After the Long Winter arrived, the cold deepened, with short days and long nights.
Rhaegar wondered if perhaps there would be one longest night, when the Night King would ride his desolate zombie horse with blue eyes, raise his arm in a call, and then the army of White Walkers and wights would swarm toward the Wall.
This was a story from legend.
"The revival of the old gods, the god of cold, the Drowned God!"
At Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, a preliminary treaty had been reached between the lords of the North, the Night's Watch, and the major wildling tribes, following long arguments and bargaining.
Rhaegar had no interest in bickering with them; he first went to the Fist of the First Men to search for the real horn of winter.
"The wildlings will provide some food and property, and the Night's Watch will allow them to settle between the Wall north of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and the Haunted Forest."
In the past, the Night's Watch would never let the forest extend within half a mile of the Wall.
However, in recent years, wild woods had quietly grown back where abandoned castles once stood.
But Eastwatch-by-the-Sea remained one of the three main strongholds, and it was still well-controlled.
The cold wind was endless, snow flurries drifted in the sky, and stagnant ice chunks floated in the streams.
The magic dragon occasionally let out hisses; it was truly too far north here.
"We will circle here for a while and then return!" Rhaegar reassured his partner.
The magic dragon echoed with a few hisses.
The Fist of the First Men was a hill that rose suddenly in the Haunted Forest Beyond the Wall, standing like a fist, isolated and abrupt.
The west and north sides of the hill were steep slopes, and even the east side was only slightly gentler.
The peak, exposed to the cold wind, could be seen from miles away.
The steep, rocky summit was surrounded by a chest-high wall made of grey stones, said to have been built by the First Men.
A small stream flowed past the foot of the hill.
"Damn it, it seems the horn of winter hasn't been discovered yet, the small one!"
Rhaegar wandered beneath the Fist of the First Men, feeling disappointed.
He hadn't found the place where the horn was buried; perhaps the horn of winter was still beneath the Frostfangs, yet to be discovered.
"A lonely city amidst ten thousand mountains!"
Rhaegar flew the magic dragon to the top of the Fist of the First Men, inside the perimeter wall.
There was a good view from the summit.
Rhaegar saw mountain range after mountain range on the distant horizon, until they became grey-white and hazy.
The mountains were covered in eternal snow, desolate, tall, and lonely.
However, the forest resources of the Haunted Forest were indeed good; millions of trees formed a deep green ocean, as if forever uninhabited, an eternal green storm.
"Oh no!"
Rhaegar noticed that it had started to snow at the Fist of the First Men, and the sky had begun to darken, obscuring the sun.
This gloomy weather felt very oppressive.
It was suitable for the appearance of the minions of that evil god of cold.
Rhaegar suddenly felt he should have brought a member of House Stark; everyone said that House Stark was favored by the old gods.
In the gloomy sky, those servants of the god of cold emerged at the foot of the mountain—people and animals that could not rest even in death.
The faces and bodies of the wights were like milk, their eyes flickering with cold blue light.
Their hands were black and cold, as if made of stone.
They were not creations of the mortal world, but a curse of the god of cold.
Rhaegar saw the dead beginning to climb up; most were wildlings, with a small portion being brothers in faded black cloaks.
The wights came in all styles; some wore armor, while others were almost naked, as the wildlings had no decent armor.
Between the bare clothes, Rhaegar saw the pale, soft bellies of the wights.
These wights began to surge toward the summit like a tide, in Rhaegar's direction.
He was fire; he radiated the warmth of life.
"Dragonflame!"
Rhaegar steered the magic dragon, and the dragon group began to hiss.
The dragons flapped their leathery wings, and Rhaegar led the dragon group in a dive from the summit of the Fist of the First Men.
The three dragons began to hiss joyfully.
The magic dragon first swept into the high sky and then spat fireballs at the group of climbing wights.
The magic dragon vented the anger of the dragon group, wanting to burn the cold creatures before them into nothingness.
"Super-concentrated Dragonflame bomb!"
The wights feared fire the most and were highly flammable.
The silver dragon was the first to spit out a fireball.
The bright fireball exploded in mid-air, the concentrated and then expanding flames turning into a rain of gold and silver fire, descending upon those blue-eyed wights.
The purple dragon and the black dragon also began to roar and spit fireballs—purple and copper-foiled fireballs, and black-red fireballs.
The fireballs exploded in the sky, and a rain of fire drifted down, welcoming the judgment of the flames.
The faces of the wights began to burn; their faces, hair, and eyeballs were consumed first, like tufts of willow catkins.
Roaring flames ignited from all parts of their bodies; the flames came very violently, rising up on the wights!
The wights were highly flammable.
When a wight was completely destroyed, the trace of blue in its eyes would disappear.
After the first wave of fireballs, the dragon group continuously spat two more waves of fireballs, bombing the location where the wights had been.
The magic dragon truly loathed these cold White Walkers.
"Are there any unlucky giants and bears?"
