Winterfell's courtyard was a graveyard of ghosts and whispers.
The moment Arion crossed the threshold, the air thickened, pressing against his skin like a living thing. The castle's ancient stones hummed with a sound just below hearing—a dirge of forgotten kings and buried wars. The System's diagnostics flickered erratically:
TEMPORAL ANOMALY DETECTED
*Localized Time Dilation: 1 hour inside = 5 minutes outside.*
Guards moved in slow motion, their voices dragging like syrup. A serving girl dropped a tray of bread—it seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before shattering on the frozen cobbles.
Marwyn gripped Arion's shoulder, his breath fogging in the unnatural chill. "Bran's warping reality. He's buying time."
PERCEPTION CHECK (WIS 7/10):
Winterfell's heart tree is the epicenter. The distortion radiates from there.
They found Bran Stark in the godswood.
The boy who should have been a child sat beneath the bone-white weirwood, his legs withered, his eyes wrong. Too blue. Too deep. Too old.
CHARACTER ANALYZED: BRAN STARK / THE THREE-EYED RAVEN
LEVEL: ??? (BEYOND SYSTEM PARAMETERS)
STATUS: Fracturing
"You've come to break the sword," Bran said, his voice layered with echoes. "But it's too late for that."
Arion's opal arm throbbed, the crystalline flesh now creeping across his chest. Assimilation: 28%. He unsheathed Dark Sister, its Valyrian steel glowing faintly in the gloom. "Then what do I do?"
Bran's milky eyes saw everything and nothing. "You choose."
The world ripped.
VISION: THE TOWER OF JOY
Arion stood in the red mountains of Dorne, the air thick with the scent of blood and roses. At the tower's base, three kingsguard lay dead—their bodies fresh, their cloaks still fluttering in the wind.
A scream echoed from above.
He climbed the stairs, Dark Sister in hand. The chamber at the top was awash in gore. A young Ned Stark cradled a dying woman—Lyanna. Her fingers clutched a bundle to her chest.
"Promise me, Ned."
The bundle stirred. A baby's face peeked out—silver-haired, violet-eyed.
Jon Snow.
The scene twisted.
VISION: THE LONG NIGHT
A frozen plain. A horned shadow standing atop a mound of corpses, its crown of black ice weeping darkness. At its feet knelt a silver-haired figure—Jon, his eyes empty, his hands clutching Dawnbreaker.
"The third head," the shadow crooned. "At last."
VISION: THE CHOICE
Arion stood in a void between stars. Before him floated two paths:
Shatter the Sword: Break Dawnbreaker, severing the Herald's link to this world—but the corruption in Arion's body would run wild, turning him into a mindless wraith.
Become the Vessel: Surrender to assimilation. Wield Dawnbreaker against the Herald in a battle of wills—with the fate of the world hanging in the balance.
Bran's voice echoed through the darkness: "You've been the key all along."
The vision shattered.
Arion gasped, back in the godswood, his knees buried in snow. Marwyn and Thoros stood over him, their faces grim. Bran watched, unblinking.
"Well?" Thoros demanded. "What did you see?"
Arion's voice was raw. "The end of everything."
QUEST UPDATED: THE WOLF AND THE SWORD
Final Choice Imminent: Shatter or Surrender.
The horns sounded at dusk.
From Winterfell's walls, they saw it—a tide of black-eyed corpses shambling through the wolfswood. At their head rode Corrupted Clegane, his greatsword weeping shadows. Behind him, carried on a palanquin of frozen bones, came it—
The Night's Herald.
Taller than a man ought to be, clad in armor that drank the light, its horned crown pulsing with unnatural life. Where it passed, the snow died, turning to ash.
NIGHT'S HERALD (FINAL BOSS) - LEVEL: ∞
PERKS:
Avatar of the Long Night (Immune to mortal weapons)
Soulfrost (Instant freeze on touch)
Army of the Damned (Commands all Night-Touched)
Bran's voice was a whisper. "He's here for you."
Arion's opal flesh now covered half his torso. The System's warnings blared:
ASSIMILATION CRITICAL: 35%
Point of No Return: 50%
Marwyn pressed a vial of Shade of the Evening into his hand. "Last dose. It'll buy you minutes, no more."
Thoros hefted his flaming sword. "We'll hold the gate."
Bran's fingers brushed Arion's forehead—
—and the world split one final time.
THE FINAL BATTLE
The courtyard became a charnel house.
Brotherhood warriors clashed with Night-Touched, their flaming swords cutting swaths through the abominations. Thoros dueled Corrupted Clegane, their blades ringing like funeral bells. Marwyn unleashed gouts of blue fire from his palms, incinerating swarms of undead.
And Arion?
Arion ran.
Through the chaos, toward the godswood, where the heart tree pulsed like a sickly heart. The Herald followed, its steps unhurried, certain.
The moment they stood beneath the weirwood, time stopped.
Snow hung frozen in midair. The sounds of battle faded. Only the Herald's voice remained, slithering into Arion's mind:
"You are mine."
Arion's body burned. The opal flesh surged, consuming his right arm, his chest, his throat—
ASSIMILATION: 45%
He screamed, falling to his knees. Dark Sister slipped from his grasp.
The Herald loomed over him, its clawed hand outstretched. "The sword. Give it to me."
Arion's vision swam. The System's prompts flickered like dying stars:
FINAL CHOICE:
SHATTER DAWNBREAKER (Sacrifice yourself, break the cycle)
EMBRACE ASSIMILATION (Become the vessel, fight from within)
Bran's voice whispered: "You've always known the answer."
Arion smiled through the pain.
He reached into his own chest—
—and pulled.
"NO."
A blade of pure light erupted from his ribs. Dawnbreaker, finally whole, its pale edge humming with power.
ASSIMILATION REVERSED!
DAWNBREAKER UNLEASHED!
The Herald shrieked, its crown of black ice cracking. Arion rose, the sword's hilt fused to his opal hand, its light scouring the shadows from his flesh.
The final battle began.
It was not a fight of steel and strength.
It was a war of wills.
Every clash sent shockwaves through reality. The weirwood's roots twisted, binding the Herald's legs. Bran's eyes rolled back, his voice joining a chorus of long-dead greenseers:
"Not this time."
Arion pushed, driving Dawnbreaker toward the Herald's heart—
—and the world exploded in light.
EPILOGUE: A SONG OF SILICON AND SALT
When the dust settled, Winterfell stood whole.
The Night-Touched were gone. The Herald's crown lay shattered at the base of the heart tree. Of Arion, there was no sign—only Dark Sister, plunged into the earth where he'd stood.
Marwyn found the System's final message carved into the weirwood's bark:
"Player Logout Successful."
Far to the north, atop the Wall, a figure in black opened eyes that shimmered like opals—and smiled.
FINAL QUEST COMPLETE: THE WOLF AND THE SWORD
REWARD: THE WORLD.
[ END GAME ]