The Legend of the Healer

Volantis, 271 AC

1 month later

In the bustling streets of Volantis, a legend had begun to take shape. Whispers filled the air, spreading from one corner of the city to the next. It started as a mere rumor, a tale woven through hushed conversations and shared in the hidden alcoves of taverns. But as the days turned into weeks, the legend grew, captivating the hearts and imaginations of the city's inhabitants.

Word spread of a mysterious traveler, a young teenager who walked the streets of Volantis each day, an ethereal figure with a compassionate soul. It was said that this enigmatic individual possessed the gift of healing, that their touch could alleviate suffering and bring hope to the sick and downtrodden.

As the legend gained momentum, the rumors became more embellished. Some claimed that the healer possessed magical powers, bestowed upon them by the gods themselves. Each believer believed that this gift was bestowed by their gods. As a result, this figure was popularly regarded as the patron saint of every religion in the city. No one accepted that his/her religion was incomplete compared to the others.

Others whispered tales of divine intervention, speaking of miraculous recoveries and impossible feats witnessed firsthand. The streets buzzed with anticipation, for each passing day held the possibility of crossing paths with this remarkable being.

The people of Volantis spoke in hushed tones, sharing stories of encounters with the healer. They marveled at the kindness and selflessness displayed by this mysterious figure. The tales spread like wildfire, weaving through the tapestry of the city, as people from all walks of life eagerly awaited their turn to witness the healer's presence.

Merchants in the marketplaces spoke with excitement, their voices carrying over the vibrant sounds of commerce. "Have you heard?" one would say.

"There's a young healer roaming the streets, curing any ailments with a mere touch."

The words would travel from stall to stall, reaching eager ears and piquing the curiosity of those who longed for relief from their afflictions.

In the taverns, patrons raised their mugs, their conversations a mix of skepticism and wonder.

"I heard he cured old Maester Aemon of his blindness," one would say.

"Nonsense!" another would scoff.

"But I saw him heal a broken leg right before my eyes," a third voice chimed in, sparking a lively debate among the ale-drinking crowd.

The stories of the healer's deeds resonated deep within the hearts of the people, instilling a glimmer of hope in a city marred by inequality and suffering.

The tales became a beacon, a source of inspiration for the sick, the poor, and the marginalized. Their whispers carried a collective desire for change, a yearning for a better future where compassion and healing could prevail.

And so, the legend of the healer continued to spread, entwining itself within the very fabric of Volantis. As the sun painted the city in its golden hues each day, the streets brimmed with anticipation.

The people, their faces filled with hope, scanned the crowds, searching for a glimpse of the fabled healer, eager to witness the miracles that had become the stuff of legends.

Whether the healer was truly a vessel of divine power or simply a compassionate soul with extraordinary skills mattered little to those whose lives had been touched.

In a city where darkness loomed, this figure brought a glimmer of light, a reminder that even amidst despair, there was still room for compassion, kindness, and the potential for miracles.

And so, the legend continued to grow, casting its radiant glow upon the City of Light, forever transforming the lives of those who believed.

...

[Yaprak Pariltan]

I wake up in the familiar room of the inn, greeted by the soft light of a new day filtering through the curtains while stretching my limbs.

Today, like every day for the past month, I will be helping those in need, fanning rumors of my legend even more.

After a hearty breakfast shared with Huseyin, we set out once again into the bustling streets of Volantis. As Huseyin goes about his task of spreading the legend of Yaprak, I weave through the crowd with quiet determination.

My ears catch snippets of conversations, snippets that speak of the tales that have grown around me—the healer with an otherworldly touch, the one who brings hope to the sick and downtrodden.

But I do not seek recognition or accolades. I do not revel in the legends that have begun to swirl around my name. Instead, I focus on the essence of my mission—forming an image of a saint.

I traverse the labyrinthine streets of Volantis, my steps guided by an intuition that leads me to those who need me most.

In the alleyways and hidden corners, I encounter the sick, the injured, and the enslaved. Their eyes hold a flicker of desperation, a glimmer of longing for a reprieve from their pain.

With a gentle touch and a surge of healing energy, I offer them respite.

I witness the light return to their eyes, the weight of their burdens eased, even if just for a fleeting moment.

Their gratitude fills the air, but I do not linger to bask in their praise. I know that my purpose is to heal as many as I can within the time I have.

As I navigate the streets, my ears pick up fragments of conversations—a passerby recounting a miraculous recovery, a hushed conversation speculating on the origins of my powers.

And so, I continue my journey through the streets of Volantis, lending aid to the sick and slaves, offering them a glimmer of light in their darkest moments.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow upon the streets of Volantis, I made my way back toward the inn. However, destiny had another encounter in store for me.

