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The snow fell slow and silent over Castle Black, blanketing the stone in white and muting the sounds of men. Fires burned in the courtyards, casting long shadows on the walls as the night pressed in.
Jon Snow stood atop the battlements, his black cloak fluttering in the wind. Below, the last of the rangers were being seen to horses unsaddled, wounds wrapped, minds still catching up to what they had witnessed beyond the Wall. And all around, brothers of the Night's Watch watched with unease, speaking in hushed tones.
Jon's expression was firm, unreadable. The cold didn't bother him hadn't for a long time by now.
He turned toward the gathering crowd near the stables, where a handful of new recruits, clad in fresh black leathers and too much pride, were arguing amongst themselves.
"This is madness," one of them muttered, a boy barely past sixteen. "We're just to stay here while something like that walks in the woods? We should be out there helping!"
"Aye," another chimed in. "We've blades, and hands to wield 'em. What good are we sittin' on our arses like cowards?"
Jon walked down from the rampart stairs, boots crunching softly in the snow. Ghost padded beside him in silence, a white wraith among the black-clad men.
"Enough," Jon said, his voice not raised, but cutting through the night all the same.
The recruits fell quiet, straightening under his gaze.
"No one rides beyond the Wall," Jon continued. "I'm sending to every ranger still north. They are to return. No exceptions."
"But, Lord Snow," one boy dared again, "if we leave that man out there alone—"
"He chose it," came a voice from behind.
It was a grizzled ranger who'd survived the encounter. He stepped forward, his face still pale, but his voice held iron.
"You didn't see what we saw, boy. He don't need our help. Truth be told, if we'd gone down there, we'd be corpses by now. Just… stay out of his way."
The older brothers nodded in grim agreement. The young ones held their tongues.
Jon looked over them all, dark eyes lingering.
"Let him do his work," he said finally. "You don't know him like the rest of us do, he's not out there by mistake."
Just then, the gates groaned open again. Horses clattered through, led by men clad not in black, but the colors of the North. Stark men. Robb Stark rode at their head, his red hair glinting beneath his wolf-shaped helm, a half-smile playing at his lips as he dismounted his horse.
"Jon," he called as he approached, his boots leaving crisp tracks in the snow. "I received your letter and rode here as fast as I can from the Last Hearth. Smoke and shadows, and screaming trees. Please tell me it's not him."
Jon met his brother's eyes. "Aye. It's him."
Robb let out a breath, half-laughing. "Seven hells. And he didn't even bother to stop in first?"
Jon gave a half-smirk. "No. He didn't even drop here first. Straight beyond the Wall. He's out there now. Probably still fighting… something."
"Something?" Robb raised a brow. "I've got an army ready, Jon. Yours and mine. The Free Folk are here too, standing shoulder to shoulder with crows and Stark men alike, and we're all waiting for the signal to march. And instead, our king's off having a brawl with the dead filth on his own?"
Jon turned slightly, gazing north. The woods were dark and endless.
"It seems," he said slowly, "that to him… we're the last line of defense."
Robb chuckled, rubbing his gloved hands together. "And for some reason, I'm taking no offense from that. Gods help me… I admire the lad."
Jon looked over. "Aye."
"A king that fights his own battles," Robb said, nodding, his tone softening with quiet pride.
But then he added, "Not even his battles. He's out there fighting the filth we fear to name, when he could just as easily leave Westeros behind. He's got no house. No blood. Nothing tying him here. And still, he rides into death like it's a duty he was born to."
Jon didn't answer right away.
His gaze dropped to the snow. The truth of Robb's words settled heavy in the space between them.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low, distant, as if the cold itself stirred his memories.
"Well, brother… some men fight for crowns. Some for gold. Some for names carved in stone." His eyes lifted again. "And then there's men like him. Like me. Who've had to fight for everything. For a place. A reason. A name."
He looked to Robb now, his expression somber, but sure.
"Men like that… don't stop fighting. Not when it matters."
Robb said nothing at first, just nodded slowly.
Then, he reached out, clasped Jon's shoulder.
