While Lynd was consulting with his priests about matters related to the Storm God Cult, in the Sealord's Palace of Braavos, Sealord Ferrego Antaryon gazed at the dark clouds looming over the city. Though his face still bore a genial smile, the look in his eyes betrayed his inner worries.
"Qarro, what does this sight remind you of?" A drop of rain slipped off the edge of the pavilion's eaves and landed on Ferrego's face. He wiped it away and turned to the chief swordsman standing quietly beside him.
Qarro Volentin replied expressionlessly, "The Storm God. It reminds me of the Storm God, my lord."
"Yes, the Storm God." Ferrego nodded, the fat beneath his chin trembling slightly with the motion. "A few months ago, during the battle on the Stepstones, the sky looked much the same. Dark clouds appeared out of nowhere, and a storm swept across the sea. I recall rumors claiming that the storm was the work of the Chosen One. Do you think there's any truth to them?"
"I don't know," Qarro hesitated before answering. "There are many rumors about the Chosen One, but I haven't seen anything with my own eyes. I can't say whether they're true or false. If they're true, then he may indeed have the power to control storms. If they're false, then it's all just coincidence."
"But I think it's true." Ferrego stepped out of the shelter of the pavilion, unbothered by the rain hitting his robes, and walked to the balcony overlooking Braavos. His gaze swept across the districts of the city before settling on the distant, hazy outline of the Temple of the Storm God. "I believe Lynd Tarran is here, somewhere in the city."
Qarro followed behind him, holding a small umbrella to shield his lord from some of the rain. Hearing Ferrego's words, he frowned slightly in confusion. "The latest reports said he was busy dealing with a fortress on the Dornish Marches. How could he be here…?"
"That could just be a ruse." Ferrego cut him off, his voice deep and certain. "I can feel it—he's here. He's after my enchanted armor. The moment Jaqen of House Isolde sold it to me, I knew it would draw Lynd Tarran's attention. Those people want me to bear the brunt of his wrath for them."
Qarro remained silent for a moment before finally asking, "If you knew what Qohor was planning, why did you still buy the enchanted armor?"
Ferrego sighed. "Because I am the Sealord. The Sealord of Braavos."
Qarro said no more. As the chief swordsman to the Sealord, he understood the pressures that weighed on Ferrego. It was not enough for him to appear strong before the city's nobility; he also had to project an air of fearlessness toward the Free Cities beyond. Enemies lurked everywhere. The slightest display of weakness would invite an onslaught.
At that moment, a servant approached, stopping about ten paces away from Ferrego. Qarro walked over to receive the message, then returned and said, "Syrio Forel is here. Do you wish to see him?"
Ferrego was silent for a moment before nodding. "Let him in. I suppose this will be the last time I see him."
At his command, Qarro gestured to the servant, who swiftly departed. Before long, a short, unremarkable swordsman stepped inside, passing through the foyer toward Ferrego.
"Stop! Syrio, stop!" When he was five or six steps away from Ferrego, Qarro stepped forward, issuing a warning.
Syrio halted and looked at Ferrego.
"Let him approach." Ferrego turned to his chief swordsman. "If he truly intended to assassinate me, he would have done so already."
At these words, Qarro stepped aside, but Syrio did not move closer. He simply looked at Ferrego from a distance and said, "I'm leaving. I don't expect to return to Braavos."
"I know." Ferrego met his gaze. "You have no other choice."
Syrio remained impassive. "Before I go, I have one question for my old friend, Ferrego."
Ferrego hesitated, then said, "Ask."
Syrio's voice carried a hint of something unspoken. "Back then… did you use what I told you to accomplish your goals?"
Ferrego stared at him for a long time before finally replying, "Safe travels, my old friend."
Syrio said nothing more. He turned and left the room, walking out of the Sealord's Palace without looking back.
After Syrio left the Sealord's Palace, Ferrego stood silently on the balcony, gazing over the vast expanse of Braavos. A long moment passed before he finally spoke.
