Wooooo… Wooooo….
The horn blew. Then it blew again.
One blast meant a ranger was returning. Two meant wildlings.
But today, it hadn't stopped, why?
It had been thousands of years since the Night's Watch last sounded three blasts. So long, in fact, that many of the black-clad rangers had forgotten what it meant.
But not Rynar.
As the third blast, longer, deeper, and more piercing than the first two, howled through the frigid air atop the Wall, burrowing into his ears and pounding against his eardrums, Rynar just so happened to be on duty.
Trembling, he gripped the icy parapet and peered down from the northern edge.
What he saw made his soul flee his body. It was a horror he'd never imagined in his life.
Rynar jolted awake, his back drenched in sweat.
That nightmare, an invasion of White Walkers, had plagued him for ages, from the moment he first joined the Night's Watch as a recruit until now, as a full-fledged ranger.
Fearing a legend from thousands of years ago should have been laughable. But unlike those around him, he knew much of what was written about the White Walkers... was true.
Rynar was a transmigrator.
An outsider who had crossed into this vibrant world of magic, not to build a harem or fight for power, but to end up in the most godforsaken corner of it: the Wall.
He had sworn the vows, to take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. To be the sword in the darkness, the shield that guards the realms of men.
What a noble spirit. What cross-dimensional devotion.
But the truth was…
He hadn't chosen the black cloak of his own free will.
It had all started a year ago. And in truth, Rynar wasn't even his real name.
He'd once been an ordinary university graduate in another world.
After college, he got a job in quality inspection at one of the large enterprises, one of those "somewhat technical and vaguely related to his major" gigs.
It wasn't thrilling, but the salary was enough to support a simple, stable life.
Then one day, he woke up freezing, still in his pajamas, lying in the middle of a desolate wilderness.
Disoriented and lost, he wandered for half a day before stumbling across a small village, only to find that everyone was different.
Desperate with hunger and cold, he stole some potatoes and clothes. He even considered stealing a few eggs from someone's chicken coop.
But he got caught red-handed. Hauled before the local magistrate.
Petty theft like that wouldn't have been a big deal under modern law, it was practically textbook "emergency self-help."
But communication had failed.
The village official, who looked more like a farmer than an administrator, tired of trying to understand him, placed two items before Rynar: a cleaver and a black cloak.
The message was clear: choose one.
Lose a hand... or join the Night's Watch.
Not quite ready to be maimed on his first day in a new world, Rynar was promptly shipped off to Castle Black as a criminal recruit.
And the name "Rynar"? It was a placeholder nickname from the man who'd caught him, and it stuck.
He still remembered the moment the Wall first appeared on the horizon. It took his breath away.
Towering 700 feet high with no slope in sight, the man-made structure looked even more massive than any mountain he'd seen back in his own world.
That sheer presence had told him everything.
He had landed in A Song of Ice and Fire.
Or perhaps more specifically, in the Game of Thrones universe.
Which one exactly? He didn't have enough information to tell yet, he'd been confined to the Wall like a prisoner.
"You're up?" said Gary, the grizzled man who shared his quarters.
Gary was already by the window, packing his gear. He glanced over at Rynar.
"Then get moving. Better to prepare early than realize you forgot something at the last minute."
An old hand in the Watch, Gary had joined as a boy after losing his parents. He'd served nearly forty years and was one of the rare few who could truthfully say, "The Watch is my home."
He could be annoying with his constant veteran posturing, but he'd taken care of Rynar in small ways when he first arrived, Rynar had learned not to ignore him.
Sighing, Rynar rolled out of bed, peeling back the damp covers, and began dressing slowly.
As a modern young man with a college education, Rynar had strong adaptability and a quick learning curve. One year was more than enough to get used to this world.
After a quick breakfast with Gary, they joined two other rangers for patrol. The four mounted up at the stables and rode to the tunnel through the Wall.