Just as I was about to turn a corner, my steps faltered as I caught sight of two young children huddled together, their faces etched with weariness and desperation. The fading light revealed the traces of tears on their cheeks, a silent testament to the hardships they had endured.

At that moment, my instinct guided me toward them, and I approached with compassion shining in my eyes.

"What troubles you, little ones?" I asked softly, kneeling to their level.

With his quivered voice, the oldest one begin to speak.

"Two days ago when I was returning to our shed, I helped a man who lost his ways."

"As a graduate, he shared his food with me. Although it did not smell good, I thought it is better than sleeping with an empty stomach."

"I shared this with my brother and sister. But, because she is so small and needs to eat more than us she ate most of it. So, she got the most of it."

"When we woke up yesterday, all of us got stomachaches. But I and my brother got better in a couple of hours. Yet, my sister's misery did not end. She is suffering from that pain."

"I asked for help for my sister from anyone I can see. Yet, nobody spared a second look for us. I did not expect them to come and heal her. Just some herb for her pain would be enough."

"My lord, please help her to ease her pain. I beg you."

"I can do anything. I can clean your home, and carry your stuff. Do not look at my skinny appearance. I am very strong. I've been working since I was little."

"Just help her, so that she shouldn't cry anymore."

My heart ached for them, for I understood the anguish that comes with helplessness in the face of illness. When you see your close ones suffer, the only thing you can do is cry with them while trying to find help.

"Do not worry. First let's go to your shad, and see your sister."

Together, we hurried through the dimly lit streets.

As we arrived at their humble abode, I knelt beside the sick girl. She looks so delicate.

The room was filled with a palpable sense of anticipation as I called upon the healing magic.

A gentle warmth emanated from my palms, enveloping the ailing child in a soothing embrace. The energy flowed through me, a conduit of hope and rejuvenation.

I could feel the illness receding, replaced by renewed vitality as if a veil of darkness had been lifted from her fragile form.

The other orphans watched in awe as their sister's breathing steadied, color returning to her cheeks. Relief washed over them, mingling with gratitude, as they realized that their prayers had been answered. Their eyes shone with a newfound sense of hope, and a spark of resilience ignited within their hearts.

Moved by their genuine gratitude, they turned to me with tear-filled eyes.

"Thank you, savior. Thank you for helping her. Just ask anything, and we will do it without thinking for a moment. Please, order us, so that we can repay our debt."

I reached out, gently wiping away their tears, and smiled with warmth and sincerity.

"There is no need for repayment, dear ones," I reassured them.

"For I am but an instrument of my God, sent to alleviate suffering and offer solace to those in need. Your gratitude is enough."

Their faces lit up, a mixture of relief and determination etched across their features.

"I swear, I will tell your miracles to everyone. So that everyone will know that, in this city, someone is helping those in need. So that they will gain hope like us."

"And, when I will grow up and become strong enough, I will find you and repay your kindness."

"Ohoho, look at you. You are already planning the future. At least state your name. Let me know the name of the one who owes me."

"My name is Tuna, my brother's name is Emir, and my sister's name is Zeynep. What is your name, savior? If I do not know your name, It will be hard to find you in the future."

"My name is Yaprak. Yaprak Pariltan."

"My job in here is done. Take care of your siblings. They are very lucky to have a brother like you. And, May the Red God take care of you."

As we bid each other farewell, their laughter echoed through the night, a chorus of joy amidst the backdrop of a city embracing the hope of a better tomorrow.

As I made my way back to the inn, the sounds of the bustling city gradually fading into the background, my thoughts were consumed by the impending plan that lay before me. Tomorrow marked the beginning of my audacious endeavor—to gain control over the Red Temple in Volantis.

As I closed the door to my room, the flickering candle casting dancing shadows upon the walls, I contemplated the path that lay ahead. It would not be an easy task to gain the trust of the priests and priestesses who devoted their lives to the Red God.

However, if they can be a supporter of Stannis or Daenerys, then they can believe in me too as I have real magic.

In the quiet solitude of my chamber, I allowed myself a moment of reflection. I envisioned a future where the Red Temple would be a beacon of not only faith but also transformative action.

Tomorrow would mark the beginning of a delicate dance, where I would subtly weave my way into the inner workings of the temple, gradually earning the trust and respect of its leaders.

I would seize the opportunity to demonstrate the power of my magic, showcasing the miracles that could be achieved under the guidance of the Red God's chosen one.

With ambition and determination coursing through my veins, I surrendered to the embrace of dreams.