Finally, the group returned... at David and Raimond's urging, they celebrated their safe return.... Erick found the two men's nervous expressions suspicious... but he shrugged it off.
Smoke rose from the great hall's chimney, carrying the smell of roasting chicken and herbs. The old hall was full of cheer, and people felt more comfortable and connected among the carved stones left by the Warg Kings.
Children ran between the long tables, dodging the adults who were already in good spirits. Brenna and Lysa, the two cooks, argued loudly over the stew pot.
Erick sat in a lumpy chair Raimond had built. He watched the people he'd rescued, who used to be scared and lost, now laughing, eating, and arguing like a real community. The celebration ended at sunset, but the good mood stayed.
By morning, everyone in Weir-Grip had a sense of purpose.
Their first job was to build chicken coops. They brought timber from the forest, cut and shaped it, then hammered it together. Children carried bundles of straw bigger than themselves, dropping some along the way. The chickens watched and clucked loudly, as if judging the work.
Next, they built a barn for the cows. It took a few days, and while it wasn't fancy, it was sturdy and made the cows and bull feel safe.
They had everything they needed, so Erick made soap. But there wasn't yet a special place in the community to use it.
Erick stood in the middle of the clearing, frowning at the ground. The others gathered around, curious about what he would do next.
"We need a bathhouse…"
Everyone agreed. Walking to the river took too long and was uncomfortable.
With everyone pitching in, even the children carrying stones and buckets, the bathhouse went up quickly. Wooden pillars supported a slanted roof, and stones were laid by hand and smoothed to fit together like puzzle pieces. They built two wings… one for men and one for women.
Erick carved special formations into the foundation stones of the pools, making each line precise and each symbol glow softly as he worked. When he activated them, water from underground filled the pools on its own. One formation heated the water, another kept it clear, and another kept it fresh.
Everyone in the settlement gathered outside the new bathhouse.
The air carried the scent of pine and warm stone, a stark contrast to the harsh northern winter beyond the mist barrier.
Steam rose in gentle plumes, and the people of Weir-Grip stood still, amazed.
Having a bathhouse, built in the middle of a ruin and far from anywhere, felt like a miracle.
Whenever the people of Weir-Grip thought they understood Erick, he surprised them again with something new... something impossible, something that made their lives better.
Before anyone went in, Erick stepped forward, holding a bar of pale herbal soap. "Watch carefully."
He rubbed the soap between his hands, making a soft lather. The children gasped as bubbles formed and floated up in the warm air. The adults leaned in, fascinated.
"This is soap. It will help you clean your skin better," Erick explained.
People nodded, whispering to each other in excitement and wonder. None of them had ever used soap before, so they felt both curious and delighted.
The bathhouse had two wings, each with its own changing room. The wooden walls were smooth, the floors were warm from the formation underneath, and the air inside felt like summer.
A tall wooden fence separated the pools. You could hear voices faintly through the boards, but nothing else.
The women entered their side, as soon as they stepped into the pool room… they stopped in surprise, looking around with wide eyes and open mouths, amazed by the bathhouse's unexpected beauty and warmth.
Steam drifted across the water in soft, swirling ribbons. Sunlight came through the windows, catching the mist and turning it golden. The stone floor gave off gentle heat, warming their feet.
Elira was the first to speak. "It looks like something from a noble's castle."
The pool was large, much bigger than the men's side, because there were nearly twice as many women as men in Weir-Grip. The water shimmered with a faint glow from the formations carved underneath.
Mora dipped her hand in, and her eyes widened. "It's warm, but not the same everywhere."
Dalla stepped in beside her and gasped… "The left side is warm, but the right..."
She moved her hand around… and inhaled sharply… "It's hotter! Not burning, just perfect."
The changing temperatures surprised everyone.
Some gasped, others laughed, and soon playful debates started about which side was better.
Noise and chatter spread through the group… some liked the gentle warmth… while others moved to the hotter side… their faces full of delight and comfort.
