The Wall. Castle Black.
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont stood atop the Wall, his deeply lined face ruddy from the biting wind.
Frost clung to his snowy beard as his gaze pierced the endless white plains, looking toward the far north.
Ever since Lynn had taken the wildlings south, the Wall had seen a long-absent peace.
Without wildling raids, the abandoned fortresses stretching from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to the Shadow Tower seemed a little less ruinous.
Everything seemed so tranquil.
Yet, Jeor's heart remained suspended in anxiety.
Winter is Coming.
Those words pressed on his heart like an iceberg.
Suddenly.
Wooooo—Wooooo—Wooooo—
A desolate horn blast, ancient and seemingly unearthly, rolled in from the far northern horizon.
The sound cut through the blizzard, traversing thousands of miles of frozen earth, ringing clearly in the ears of every Night's Watchman.
It wasn't loud, but it seemed to resonate directly in the depths of one's soul.
The brothers on the Wall stopped their work, looking north in bewilderment and fear.
"A horn?"
A young ranger asked uncertainly.
"Doesn't sound like one of ours," the veteran beside him shook his head, his face full of confusion. "That sound... it's too damn eerie."
Jeor Mormont's face darkened.
"What is that sound?"
Jeor murmured to himself.
He had never heard such a strange horn.
However, the moment his words fell, the ice wall beneath his feet—solid for eight thousand years—let out its first groan of agony.
Crack—
A subtle, crisp sound, enough to make everyone's scalp tingle.
Then came a second, a third...
Like a plague, countless spiderweb cracks spread madly outward from the deep ice of the Wall!
"Seven Gods above! The Wall... the Wall is cracking!"
A brother pointed at the widening fissure beneath his feet, screaming in terror.
Panic exploded instantly!
Castle Black descended into chaos.
Men screamed and shoved, trying to flee the massive ice wall that seemed on the verge of collapse.
"Hold! Hold your ground!"
Jeor drew his Longclaw, his voice thundering.
"We are the Night's Watch! The sword in the darkness! The Wall is our life!"
However, his roar seemed pale and powerless against the grinding creak of the Wall, which sounded like the wail of a dying beast.
Chunks of ice the size of houses began to peel off the face of the Wall, crashing into the courtyard below with thunderous booms.
Ice shards flew like shrapnel; dust clouds soared into the sky.
The ancient horn had fallen silent, but the consequences were just beginning.
Jeor Mormont gripped the parapet.
Looking at the massive fissure that stretched from Eastwatch all the way to the Shadow Tower, piercing the entire length of the Wall, and feeling the ancient magic within the ice rapidly draining away...
He knew. It was over.
The shield of Westeros was broken.
Though the Wall still stood in form, it had lost its purpose.
---
Beyond the Wall. The Lands of Always Winter.
This was a forbidden zone for life, a white desert where even time seemed frozen.
Upon a throne constructed of pure glacial ice, a figure sat in silence.
He wore a crown of ice crystals and armor condensed from frost and snow.
His deep blue eyes seemed to contain the absolute zero of the universe's birth.
The Night King.
The moment the Horn of Winter sounded, those eternal, unchanging eyes flickered for the first time.
He felt it.
The magical shackles that had bound him for nearly ten thousand years were dissolving from their foundation.
He looked up, his gaze seeming to pierce through time and space, seeing the distant south, seeing the man who blew the horn.
He knew that Lynn must have known the consequences of blowing the Horn of Winter.
Yet Lynn blew it anyway.
This meant Lynn was even smarter than he had imagined.
He seemed to have discovered who the true enemy was.
The Night King's previous gestures of goodwill toward Lynn had not been in vain.
Thinking of this, the Night King slowly rose from the Frozen Throne.
The breaking of the magic didn't just benefit him; it also benefited that damned Three-Eyed Raven!
Thinking of how the Three-Eyed Raven had sealed his own soul into the Night King's body, condemning him to thousands of years of cold solitude, a flicker of rage appeared in the Night King's eyes.
He didn't roar like the wights under his command. His movements were elegant, filled with an indescribable majesty.
Several wights, ragged and with blue flames burning in their eyes, stepped out of the shadows and knelt respectfully before him.
The Night King extended a pale finger, pointing to one that looked the most intact.
It had once been a wildling, killed on patrol and turned.
The Night King's finger gently touched the wight's forehead.
A stream of visible deep blue energy poured into the wight.
The blue fire in the wight's eyes flared, then quickly receded, becoming like a deep starry sky—no longer pure slaughter and hunger, but possessing a trace of... intelligence.
Then, the Night King turned and walked behind the throne.
There grew a tree, petrified long ago yet still emitting a faint vitality—a tree blessed by the Great Other.
He snapped off the thickest branch.
The branch seemed alive. From the break, sap flowed red as blood.
The Night King handed this branch to the wight he had "blessed."
Then, he grabbed at the empty air.
A sheet of black ice, thin as a cicada's wing but hard as steel, appeared in his palm.
With another finger, using ice as paper and cold as ink, he carved lines of twisted, powerful script onto it.
Finished, he carefully rolled the black ice letter, tied it with a thin cord of ice, and handed it to another wight.
Having done all this, he waved his hand.
The two chosen wights, as if receiving a supreme command, turned and silently walked south.