"No wonder the Old Gods kept their eyes on you," Robb said. "Here you stand Brother, not by birth, not by favor, but by merit. Lord Commander. A title you carved out with your own hands."
Jon didn't meet his gaze right away. The words lingered in the air, heavy like the current falling snow.
"There's something I need to tell you," Jon said at last.
Robb raised a brow. "What is it?"
Jon's eyes drifted northward again, beyond the Wall, to the place where shadows danced and the wind carried screams like distant thunder.
"When this is over…" he said, voice steady but low, "I'm leaving the Wall."
Robb blinked, caught off guard by the quiet finality of it.
Jon looked back at him, expression unreadable.
"I've given all I can to this place," he said. "But my oath ends when this war does. I'll not stay when the dead are gone."
****
SKIES OF THE TRUE NORTH -
High above the snowy wastes, Aeron Grim rode the Cannibal etched against the storm-choked sky. The great shadow dragon's wings beat like thunder, scattering clouds and snow alike. from its maw, coils of black smoke trailed.
Up here, where the air was thinner than a whisper, Aeron sat still in the dragon's back of shadow scales, violet eyes lit with an unholy fire. His black cloak billowed violently behind him, snapping in the frozen gale. He paid no mind to the cold it no longer touched him. Not truly.
A dull hum echoed in his mind. The System.
A translucent blue interface hovered before his vision, pulsing faintly with ethereal energy as his eyes scanned the new information. Words etched themselves like scripture across the void.
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
[Red God's Wrath]
Effect: Unleashes a forward wave of holy fire that ignites anything in its path.
Very effective against the Undead and creatures of the dark.
Aeron's brows lowered slightly, violet light flickering brighter in his irises.
"Holy fire," he muttered, the corners of his mouth curling in a faint, thoughtful grin. "The undead are clearly not ready for this.. Not like I needed this anyways..."
Another blink. The second skill faded into focus.
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
[Spirit Dive]
Effect: Project your mind into a beast or any living being.
While diving, your real body remains immobile but senses everything the host sees.
He exhaled slowly in recognition.
"Warging," he murmured. "But on my terms, nice."
It was a power not unlike the old ways the gift of skinchangers, of greenseers and beasts beyond men. But this was more. Controlled and refined. A weapon.
The Cannibal let out a thunderous roar beneath him, as though sensing his rising intent. It soared higher into the roiling grey above, ice crystals scattering from its massive wings.
Aeron dismissed the skills page and the powers he gained from the battle with the Apostles with a blink, and a second screen replaced it, his status bar.
[AERON GRIM]
Job: Necromancer
Title: Kingslayer (+5 Strength, +5 Agility, +5 Sense)
All-Knowing(Instantly understand new concepts, +50% learning speed, Automatically identify items, creatures, and magic.)
Level: 80 → 90
Fatigue: 20
HP: 7300
MP: 7000
Strength: 153 → 183 (+5)
Health: 140 → 150
Agility: 140 → 150 (+5)
Intelligence: 140 → 150
Sense: 130 → 150 (+5)
Available Ability Points: 30 → 0
Passive Skill:
– Tenacity (Level 1)
Skills:
– Ruler's Authority
– Perception(+10 to Sense when analyzing or strategizing)
– Bloodlust
– Mutilation
– Chains of the Abyss
– Spirit Dive'new'
– Red God's Wrath'new'
Job-Specific Skills:
– Shadow Extraction (Level 1)
– Shadow Exchange (Level 1)
– Monarch's Domain
– ??? (Unawakened Skill)
Inventory:
– Drakaryzor
– Direfang Sword
– Silverfangs
– Abyss Drake Armor Set
– Mask of the Forgotten Faces
– Ashen Scales
– The Cannibal's Crown
– Gauntlet of the Seven
"That's some power indeed," he muttered, violet glow rising within his gaze "This is good enough and they'll serve me well… for what's coming."
The dragon roared again, louder this time. It wasn't a beast's call. It was an oath. A challenge. The sky itself trembled as the Dragon picked up pace.
/-\
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