Chapter 50: The World Remade
The march on Volantis was a silent one. The Grand Army of the Great Work moved through the lands of southern Essos not as a conquering host, but as an inexorable tide. They were preceded by whispers and rumors, stories of a god who froze fire and an army of saints who could not be slain. The fear they inspired was a more effective weapon than any trebuchet or cavalry charge.
When they arrived before the legendary Black Walls of Volantis, they were not met by the famed legions of the Tiger Cloaks. There were no scorpions on the battlements, no vats of boiling oil. Instead, they were met by a delegation under a flag of truce, led by the three Triarchs of the city themselves, dressed not in their splendid regalia, but in simple, unadorned robes of white.
Prince Jacaerys and King Viserys rode out to meet them in the no-man's-land before the gates, flanked by the glowing, silent figures of the Blessed.
The eldest Triarch, a man of the Elephant party whose family had ruled for centuries, bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the dust. "King Viserys, Prince Jacaerys," he said, his voice trembling, not addressing them as equals, but as the chosen servants of a higher power. "We… surrender. The city of Volantis, its people, and its lands yield to the will of the Great Order."
Jacaerys, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword out of pure habit, regarded them with suspicion. "Just like that?" he asked, his voice sharp. "No tricks? No final gambit? The great city of Volantis, the First Daughter of Valyria, yields without a single arrow being fired?"
"When a god can freeze the very essence of the Lord of Light," the Triarch replied, his voice a broken whisper, "only a fool continues to argue theology. We have seen the truth. We have heard the testimony from Myr and Lys. Our way is over." He looked up, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. "We wish only to plead for the lives of our citizens… our free citizens."
Jacaerys looked at his brother. The final domino was not going to fall; it was offering to lie down. "Open your gates," Viserys commanded, his voice heavy with the weight of the moment. "There will be no slaughter here. The Great Work is one of liberation, not annihilation."
The Grand Army entered Volantis not as conquerors, but as an occupying force of pure, undeniable truth. The city was a sea of contrasts. The wealthy masters had barricaded themselves in their villas, their Tiger Cloaks having laid down their arms in fear. The half-a-million slaves of the city, however, were a different matter. They filled the great plazas, a low hum of anticipation rising from them, a feeling of a storm about to break. They had heard the whispers. They had felt the shift in the world. They were waiting for their miracle.
They did not have to wait long.
Ellyn the Weaver, Matthos the Soldier, and the other Hands of the God walked to the center of the city, to the Black Wall that had separated the old city of the masters from the sprawling outer city of the slaves for a thousand years. It was a monument of fused dragonstone, a testament to the pride and power of Old Valyria, a symbol of division.
Ellyn, now a figure of almost equal reverence to the Queen she served, stood before the sea of hopeful, enslaved faces and raised her hands.
"People of Volantis!" her voice cried out, amplified by the gentle power within her. "You have lived your lives in the shadow of this wall, a line of black stone that has defined your worth, your freedom, your very lives! Today, that wall, and the world it represents, shall fall!"
She and the other Blessed placed their hands upon the ancient, magical stone. They did not push. They did not strike. They simply channeled the will of their god. A low hum began to emanate from the wall, a vibration that shook the teeth of everyone present. A network of fine, starlit cracks appeared on the black surface. With a sound like the world sighing, the Black Wall, which had stood for millennia against armies and dragons, simply… dissolved. It did not explode or crumble. It unmade itself, turning into a fine, black dust that was carried away on the breeze, leaving behind an open, unbroken plaza between the two halves of the city.
A moment of stunned silence, and then a roar erupted from half a million throats, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy and liberation so powerful it felt like a physical force. The slaves were free.
Ellyn raised her hands again for silence. "There are no more masters!" she proclaimed to the cheering crowd. "There are no more slaves! There is only the Great Order! You are free! Free to work! Free to build! Free to believe in the god that has given you your lives back!"
The wave of faith that rose from the city was a psychic tsunami. Krosis-Krif, on his distant throne, felt it wash over him, a torrent of pure, exquisite energy that was the culmination of his entire grand design. He had not just conquered a continent. He had earned its eternal devotion.
In the weeks that followed, the world reshaped itself. A great summit was called in the former palace of the Triarchs of Volantis. King Viserys II presided over the gathering, a reluctant emperor of a new age. At the table were Prince Jacaerys, Lord Stark, Lord Lannister, the Velaryon heir, and Ellyn, representing the new Faith. Facing them were the humbled, terrified leaders of Pentos, Myr, Lys, and the newly formed Council of the Freed of Volantis. And at the head of the table, an empty chair was left for the Braavosi envoy, Tycho Melis, who had arrived with a team of scribes and bankers.
