Beyond the Wall. The Haunted Forest. Underground Ruins.
RUMBLE...
As the central monolith shattered, the entire cavern shuddered. The ground groaned under the weight of shifting energies, and the scouting party struggled to keep their footing in the dark.
"Sam! I don't care which god you're talking to, but tell him to hurry up!" Addison Tollett yelled over the grinding stone. "If we don't leave now, we're going to be buried in this gods-forsaken hole!"
Jon stood motionless, his mind reeling from the System's cryptic alerts. To Edd, he looked like he was daydreaming in a collapsing cave, but the vibration soon tapered off. Though the physical shaking stopped, a ripple of unseen energy radiated outward from the ruins, pulsing through the Haunted Forest like a stone dropped into a frozen pond.
Miles away, in a decimated wildling village, a creature of ice and bone suddenly snapped its head toward the south. Its skin was the color of a pale moon, stretched tight over a skeletal frame, and its eyes burned with a lethal, blue luminescence.
Behind it stood a legion of wights—freshly turned wildling men, women, and children. They stood like macabre statues, frost already forming on their open wounds.
CRACK...
With a sound like grinding glaciers, the Other let out a high, thin shriek. The wights twitched to life. The blue sparks in their sockets flared into miniature infernos. The creature vaulted onto a horse that was little more than a skeletal husk and pointed its ice-spear toward the ruins. The hunt was on.
"Why... why did they stop?" a surviving wildling woman whispered from the shadows of a hut, watching the monsters depart.
"Move," an old crone rasped, clutching the woman's arm. "We head for Mother Mole at Hardhome. The Old Gods have abandoned us; we pray the shadows are deep enough to hide in."
"Finally... I'm out."
At the base of the dead Weirwood, a mud-caked figure crawled from the hollowed maw. Jon wiped a handful of snow across his face, followed by the rest of the soot-stained party and their Mo Sha Hounds.
"Can we go now, Sam?" Edd asked, ringing out his wet cloak. "The mud in there was up to my shins. I look like a swamp-mucker from the Neck."
"I'm afraid our friends have already arrived," Jon said, his hand sliding to the hilt of Longclaw.
GRRRRR...
The Mo Sha Hounds fanned out, their hackles bristling as they let out low, aggressive snarls.
SHRRR... SNAP!
Five massive shapes burst from the black-briars. They moved with a terrifying, skittering speed.
[Descent Entity: Ice Spider. Level 3. Alignment: God of Cold. Items: None.]
The creatures were the size of small horses, their bodies translucent like polished crystal. Their multifaceted blue eyes glowed with the same ghostly fire as the wights, and their serrated legs clicked against the frozen earth.
"By the Mother..." Pyp breathed, his sword trembling.
The Mo Sha Hounds didn't hesitate. They lunged, their blood-magic-infused jaws snapping at the spiders' crystalline joints. The spiders struck back with legs like glass spears, leaving deep gouges in the frozen dirt.
Jon stepped into the fray. He swung Longclaw in a wide, shimmering arc. The Valyrian steel, forged in dragonfire and spells, was the natural enemy of the frost. It bit into the lead spider's thorax, the heat of the blade shattering the crystalline hide.
HISS—!
The spider shrieked as a viscous, white ichor sprayed from the wound. Jon twisted the blade, and the creature collapsed into a heap of melting slush.
"They aren't immortal!" Pyp shouted, his courage returning as he saw the monster fall. He moved to join the fight, but a Mo Sha Hound blocked his path with a warning growl.
"Stay back!" Jon yelled, parrying a crystalline leg. "Your steel will shatter against their hides. I'll provide you with better weapons soon."
In a flurry of silver and gold, Jon systematically dismantled the remaining spiders. Each kill yielded a surge of Soul Energy. By the time the last spider had melted into a puddle of foul-smelling slime, Jon's "bank" had increased by nearly 10,000 points.
He turned to his brothers—Grenn, Pyp, Edd, and Todder. They were staring at him with a mix of awe and terror.
"My brothers," Jon said, his voice carrying a weight that felt older than the Wall. "We have broken their altar, but the Great Cold is coming. The Gods have granted me a gift—a way to change you. To make you strong enough to survive what's coming."
"Gulp."
The sound was audible in the quiet forest.
"Sam... you aren't joking, are you?" Edd asked.
"Do we have to pray to a new god?" Grenn added, his voice small.
"Can I be as strong as you?" Pyp's eyes were filled with a raw, desperate ambition.
Todder, ever the cynic, narrowed his eyes. "What's the price, Sam? Nothing in this world is free."