For a time, there is only darkness. Pitch black skies with the stars so distant they forgot to sparkle. Waves assaulted jagged shores, the water submerging stone, born of fire and ash, leaving it to glimmer beneath the silver moonlight as it rose high up into the night sky. Beside it, a comet burned red. It was then a spark ignited in the sands. Wood built into pyres around the gods of the Westerosi people became engulfed by the warmth of a flames embrace.
Lord of Light, come to us in the darkness.
For the night is dark and full of terrors.
He was beckoned by one voice. A woman draped in red, a priestess, a voice of her people. Eyes the color of the ocean were lost in the flame so deeply they seemed to ignite themselves. Her body shivered as the cold air blew across the tops of the water, winters first attack on the lands of summer. The day had come. Stars bled in the skies and the cold breath of darkness began its descent on the world. A warrior would rise, drawing from fire, a burning sword. Azor Ahai come again, in his hand Lightbrighter, and darkness, it would flee before him.
The priestess held her breath, lips parted in awe at the sight before her. The burning sword held high in the sky by her warrior, filling the darkness with light. It was only at her exhale, her eyes were drawn to the glow of the flame. There she saw a face. A face of a man his hair a mess of dark curls that fell into bright eyes, and his features so carved it looked as if he were birthed from stone. She stood, paralyzed in place, her hand aching to reach into the heat of the flames that beckoned her with their roaring call.
Come to me, sweet prince.