The first rays of morning light slanted through the high stained-glass windows, casting fractured colors across the stone floor.
The windows depicted the Seven. The Father. The Mother. The Warrior. Sunlight passed through the figures and scattered their shadows in broken pieces across the woman kneeling on the cold flagstones.
Cersei Lannister had no idea how long she had been kneeling.
The stone beneath her knees was cold and uneven. Fine grains of sand had worked their way into the cracks and now felt like countless tiny needles stabbing into her skin.
Another day. Another endless day.
She had lost count of how many days she had spent like this. Time had no meaning here.
The only thing that changed was the bruising on her knees—blue to purple, purple to black, black to yellow—before a fresh layer of bruises covered the old ones. Every breath made the pain worse.
But she didn't dare move.
Two women in gray robes stood in front of her.
Their robes covered them from head to foot, leaving only their eyes visible. The coarse gray cloth was rough as sackcloth, tied at the waist with simple rope. They stood barefoot on the stone, their toes deformed, yellowed, and covered in thick calluses from years without shoes.
The Silent Sisters.
"Stand up."
The voice came from above. Cersei lifted her head.
It wasn't one of the Silent Sisters who had spoken—they never spoke. It was a young man in a gray septon's robe, thin as a rail, with sharp cheekbones and sunken eyes. He looked like a walking skeleton.
He was their "voice," the one who translated their "divine messages" into words.
Whether those messages truly came from the Seven or were simply new ways for the old women to torment people, Cersei no longer had the energy to care.
She placed her hands on the floor and slowly pushed herself up. A sharp pain shot through her knees, but she clenched her teeth and made no sound.
After all this time, she had learned one thing: showing weakness in front of the Silent Sisters only earned her more "penance."
The Silent Sisters' duties included preparing the dead, keeping the Sept clean… and supervising those sent here for "repentance."
And Cersei Lannister—Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, mother of the king, once the most beautiful woman in Westeros—was now one of those penitents.
She no longer even had the right to complain.
Three days ago, she had made the mistake of complaining. She had shouted that she was the Queen Regent and that they had no right to touch her.
The Silent Sisters had made her kneel at the entrance of the Sept for two full hours while commoners walked past, staring at her with mocking eyes and whispering.
"That's the Queen Regent?"
"I heard she got caught fucking someone."
"Tsk. Shameless."
"She's worse than the whores on Silk Street. At least they get paid to take their clothes off."
It had felt worse than being stripped naked and paraded through the streets. Cersei had wanted to smash her head against a pillar and end it right there.
But she hadn't.
Because she needed to stay alive. She needed to get out of here. She needed revenge.
So she had learned to endure. She knelt on the freezing stone for entire days, drank thin porridge that was little more than colored water, and ate black bread so hard it could have killed a dog.
Late at night, lying alone on the hard wooden cot, she would stare at the dark ceiling and silently repeat the names of everyone who had wronged her.
Margaery Tyrell.
Vito Corleone.
And… Tywin Lannister.
Just when she thought she had mastered the art of endurance, she discovered she was still too naive.
Because today, the Silent Sisters had given her a "special task."
"Take off your shoes," the septon said.
Cersei hesitated and looked down at the soft leather slippers on her feet.
They were one of the few decent things she still owned. Margaery Tyrell—the little bitch—had brought them during one of her fake "visits," claiming the Queen Regent needed comfortable shoes while she "reflected" in the Sept.
Cersei had wanted to throw them in the girl's face at the time. But she had held back.
She really did need decent shoes.
"Why?" she couldn't help asking.
The septon stared at her without expression, then turned to one of the Silent Sisters behind him.
The woman was ancient, her face a mass of deep wrinkles. But her cloudy eyes were sharp. She made several gestures with her hands. The septon nodded and translated.
"The Seven say that sin enters the body through the soles of the feet. Walking barefoot across the stones of the Sept presses that sin back down into the Seven Hells with every step."
Cersei's mouth twitched.
Sin entering through the soles of the feet?
What kind of bullshit was that?
Still, she said nothing. She simply bent down and removed her slippers, placing them neatly to the side.
Her bare feet touched the cold stone. A chill ran up through her soles and made her shiver.
"Good," the septon said. "Now follow me."
He turned and walked deeper into the Sept. Cersei followed barefoot. The two Silent Sisters walked on either side of her like jailers escorting a prisoner.
They passed through the main hall beneath the statues of the Seven. The Father looked down with cold, impartial eyes. The Mother had her arms spread wide, as if welcoming them.
Cersei kept her head down, watching her toes curl against the freezing stone, now covered in dust and grit.
She remembered being a girl in Casterly Rock. She had never walked anywhere without a carriage, a litter, or at the very least servants to carry her.
Later, as queen in the Red Keep, the floors had been covered in thick carpets so soft they felt like walking on clouds.
Now she was barefoot in the Great Sept of Baelor like some pathetic, lowborn believer.
No. Worse than a believer.
At least those fools chose to believe the gods could save them.
She was being forced.
"We're here," the septon said.
Cersei looked up. They had entered a small chapel on the eastern side of the Sept.
It was modest, roughly the size of an ordinary bedroom. Faded paintings of the Seven in their martyrdom covered the walls. In the center stood a stone platform with a wooden cross resting on it.
Not a seven-pointed star.
A cross.
Cersei frowned.
The Faith of the Seven used the seven-pointed star as its symbol. Crosses belonged to ancient heretical sects that had been driven out of the Faith centuries ago.
"What is this?" she asked.
The septon didn't answer. He simply listened to the hand gestures of the Silent Sister behind him.