"Qarro, send men to the docks immediately. Have them question the crews of all recently docked ships—ask if there were any particularly remarkable individuals on board. Someone like Lynd Tarran, a man who shines as brightly as he does, cannot completely hide his light, no matter how much he tries."
"Should we send someone to the Storm God's temple?" Qarro asked.
"No," Ferrego shook his head. "That place is off-limits. The gods belong to the gods, and mortals belong to mortals. A mortal who trespasses on divine ground will only be shattered. Do you think if I sent men to investigate the Storm God's temple today, the Faceless Men of the House of Black and White wouldn't come knocking on my door tomorrow? Never assume that because the gods are at odds with one another, mortals can exploit the gaps between them."
"Understood," Qarro nodded.
That night, the Braavosi City Watch descended upon the docks in large numbers. They tracked down the captains of recently docked ships and questioned them about their passengers, sailors, and any mercenaries aboard. Before long, they had several suspects—including Lynd, who had presented himself in public as an expert archer.
At that moment, Lynd had already left the Storm God's Temple and returned to his inn. After freshening up, he was preparing to rest and planned to spend the next few days wandering the streets of Braavos before making his way to the Sealord's Palace.
Though he had confirmed that the enchanted armor in the Sealord's possession was not the one he was searching for, he still intended to visit in hopes of uncovering useful clues.
However, just as he finished washing up, a knock came at the door. When he opened it, he saw that the visitor was not an inn servant, but an unfamiliar young girl.
"Excuse me, are you Lord Lynd?" she asked in a timid voice, tilting her head back to look up at the tall man before her.
Lynd paused briefly before nodding. "Yes."
The girl, as if reciting a memorized script, said, "The Sealord has sent men to the docks to investigate you. They will find your location soon. Please come with me—I will take you to a safe place."
Lynd no longer had any reason to avoid the Sealord's agents. Even if they found him, he could simply take the opportunity to meet with the Sealord and settle matters directly.
However, he was curious about the person behind this girl. After telling her to wait a moment, he returned inside, strapped on his weapons once more, and then stepped back out.
The girl led him down a narrow staircase at the side of the inn, slipping out into the street while avoiding the attention of those inside. She then guided him into a neighboring building and down into its basement. There, a concealed passage led to a waterway connecting to the central lake. A small boat was already waiting.
The girl gestured for Lynd to board. She herself did not step onto the boat but remained standing on the shore, signaling for the boatman to set off.
Navigating through a narrow canal, the boat emerged into the central lake. Cloaked in the darkness of night, the boatman expertly maneuvered through the temple islets, skillfully keeping the vessel within the shadows cast by the structures. From the shore, it would have been nearly impossible to spot the small boat gliding across the water.
Before long, they reached a secluded jetty at the rocky island where the House of Black and White stood—a sanctuary dedicated to the Many-Faced God.
Without waiting for the boatman to speak, Lynd stepped onto the dock and made his way toward the House of Black and White's entrance.
By this point, he had a strong suspicion about who the girl was working for. As he climbed the stone steps to the temple's massive doors, they slowly creaked open. From within, a stranger emerged—a middle-aged man with a hooked nose and a scarred face.
Upon seeing Lynd, the middle-aged man bowed and said calmly, "Someone has been waiting for you here for a long time. Though someone does not wish to recall painful memories of the past, someone is still very glad to see an old benefactor again."
"Someone?" Lynd repeated, noting the peculiar way the man referred to himself.
"This is a manner of speaking someone learned from the Lorathi," the man replied. "It suits someone, as someone has abandoned everything from the past—memories, names, all of it." He looked at Lynd without emotion and continued, "By the way, someone's current name is Jaqen H'ghar. Lord Lynd may call someone by this name."
Upon hearing this, Lynd immediately understood that the man before him was the very same Jaqen who would one day appear in the Red Keep and alter Arya Stark's fate.
What truly astonished him, however, was the realization that this Jaqen was once the very girl he had saved—Tysha.