On the men's side, they reacted the same way... surprised faces, laughter, and lively chatter as they discovered the changing temperatures in the bath.
Raimond stepped into the pool, walked around, and stopped suddenly. "It's magical. The deeper I go, the hotter the water. It's like a hot spring." He had only heard of such things from passing traders.
David splashed water on his arms and blinked in disbelief.
Bran eased himself into the deeper part and let out a long, relieved breath. "In all my years, I've never felt heat like this."
Then came the real surprise. As people washed, suds and dirt floated on the surface for a moment, then disappeared completely.
The water cleared right away, as if the pool itself refused anything dirty.
Gasps came from both sides of the fence as surprise and delight swept over everyone. There were wide-eyed stares, hands covering mouths in wonder, and joyful questions... "Did you see that?" "It just… disappeared!" "The water cleans itself?" "Is this magic?" Soon, their amazement turned into eager, cheerful conversation as people excitedly shared what they had seen.
Erick sat in the pool and nodded, as if he had expected this reaction.
"I added something to purify the water. The pools will always stay clean."
The men stared at him, eyes wide and mouths open, as if Erick had just said he could fly. Their disbelief was clear on their faces.
On the women's side, Lipa rubbed the soap between her palms, watching the foam form. "This thing, a soap... Its smell is refreshing..."
Anna blew into her hands, sending bubbles floating through the warm air.
The bathhouse was full of splashing, laughter, and a soft hum of contentment. Everyone felt a sense of joint joy and belonging as they enjoyed their new comfort.
Later that day, Mora came to Erick. Now that everyone understood how the bathhouse worked, she asked if he could make something similar for washing clothes. Erick was surprised and felt a little silly for not thinking of it himself. Soon, a building just for washing clothes was added to the bathhouse.
It worked like the washing pools, but for clothes. You dropped clothes into a water reservoir, and after a few seconds, all the dirt and grime were gone. Another section sped up drying, so the clothes came out clean and smelling nice.
Erick didn't stop there. He added a similar feature to the main hall kitchens… a reservoir that always had fresh water.
As Weir-Grip grew, Erick became excited about adding more formations and projects to make life easier for everyone, including self-cleaning toilets.
There was still a lot to build, and the people of Weir-Grip worked with a quiet sense of joy.
As days went by, Erick watched them thoughtfully. The settlement was growing stronger and steadier. Everyone was still training, but strength didn't have to mean swords or shields. He had seen enough of the outside world to know how people lived… hungry, sick, untreated, and forgotten.
This world, he thought, needs people who can heal. So he made a decision.
He bought knowledge from both his own world and from Naruto. It cost 180 SP in total, leaving him with 175 SP. Books and scrolls appeared in his inventory as a bundle. There were techniques for treating wounds, easing fevers, preventing infection, stabilizing injuries, using helpful plants, making medicine, and even medical ninjutsu.
Bran was the first person Erick went to, since he was the one in charge of teaching.
"I want to build a future, one where people will know us as healers."
Bran's eyes softened. "A path of healers..." He didn't know anything about healing himself.
But together, they started turning the knowledge into something simple enough for anyone to learn.
They worked late into the evenings… sketching diagrams… writing instructions… and breaking down complicated concepts into clear steps. Erick carved a small formation in the rocks to provide steady light, even when they worked late at night.
After Erick finished reading all the books and scrolls, the knowledge was added to his library. He was ready to build a kind of print house. While exploring his library, he found a feature that could create a book from the material he had.
So, together with Bran, they read and wrote a few books for the new curriculum… anatomy, herbs, medicine, and treatments.
After reading the newly created books, they were added to his library. He spent 10 SP and bought 10,000 pages of paper, adding them to the library. Now he could use this knowledge and make books whenever he wanted.
Erick didn't make anyone attend the new healer class.
But once people found out the knowledge came from Erick, Bran's classes filled up right away. Every seat was taken, every day. Even the children sat in the back, copying the drawings with smudged fingers and whispering excitedly whenever Bran showed something new.
