The barrow-hills were not marked on most maps. Older than Winterfell, they were whispered of in the oldest stories, places where the snow never truly melted and the wind howled with more than just cold.
Cregan left before first light, alone but for Ghostclaw padding beside his horse. He wore furs blackened with ashwood dye and carried with him the old iron blade from the Stark armory—not Valyrian steel, but true and well-honed.
No banners. No companions. The journey east was not meant to be witnessed.
The forest thickened as he rode. Pines leaned close, branches clawing at him like the fingers of forgotten kings. Snow fell steadily, but it was the quiet that unnerved him—too deep, too deliberate.
Hours passed.
Then he saw it.
A clearing, circular and silent. In its center, a lake frozen smooth as obsidian. No tracks marred its surface. No bird dared fly above.
Ghostclaw whined.
Cregan dismounted and stepped to the lake's edge. The ice pulsed faintly beneath his boots, warm despite the cold. He reached into his cloak and pulled free the pine needle. As if summoned, the wind stilled.
[Simulation Ready]
Step onto the ice.
Wait and observe from the edge.
Draw your blade and mark the ice with ancestral runes.
He chose the third.
[Simulation Running...]
You kneel, blade in hand, and carve the sigil of House Stark—a direwolf howling at the moon—into the surface.
The ice groans. Cracks radiate outward. You do not move.
From beneath, a shape stirs. A shadow in the ice. Four legs. A broad snout. Eyes that glow faint blue.
The ice shatters.
From the depths rises a beast of stone and frost, a wolf larger than any natural creature. Upon its back is the sword, clenched in its stony jaws.
You do not flee.
The creature steps onto the surface, water and mist steaming from its body.
"Speak the name," it rumbles—not in sound, but inside your bones.
[Simulation Paused]
Enter Name:
Cregan Snow.
[Simulation Resumed]
The wolf bows. The sword drops into the ice, blade-first. The vision fades, but something follows you back.
[Simulation Complete]
Item Gained: Frostfang – A sword forged in the Age of Snow. Not Valyrian, but holds enchantments of ice and memory. Glows faintly in moonlight.
New Trait: Warden of the Forgotten – Ancient spirits of the North recognize you. You may speak to certain beasts and echoes bound to place.
Accept Outcome? "Accept."
He gasped and blinked. The clearing was silent again.
And there, half-buried in the broken ice before him, was the sword.
He stepped forward and claimed it. It hummed faintly in his grip.
The North remembered.
And now, so did he.