Rhaegar thought.
Rhaegar saw the last wight: an old giant covered in long hair, holding a huge log.
There was also a terrifying snow bear, pale in color, its flesh rotting.
The giant and the snow bear kept moving forward.
Their eyes were like blue stars.
Wights might inherit some memories, but perhaps only a portion; they were unconscious machines of killing and death.
However, there should be exceptions, such as the one the Three-Eyed Crow had, which was half-dead.
"Fire is a release for you!"
Rhaegar flicked his finger, and two spinning azure flames merged into the bodies of the giant and the snow bear.
Then, surging flames erupted, burning everything.
"The danger isn't gone?"
All the wights had been wiped out, but the magic dragon remained tense.
Rhaegar heard a sound in the gloomy forest at the foot of the mountain.
"White Walkers, they have really appeared!"
Rhaegar saw a dead horse appear.
The horse's entire body was wrapped in a layer of white frost, as if it had just been pulled from a cold storage.
Black, dead intestines dangled from the split horse's belly.
On the horse's back was a rider like black ice—a White Walker.
The appearance of the White Walker seemed to bring a kind of ancient cold that made one shiver.
The White Walker charged elegantly with the dead horse in the heavy snow.
The White Walker's movements were as light as snowflakes, its figure as agile and slender as a longsword, its skin as white as milk, and the sounds of its actions were very light.
The White Walker brandished a longsword with a faint, eerie blue light on it.
The White Walker's armor seemed to change color as it moved—sometimes white as new snow, sometimes black as shadow, dotted everywhere with the deep grey-green of the forest.
With every step it took, the patterns on it constantly changed like shimmering moonlight on the water's surface.
"This sword forged from ice is said to be extremely sharp."
Rhaegar looked at the sword the White Walker was brandishing; it was said to be far sharper than any ordinary human's.
It was a translucent sword, the material completely unlike the metal used by humans, looking more like a thin shard of crystal.
If the blade were laid flat, it would be almost impossible to detect.
It shimmered with the moonlight, and there was a faint, eerie blue light around the blade.
The White Walker's sword, like the being itself, seemed very good at hiding.
"Within a hundred paces, this is fast!"
Rhaegar took out his black double-curved dragonbone longbow and bent the bow to shoot from the dragon's back.
Arrows with dragonglass arrowheads flew out, two shots like lightning.
If wights were transformed humans, then the origins of White Walkers were a matter of much debate.
Some people even thought White Walkers were just a normal species; Rhaegar had no interest in researching that now.
Black dragonglass, two dragonglass arrows shot into the throats of the White Walker and the dead horse.
Pale blue blood began to ooze out, and the White Walker went limp, turning into a puddle of liquid a moment later.
All flesh and bone melted away, leaving only the dragonglass arrows, which remained amidst the swirling water vapor.
The magic dragon didn't even get close, just a burst of flames made the water vapor completely evaporate.
"Where do these White Walkers come from?"
White Walkers were minions of the god of cold, and wights were minions of the minions, transformed from creatures killed by the White Walkers.
But fortunately, both had their weaknesses.
White Walkers feared dragonglass, that is, dragon crystal.
Wights feared fire.
In the world, there was a great silence; there were no more of those terrifying White Walkers and wights.
Rhaegar steered the magic dragon to the top of the hill again.
"White Walkers and wights are completely different, but they both have things they fear."
Rhaegar thought that after wights and White Walkers died, it was as if they never existed.
Rhaegar felt that White Walkers were more dangerous.
"Wights are activated by necromantic evil arts and are merely dead flesh.
Steel and fire are enough to deal with them.
White Walkers are far more terrifying.
White Walkers seem to be able to turn invisible, and their weapon strikes also have a kind of noise interference.
I don't know if it's magic or a language inherent to the White Walkers?"
There wasn't much scenery to admire Beyond the Wall; this was the territory of the god of cold.
Rhaegar stood atop the Fist of the First Men, looking at the Wall left behind by the First Men in the gloomy weather.
"Dragonflame!"
Bright fireballs began to explode atop the Fist of the First Men, like an exploding sun, fireworks blooming.
Amidst the sky full of fire, Rhaegar paid attention to every detail of the Wall of the Fist of the First Men, until he truly discovered a secret.
At the base of the Wall in one place, there was an abrupt stone, a very good stone disguise that looked like a part of the Wall; the First Men had built too much, and in reality, it was hiding something.
Rhaegar pried open the abrupt stone of the Wall and discovered those things.
In the already tattered package appeared a dozen small knives, a large number of leaf-shaped spearheads, and countless arrows, all made of dragonglass, treasures against the White Walkers.
The knives had no handles but were still sharp, with keen edges and lines.
Rhaegar found the horn.
Beneath the dragonglass was another ancient horn, made of ox horn, with bronze inlaid on the edges.
Rhaegar was filled with joy, and azure flames began to slowly wash over the horn.
This might be the real horn of winter, not a fake!
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