After learning the reason for the healer's class, people started clearing new ground and turning it over with tools.
They planted carefully, following Bran's instructions and Erick's quiet corrections. The first shoots appeared quickly… almost unbelievably fast… under the gentle warmth of the formation. Rows of green spread across the field, and the scent of fresh leaves and earth filled the air whenever the wind blew.
Children ran between the rows with buckets of water… splashing half on themselves and laughing as the warm breeze dried their clothes.
Adults took care of the plants with a seriousness that even surprised them.
More medicines were added to Weir‑Grip's medicine list as the weeks passed. New tonics simmered in clay pots, and jars of remedies lined the shelves of the old stone storeroom that had once been a ruin.
People began to recognize plants and how to use them, turning them into medicine, scents drifting through the settlement... herbs, warm oils, bitter roots, sweet bark. The air itself started to smell like a place where healing happened.
Every month… a wagon rolled out of Weir‑Grip… loaded with remedies and guided by people who had learned from Bran and Erick.
They never took the same road twice.
Sometimes they traveled toward the coast… sometimes to the mountain villages, and sometimes to the lonely hamlets scattered across the North.
They sold, traded, and healed those who needed help.
At the beginning, Erick went with them... his presence meant safety, because of his map, he could dodge any danger on the road.
But as Weir‑Grip's people grew more skilled in healing... and as their bodies strengthened under daily chakra training... Erick began stepping back. He still joined the wagons from time to time, but less often.
Because the longer he lived in this world… the stronger the strange feeling inside him grew... a quiet urgency… a pull toward strength he couldn't fully explain.
It wasn't fear… wasn't ambition… it was something like a murmur within his bones telling him he needed to be ready... for what, he didn't know.
Meanwhile, the healer‑wagons continued without him, and without Erick, they ran into more and more bandits.
But by now, most people were at least a genin by physical standards, which made them like a one-man army. What bandits experienced became a horror story that spread through the North, told by those who survived unpleasant encounters. Nowadays, every time bandits encounter a wagon with a bigger horse, they just run.
There was this one time where Dalla alone kicked out... "I whana be a bandit..." from more than twenty bandits, those that survived... become God-loving abiding citizens of the North in the same instance, while limping away, praying God to be unnoticed.
There were hush talks in the North on the Weir‑Grip's healers… no one knew from where they came exactly… a people who could smile, heal, trade... but in underground circles… same people were known to break your spine while smiling in your face.
----------------
Winterfell had grown quieter over the past half‑year… not in a comforting way.
It was the quiet of unanswered questions… of scouts returning with empty hands… of rumors that refused to die.
Six months. And still no new trace of the masked boy.
Ned Stark had sent men north, south, east, and west, some openly and some quietly, but every report came back the same.
And he could understand that… if the boy could transform into anyone, then finding him would be impossible.
Another thing, that was a thing, was the damned mist.
It clung to Sea Dragon Point like a living thing, thick and pale, refusing to disperse even under strong winds. It unsettled every house bordering the region, but none more than Galbart Glover. He had sent letter after letter, each more anxious than the last, describing strange shifts in the fog and movements that didn't match any natural pattern. His scouts were now ready to resign if sent there again.
Everyone who knew even a sliver of truth agreed on one thing... whatever that mist was, it wasn't natural.
Scouts from every nearby house had entered the mist more than once. They were professionals, but after experiencing whatever was inside, they would do anything to avoid going back.
Ned sat in his solar, a stack of reports spread across his desk. Trade. Roads. Grain. Taxes. The usual burdens of a lord.
But today, something in the numbers caught his eye… the North was recovering from the war far faster than expected.
It was happening too fast, to be exact, and what bothered him most was that the recovery was not even.
The growth followed a pattern… a strange, curved shape on the map, touching the lands of the Glovers, Starks, Tallharts, Dustins, and Ryswells. A region that had once been plagued by bandits and raiders now reported nothing.
It was as if every bandit in that region had simply vanished.