Clack..clack…clack…
With groaning gears and taut ropes, the iron gate lifted slowly, revealing the pitch-black tunnel beyond.
Ser Waymar Royce, upright, silent, nudged his horse forward and led the way inside.
The tunnel was always dark and cold. Only the sound of wind stirred the air.
They passed three iron gates by torchlight. As the last barrier rose, the world opened up.
Behind them lay Castle Black, the Night's Watch's headquarters, resource center, and de facto tutorial zone.
Ahead of them was the wild, untamed land beyond the Wall.
They were heading north to investigate recent signs of wildling activity near the Wall's edge.
Before them loomed the Haunted Forest.
To prevent ambushes, the Night's Watch routinely sent men to clear trees within half a mile of the Wall.
But with the Watch dwindling, only three castles remained manned, and even they struggled to maintain the forest buffer. The once-broad clearing had shrunk with each passing year.
Rynar glanced back at the Wall. The ice was "weeping", a good sign. That meant temperatures hovered near freezing.
As long as the weather didn't turn, they wouldn't freeze out there overnight.
Their horses picked their way forward. The four riders crossed the thinning buffer and approached the forest.
Untouched by axes, the Haunted Forest stretched all the way to the Lands of Always Winter.
It was the second-largest forest on the continent.
Though Rynar had patrolled several times, each step into the woods still made his scalp crawl.
A chill always crept down his spine.
The current year was 297 AC.
Jon Arryn was still alive.
Eddard Stark was at Winterfell, preaching "Winter is Coming" while enjoying the warmth of his family.
Robert Baratheon still sat the Iron Throne, drinking himself into ruin and fathering bastards across the realm.
Daenerys was a frightened girl across the Narrow Sea, living as a guest in exile.
And the White Walkers had only just begun to stir, preying on small wildling groups and raising their army of the dead.
The story that show fans and book readers knew hadn't yet begun.
In truth, landing in Westeros at a peaceful time, with summer not yet over, wasn't the worst luck.
The real problem was that Rynar had, inexplicably, become a ranger of the Night's Watch.
That meant not only was he stuck at the edge of the world, but he had to regularly head north of the Wall, right into the White Walkers' backyard.
All member of the Watch were trained to fight.
But only rangers were tasked with venturing beyond the Wall.
Rynar's biggest frustration?
He didn't even choose to be a ranger.
During his months of training at Castle Black, he'd tried everything, used his logical mind and broad knowledge base to stand out, hoping to attract the attention of Lord Commander Mormont or Maester Aemon.
He'd have settled for being a steward or even a castle clerk.
But all that effort came to nothing.
After a few... unfortunate choices, he'd ended up under Benjen Stark.
A ranger. The elite among the elite.
Exactly what he didn't want.
Not because anyone had it out for him. In fact, many others would've killed for the post.
Rangers might head into danger, but the summer chill was mild, and their missions were mostly reconnaissance.
With manpower shrinking, commanders increasingly prioritized survival over heroics.
Ironically, more rangers survived than craftsmen or stewards, who often died from accidents or cold.
But winter was coming.
The White Walkers were awake.
The King Beyond the Wall was gathering all the wildlings for an invasion.
Scattered patrols had already suffered casualties. Rynar knew the good days were over.
After a brief period of bitterness, he came to terms with it.
He wasn't some prized student anymore. He didn't have Benjen Stark's name or Jon Snow's noble blood.
It didn't matter that he understood astronomy, chemistry, or physics.
To the officers of the Night's Watch, he was just a thief, nothing more than a tall, healthy young man with decent sword skills.
Of course he'd been assigned to the rangers.
No one cared what he wanted.
And if he disappeared north of the Wall, they certainly wouldn't send out search parties like they would for Waymar Royce or Benjen Stark.
He was just another nameless member.
And in the war to come, barely trained in swordsmanship and riding, he'd likely be cannon fodder.
If he didn't want to die in this frozen hell..
He needed to change his fate.