"This is a Penance Cross."
"A Penance Cross?"
"Yes." The septon nodded. "You will carry it from this chapel to the main doors of the Sept, then walk back. Seven times in total. One for each face of the Seven."
Cersei stared.
Carry a cross?
Seven times?
She looked down at the wooden cross. Standing upright, it was taller than she was. The wood looked thick and heavy—oak, probably.
"How much does it weigh?" she asked, swallowing.
"About forty pounds."
Forty pounds.
Cersei's eyes widened. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.
She was a woman.
She had been born in Casterly Rock and raised on a golden toilet. She had never done hard labor in her life. And they wanted her to carry forty pounds of wood back and forth seven times?
Are you trying to fucking kill me?
"I… I can't carry that," she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. "Is there any way to—"
"No."
The septon cut her off. "The gods say that sin has weight. The cross has weight. If you cannot carry it, it means your sins are heavier than the cross itself."
Cersei's lips trembled, but she knew arguing was pointless. In the eyes of these fanatics, everything she did was a sin.
Adultery. Lying. Pride. Even being born a woman was apparently a sin, because desire entered the world through women, and the Silent Sisters believed desire itself was evil. That was why they practiced celibacy.
Without waiting for her agreement, the septon simply nodded to the two Silent Sisters.
They moved without hesitation. They lifted the heavy wooden cross and dropped it onto Cersei's shoulders.
The weight hit her like a mountain. Her body sagged and she nearly collapsed to her knees.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself to stay upright.
"Begin," the septon ordered.
Cersei knew there was no escaping this. She took a deep breath and took her first step.
The cross shifted on her shoulders. The rough edge dug into her collarbone. Pain flared.
The walk from the chapel to the main doors was roughly two hundred paces.
Two hundred paces carrying forty pounds.
By the time she finished the first trip, she was gasping for air. Sweat poured down her face. Her back was soaked and the fabric clung to her skin.
But she couldn't stop.
The Silent Sisters walked behind her like gray ghosts, silently urging her forward.
Then came the second trip. The third.
Her legs began to shake. The wood had rubbed the skin off her shoulders and blood was soaking into her dress. The soles of her feet were raw and bleeding, leaving faint red prints on the stone with every step.
Still, she didn't stop.
Because stopping meant surrender.
And surrender meant she would never leave this place.
Time dragged on.
Cersei had lost count of how many trips she had made. Her head was spinning. Her knees were swollen like overripe fruit. The skin on the bottoms of her feet had torn and curled up. Every step felt like walking on hot iron.
But she kept going.
Because she knew that if she stopped, the Silent Sisters would simply make her start over from the beginning.
After everything she had endured these past days, she had no doubt those old bitches would do exactly that.
They had all the time and patience in the world.
She didn't.
Every extra day she spent here was another day Margaery and that fucking farmer Corleone got to gloat.
She couldn't stop.
Under their watchful eyes, Cersei somehow forced herself through all seven trips.
When she finished the final one, her body pitched forward. Her knees slammed into the stone floor so hard the pain made her vision go black.
She gasped for breath. Sweat mixed with blood dripped from her face onto the gray stone, spreading into a small dark stain.
Staring at her own blood on the floor, only one thought filled Cersei's mind.
The moment I get out of this hellhole, I'm going to burn every last one of you to ash.
All of you.
Margaery. Corleone. Tywin. Every single one of you.
I'll burn this entire city to the ground with wildfire until nothing remains but bones and ash. Then I'll stand in the ruins and laugh while I grind your corpses under my feet.
She smiled. It was a twisted, ugly thing—more like something that had crawled out of the Seven Hells than anything human.
She tried to stand, but the weight of the cross on her back pinned her down. She pushed against the floor with both hands again and again, only to collapse each time.
The septon and the Silent Sisters simply watched her struggle in silence.
On the third attempt, she was almost upright when one of the Silent Sisters suddenly stuck out a foot and tripped her.
Cersei pitched forward with a cry of despair.
If she hit the ground with the cross on her back, it would crush her ribs.
But the pain never came.
A strong hand suddenly appeared from nowhere and caught the crossbeam. Another arm wrapped around her waist and steadied her.
Cersei froze. She looked up.
An old man with neatly trimmed white hair and a stern face was holding her upright. She didn't recognize him.
Before she could speak, his voice rang out, loud and clear.
"I warned you people before. Placing this heretical object inside the highest temple of the Seven is an insult to the gods themselves."
His voice wasn't particularly loud, but it carried through the empty corridor with perfect clarity.
The septon's face went pale.
He opened his mouth to reply, but the old man didn't give him the chance.
"Look around you," he said, gesturing at the statues of the Seven lining the corridor. "This is the Great Sept of Baelor. This is the home of the Seven in the mortal world. It was built with the blood and faith of the faithful, stone by stone."
"And yet you fools have placed this here."
He turned to face the septon and the two Silent Sisters fully. His blue eyes gleamed coldly in the lamplight.
"This is a relic of an ancient heretical sect. It was officially condemned by multiple High Septons centuries ago and banned from the Faith. Where did you even find it?"
The septon's face grew even paler.
Behind him, the two Silent Sisters remained silent, but Cersei noticed their bodies go rigid beneath their robes.
"You made a living person carry this thing back and forth through the Sept," the old man continued, his voice rising. "You call this penance? No. This is desecration. It is blasphemy against the Seven. What has Tywin Lannister turned the house of the gods into? A torture chamber?"
The old man's voice echoed through the corridor.
Cersei stared at him, still half-supported by his arm, her mind struggling to catch up.
Who the hell was this man?