Jacaerys, acting as the voice of the new order, read from a scroll that would become the founding document of the new era: The Concordance of Order.
"Article one," he began, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Slavery and indentured servitude, in all their forms, are hereby, and for all time, abolished in all lands represented and in all lands that wish to enjoy the peace and prosperity of the Great Order. The penalty for violation is… divine correction."
A shudder went through the Essosi lords.
"Article two," Jace continued. "All signatory cities will henceforth be known as Free Districts of the Great Order. You will govern your own internal affairs—commerce, local law, and custom—so long as they do not create disorder or contradict the primary law."
"Article three: The Temples of the Great Order will be established in all districts. All other faiths are permitted to exist, but they will not be sponsored by the state, nor will they be allowed to preach against the proven providence of the Great Order."
Tycho Melis, the Braavosi, spoke up then, her voice smooth and clear. "And, if I may, Article four: The Iron Bank of Braavos, in partnership with the crown of Westeros, will provide the capital, the logistical support, and the financial instruments necessary to rebuild your economies on a foundation of free labor and open trade. In exchange for which, the Bank will be granted preferential contracts and status as the sole purveyor of international credit."
It was a masterstroke. The new world order was being formalized: a theocratic-commercial empire, built on a single, undeniable principle of abolition, enforced by a god, and financed by the most powerful bank in the world. The Triarchs and Magisters, their old power broken, had no choice. They signed.
As the last of them put quill to parchment, the voice of Krosis-Krif spoke to them all, a final, global address to seal his victory.
"THE GREAT WORK IS COMPLETE. THE UNTIDINESS OF SLAVERY HAS BEEN ERASED. THE CHAOS OF WARRING CITIES HAS BEEN REPLACED BY THE CERTAINTY OF MY PEACE."
His voice was no longer just in their heads. It was in the rustle of the leaves outside, the crash of the waves on the shore, the very air they breathed. He was everywhere.
"FROM THIS DAY FORWARD, THERE IS BUT ONE LAW: BE ORDERLY. BE PRODUCTIVE. LIVE IN PEACE. MY HANDS WILL BE AMONG YOU TO HEAL AND TO GUIDE. MY EYES WILL BE UPON YOU TO WATCH. MY WILL SHALL BE YOURS."
A final, chilling pause, a promise and a threat in one.
"THE AGE OF MEN IS OVER. THE AGE OF PETTY GODS IS OVER. THE AGE OF ORDER HAS BEGUN. ENJOY IT."
The presence receded, leaving behind a world irrevocably remade.
Months later, the great fleet sailed for home. Their work was done. They left behind garrisons of the Blessed and the Freed to manage the new districts, and a continent transformed. On the deck of the flagship, King Viserys stood with his brother, watching the coast of Essos disappear behind them.
"We did it, Jace," Viserys said, his voice filled with a quiet awe. "We actually did it. We ended slavery. Millions of people are free who would have died in chains. History will see this as a golden age."
Jacaerys stared westward, towards the home they were returning to, towards the silent god on the hill. His face was unreadable. "Yes," he said. "We did it. We were the sword in the hand of a god. We brought his peace, his order, to this half of the world."
"Was it worth it, then?" Viserys asked, the question that had haunted him throughout the campaign. "The cost? The things we had to become?"
Jace was silent for a long time, the only sound the cry of the gulls and the creak of the ship's rigging. "Ask me again in a hundred years," he said finally, his voice a low whisper. "Ask me when the first of the Tithe dragons are led to the harvest on the hill. Ask me when my own grandchildren have to explain to their children why their beloved companions must one day be… reabsorbed."
He turned to his brother, his eyes holding the profound, weary sadness of a man who has seen the end of history. "We have traded chaos for a cage, brother. A beautiful, peaceful, prosperous cage for the entire world. And the door is locked forever." He looked out at the endless sea. "Whether that is a worthy trade… I do not think we are the ones qualified to judge."
The fleet sailed on, carrying the conquerors home. They left behind a world reborn in the image of their god, a world at peace, a world united. A world held in chains of a different, more perfect, and more terrible kind. The Great Work was complete. And the long, quiet, orderly reign of the one true god had just truly begun.