Yet in the lands of the Umbers, Boltons, Karstarks, Flints, Manderlys, and Reeds, bandit activity had increased sharply, as if something had driven them out of their old hunting grounds and scattered them elsewhere.
Ned rubbed his forehead. "What in the seven hells is happening out there?"
He picked up the latest message... this one from Howland Reed. The handwriting was small and neat, the words careful.
Rumors of traveling traders... a wagon that appeared every other month... healers, they called themselves... from a place named Weir‑Grip.
House Reed was a special house with its own traditions... they did not adopt the traditions of other houses, and they did not have a maester from the Citadel.
But by the Reed house healer's words, these people from Weir-Grip had a miraculous medicine unknown anywhere, and the Reed house healer believes that such knowledge does not exist even in the Citadel.
It was a place that did not exist on any map. Ned frowned; he had never heard the name before.
The letter continued… a few moons ago, a caravan from the Reach had visited Greywater Watch. By chance, the so‑called healers of Weir‑Grip were there at the same time. The Weir-Grip traveler had a unique distinction… their big horse, a massive creature larger than any northern breed, caught the eye of a Reachman. The man tried to buy it. When refused, he grew angry.
He drew steel to kill the horse in his anger, but the horse was faster… one kick was enough to send the man flying... the man did not stand back.
Witnesses claimed the beast moved faster than any animal of its size should have. The man was not just kicked… he looked as if a horde of horses had stampeded over him, leaving him crushed.
And the strangest part? The Weir‑Grip people didn't look surprised. One of them even commented, almost casually, that the horse had been too patient with the man.
Ned set the letter down slowly. In all honesty, he was simply tired. His mind had been grinding like a millstone, turning and turning but producing nothing except more questions and no answers.
He let out a long breath, the kind that came from deep in the chest, heavy and worn. Then he stood, shoulders stiff, and stepped out of his solar.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the warmth hit him.
North had just entered summer… the end of the fifth moon brought a sky so blue it looked almost southern, sunlight that warmed the stones of Winterfell until they felt alive beneath the hand.
Ned paused on the walkway… closed his eyes… and let the heat seep into his bones.
For a moment, he allowed himself to simply exist, just himself and the sun's warmth.
"It seems… even you can be overwhelmed."
He opened his eyes.
Catelyn stood a few steps behind him, watching him with that quiet, assessing gaze she had. Auburn hair caught the sunlight, turning it copper‑bright. Her deep blue eyes wore a softness he rarely let himself acknowledge. The dark northern dress she wore was heavier than anything she'd worn in Riverrun, but she carried it with the same grace.
She was still adjusting to the North, and she truly tried her best.
"Some things are happening that are not normal for the North," Ned said, voice subdued. "And I'm out of ideas."
Catelyn stepped closer, her expression thoughtful. She was a woman of duty, shaped by expectation and responsibility. When they first married, he had felt nothing for her, only the weight of obligation. But after she gave him Robb, something in him shifted. Not love, but a quiet appreciation... a kind of respect.
But there were things he hid from her, things that kept him awake long after she slept peacefully beside him.
"Maybe you just need to sit down and relax," she said tenderly, tilting her head.
"Yes… Maybe rest is what I need."
But even after two years of marriage, he struggled to find common ground with her. Words came easily when speaking to his men, his children, or even Maester Luwin, but with Catelyn, conversation felt like walking across thin ice.
She sensed it too. He could see it in the way her eyes lingered on him, searching for something he wasn't giving.
But she didn't press. She never pushed.
Instead, she bowed her head slightly… a gesture of respect and distance… and continued her walk. Days like this were rare in the North, and she cherished the sun. He watched her go, her steps light, her hair catching the breeze.
A complicated knot of emotions tightened in his throat.
He wanted to be more open, to share the weight he carried and tell her everything, but that wasn't who he was.
So he sighed again, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and turned his gaze outward.
Winterfell in summer was a rare thing… a brief season when the ancient fortress felt almost welcoming.
Almost.