultivation.
The Seven had been the object of worship throughout the known world for countless years, yet Joffrey had effortlessly claimed the position of their mouthpiece, draping himself in their sacred authority like a fine cloak.
Reality's cruelty spared no one. The High Septon had been unwilling to yield at first, but a single demonstration had transformed his thinking utterly. Now he stood meekly behind Joffrey, content to remain High Septon in name if not in power.
His fate was kinder by far than that of several colleagues who had chosen resistance.
Joffrey's voice, when he spoke, carried the weight of sorrow and pain.
"My brothers and sisters in faith, I must deliver grievous tidings."
The faithful froze, breath caught in their throats. What calamity could move the gods' chosen vessel to such solemnity?
"Intruders breached the sanctity of the Sept under cover of night, intent on slaughter," the king continued. "In defense of all who dwell within these hallowed walls, three Most Devout, nineteen septons, and seven septas were brutally slain."
A thunderous shock rippled through the crowd, faces slack with horror.
As if summoned by the king's words, a procession of septons and guards emerged from the Father's Gate, dragging the corpses of seven men into the square. The faithful surged forward, surrounding the grim display.
"Our investigation reveals these assassins were in Renly Baratheon's employ—well-trained, well-compensated, and bestowed with the title 'Rainbow Guard.' Their sole purpose: to bring death within these sacred walls."
The white shrouds covering the bodies were drawn back, revealing rainbow-hued garments beneath black, tattered cloaks—one color for each man, the complete spectrum laid bare for all to see.
"The Great Sept of Baelor stands as the most hallowed ground in all the Seven Kingdoms," Joffrey declared, his voice swelling with righteous anger. "Yet Renly would defile it with steel and blood. This is not merely a challenge to the laws of the realm and the dignity of the Iron Throne—it is contempt for the Seven Who Are One and a desecration of our most sacred beliefs!"
The king's fury was palpable, his voice rising to a shout. "People of King's Landing, can you abide such sacrilege?"
"We cannot!" came a lone cry, soon joined by others until the square resounded with thousands of voices joined as one.
"We cannot!"
"The Seven have bestowed their divine decree!" Joffrey proclaimed, his voice carrying to the farthest corners of the square as though borne on the wind itself.
"The Great Sept of Baelor is their first and greatest palace in the mortal realm, and King's Landing stands at the center of their gaze. This holy ground must be cleansed of all impurity—no filth shall remain, no shadow shall persist."
"From this day forth!" The king raised his arms toward the heavens.
"Faithful lambs, heed the call and cast aside worldly excess. We shall purify every corner, cleanse every heart, restore King's Landing to its unsullied state, and return peace to the Great Sept of Baelor."
His voice hardened to steel. "Renly's assassins shall find no refuge, liars and thieves no sanctuary. All shadows shall be driven before the light eternal!"
As the king's final words echoed across the square, septons, septas, and soldiers poured from the Father's Gate, streaming toward every quarter of King's Landing—southeast, northwest, to each district and alley of the great city.
The faithful prostrated themselves upon the stones, awaiting whatever was to come with quiet resignation.
Many did not fully comprehend the king's proclamation, but divine decrees were not for mortals to question—only to obey.
Of one thing they were certain: the coming hours would bring tumult unlike any King's Landing had known in living memory.
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Marvel : The God Of Punishment System
I Am Raditz
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