At first glance, it seemed as if he had changed Tysha's fate, saving her from death. But upon further reflection, even if he had not intervened, the Faceless Man Bovo, who had been in the Red Keep at the time, might have saved her nonetheless. Whether from a slum's refuse heap or from being sold to Flea Bottom to be turned into brown stew, Tysha might have been taken in regardless. Lynd's actions had merely introduced a small detour in the course of events, but ultimately, everything had returned to its original path.
"Where is Bovo?" Lynd asked.
"He has returned to eternal silence," Jaqen answered evenly. She then stepped aside and gestured for Lynd to enter. "You may stay in the House of Black and White for now. Though the Sealord reigns supreme in Braavos, that authority extends only to mortals. This is the domain of the gods—here, the power of men cannot reach."
Lynd followed Jaqen into the House of Black and White. They passed through a vast corridor before entering the grand main chamber. In the center of the hall was a large pool, its still surface reflecting the dim light. Around the pool, silent worshipers knelt in prayer, their lips unmoving, their voices unheard.
Lining the walls were statues of various deities, each representing a different face of the Many-Faced God. Among them, to Lynd's intrigue, was the image of the Storm God—identical to the one in the Storm God's temple.
At the edge of the pool, several figures—people burdened by sickness and despair—reached for a stone ladle resting nearby. One by one, they scooped water from the pool, drank it, then silently stepped into the vacant stone niches in the wall, lying down to await death.
Several priestly attendants and apprentices of the Many-Faced God entered the chamber. They bowed to Jaqen before proceeding to the alcoves, checking the bodies within. Those confirmed dead were carefully removed and placed onto small carts to be taken elsewhere for further rites.
Lynd surveyed the chamber before focusing on the dark, crystalline pool. With curiosity, he walked closer, gazing into its depths.
At first glance, the water seemed ordinary. But to Lynd's senses, it pulsed with magical energy. He could also see the lingering traces of power within the bodies of those who had drunk from it—faint glimmers of magic slowly eroding their very beings.
The magic in the water could be both a curse and a blessing. In some, it corroded the body from within, breaking down organs and tissues until death took hold—either swiftly or by transforming them into living corpses.
Among those deemed dead by the attendants, a few were still technically alive—bodies paralyzed, rendered as lifeless as corpses. For these unfortunates, their fate was especially cruel. They would remain conscious as they were slowly dismembered, even watching as their faces were prepared for use by the Faceless Men.
Yet in others, the magic had the opposite effect, targeting diseased tissue and purging sickness from within. It healed those who had suffered unbearable pain, granting them renewed vitality bit by bit.
"Would you like a drink?" Jaqen asked as she stepped beside Lynd.
Lynd glanced at her, then reached for the ladle, scooping up a measure of the dark water. Without hesitation, he drank.
The magic within the water had no chance to take effect. The moment it entered his body, it was instantly devoured by the Rune of the Nameless King in his heart.
Jaqen, who had been gripping a small vial of antidote just in case, relaxed upon seeing Lynd unaffected. A rare smile crossed her face.
Meanwhile, Lynd found himself wondering—what would happen if he submerged himself entirely in this pool?
But that was merely a passing thought. He knew for certain that even the vast reservoir of magic within this sacred water would be consumed by the Rune of the Nameless King. The final result would be the utter destruction of this revered pool, the most sacred artifact of the House of Black and White.
And if that were to happen, no matter how good his relationship with Jaqen was, the worshipers of the Many-Faced God would never forgive him. He would find himself hunted relentlessly by the Faceless Men.
For himself, he did not fear assassination. As long as he had Glory at his side, no attempt on his life would ever succeed.
But his officers and commanders did not share his invulnerability. Very few could survive an attack by the Faceless Men. His realm would inevitably collapse, left vulnerable and abandoned.
Thus, the House of Black and White had always been a power Lynd knew never to provoke. Even now, with all the strength he had gained, that truth remained unchanged.