Their mission was not slaughter, but... delivering a letter.
The Night King watched their figures disappear into the blizzard, then turned around.
He did not return to his throne.
Instead, he stepped forward, walking in a different direction.
The direction leading to the Three-Eyed Raven's lair.
When Lynn went to the Fist of the First Men, the Night King had learned the exact location of the Three-Eyed Raven.
It had to be said, Lynn had done him a great favor.
Now that Lynn had opened the cage...
It was time for him to personally pay a visit to this Three-Eyed Raven who hid behind the scenes, thinking he could manipulate everything.
He was going to wipe that noisy bird, and its nest, from the face of this world!
---
The Weirwood Cave.
"Haha... Hahahaha!"
A burst of old, maniacal laughter echoed through the maze of tangled roots.
Fused with countless roots, "Brynden Rivers"—the Three-Eyed Raven—had a singular eye bursting with unprecedented ecstasy.
He felt it!
The Horn of Winter!
The weakening of the Wall's magic!
He had waited hundreds of years, plotted for hundreds of years, all for this moment!
His plan had succeeded!
The pawn he had chosen did not disappoint him!
He was actually foolish enough to blow the Horn of Winter!
The Wall's magic stopped the Night King from going south, but it also stopped him.
To survive, he had been forced to merge with the Weirwood.
Once the Wall's magic was completely gone, and he found a new vessel, he could finally break free from this damned tree.
His body and consciousness would no longer be confined to this small cave but could spread like an invisible net over all of Westeros!
Then, he would become a true god!
No longer working through weak, pitiful ravens.
He would guide the course of history, correct the "errors," and make the world develop as he desired!
"Fast! Faster!"
"Go see what happened!"
The Three-Eyed Raven pushed his power.
A massive flock of ravens flew out of the cave, blotting out the sky, heading south.
However, just as his consciousness was about to cross the Wall with the flock...
A chill strong enough to freeze the soul, like an invisible wall, instantly enveloped the entire cave!
BOOM!
Brynden Rivers' consciousness slammed into an unseen mountain and was viciously bounced back!
The ecstatic expression on his withered face froze instantly, replaced by utter shock and rage.
"NO!!"
He let out an unwilling roar.
He "saw" it.
Just outside the cave, the being he feared most, the only one who could rival him, was standing there quietly.
The Night King!
Why was he here?!
How did he know I was here?
When was I exposed?
Shouldn't he be gathering his army to march south while the Wall's magic is weak?!
I gave him extraordinary power; we could have cooperated!
Why won't he let me go!
The Three-Eyed Raven desperately battered against the ice barrier.
But all his greenseer power seemed insignificant before the Night King's pure, absolute death and cold.
He was like a bird in a cage, watching the "boy with a slingshot" outside, smiling mockingly.
The Night King didn't attack.
He just stood there.
With an absolute blockade, he suppressed all of the Three-Eyed Raven's senses and power within this small cave.
The Night King could sense that the magic inside the cave hadn't completely vanished.
But he could wait!
Magic would fail eventually!
He wanted this self-righteous raven to watch with his own eyes as his chessboard spiraled out of control.
He wanted him to slowly wither and rot in endless anger and despair.
And when the magic faded, he would personally take the Three-Eyed Raven's head!
"NOOO—!!"
The Three-Eyed Raven let out the most angry and helpless roar of his life.
He had planned everything, calculated everything.
Except this.
His greatest enemy knew his exact location, gave up the perfect timing to march south, and instead chose to play "block the door" here.
This madman!
Damn madman!
No, I still have a chance!
As long as that fool Lynn finds me a new body, the ravens I left in the outside world can still seize it, and I can be free!
His appetite was growing; immortality was no longer enough.
He wanted the Iron Throne.
He wanted to experience the feeling of ruling over everyone!
---
Castle Black, Beneath the Wall.
Jeor Mormont led a squad of his best rangers, guarding the massive gate as if facing a great enemy.
The shaking of the Wall had stopped, but the crack running through it was like a hideous scar, reminding them that the end was near.
What terrified them even more were the uninvited guests on the snowfield.
Five ragged figures walked slowly out of the blizzard.
They walked slowly, but steadily.
As they got closer, every Night's Watchman sucked in a breath of cold air.
Wights!
And White Walkers!
Monsters from legend, turned from the dead!
"Archers, ready!"
Jeor's hand was on his hilt.
The arrows were tipped with dragonglass, effective against both wights and White Walkers!
However, the wights didn't charge madly.
At a hundred meters from the gate, they suddenly stopped.
The White Walker in the lead slowly raised what it was holding.
It was a branch still dripping with red sap.
Behind it, another wight held up a letter high.
A letter made of crystal-clear ice.
They just stood there silently, making no sound, showing no intent to attack.
As if... waiting.
The Watchmen on the Wall were baffled.
What was this?
A gift?
Or a provocation?
"Lord Commander," a ranger asked, his voice trembling. "What... what do we do now?"
Jeor Mormont stared intently at the ice scroll.
By the torchlight, he could faintly see a line of large text written in runes he had never seen before on the scroll's surface.
It wasn't the Common Tongue.
But somehow, he understood the meaning of the words.
It was a name.
A name that made Jeor Mormont's heart skip a beat.
"To the King-Beyond-the-Wall."
"Lynn."