The Night That Bled Light
The storm began at midnight.
No thunder, no rain just light. Blinding, divine light, streaking down like fire through snow.
Winterfell's stones cracked under the pressure of the Dreaming Realm bleeding into the waking world. Walls bent, air shimmered, and the sky itself looked alive as though gods were clawing their way back into existence.
From the battlements, Althea stood watching the horizon burn. The frost on her lashes glowed faintly blue.
"They've come," Bran's voice whispered through the wind.
She didn't turn. "How many?"
"All of them."
The gods.
The same ones who had once watched humanity fall now returning, wearing the faces of their worshippers.
Below, soldiers both human and divine gathered in silence. Job rode at the front, cloaked in black and silver, Longclaw at his side. His eyes burned like winter stars.
When he looked up at Althea, their gazes met across the storm.
And for that heartbeat, the world stood still.
The Choir Descends
The first attack came from the Choir Lily's divine army, fused with fragments of celestial light.
They didn't walk. They sang.
A thousand voices rose from the snow, their song bending air and sound, each note breaking stone and bone alike.
Their leader a figure of molten gold wearing Lily's form raised her hand.
"Kneel, children of frost," she said. "Your gods have returned."
Job stepped forward. "You are no god."
"No," Lily smiled. "I am what the gods become when they forget mercy."
She lifted her palm and the world exploded in gold fire.
Fire and Frost
The blast ripped through the first lines. Men screamed as their souls were torn from their bodies.
Job raised his sword, the blade glowing pale blue, cutting through divine fire with northern ice.
The Choir fell in droves but every one that died left behind a shard of light that tried to possess the living.
"Hold the lines!" Job shouted.
But his voice broke mid-command.
The shadow in him the one from the mirror stirred. It wanted the light. It fed on divine energy.
Althea appeared beside him, her cloak aflame with celestial power. "Don't let it take you."
"It's too strong," he gasped.
"Then let me in."
She pressed her palm to his chest and their powers collided her fire, his frost, their shared curse binding tighter than ever before.
The storm screamed. The world bent.
And from their joined souls, a new light burst forth silver, neither god nor mortal.
For the first time, the gods above hesitated.
The Godfire
High above, the heavens split open.
From the rift descended something massive a being of pure creation, all wings and light and unmaking.
The Godfire the source of every divine spark.
Its voice was everywhere, and nowhere.
"You defy your makers, Wolf of Winter. You pollute creation, Daughter of Crow. This world belongs to us."
job raised his blade. "Then take it."
He leapt his body moving faster than thought, blade cleaving through air that wasn't air. The strike met divine light and shattered it.
The sky wept embers.
"Impossible" whispered the Godfire.
"Not impossible," Althea said, rising beside Job, eyes glowing with the same impossible power. "Human."
Together, they turned their power upward and the divine barrier broke.
The Shattered Dream
But the victory came at a cost.
The gods were dying, but the Dreaming Realm began to collapse with them. Reality flickered.
Bran appeared at Althea's side, eyes bleeding white.
"You've broken the wall between realms. The Dreaming is falling into the waking world. If it continues"
"The world will drown," she finished.
"Then you must choose which world to save."
Her breath caught. "What are you saying?"
"If you seal the Dreaming, the gods will perish and so will Job's soul. But if you leave it open, he lives, and the gods return."
Job turned to her, face pale, breath ragged. "End it."
"No."
"You have to, Althea. You promised me if it came to this"
"Don't you dare ask me to kill you."
He took her hands, pressed them to his heart.
"You made me human again. That's all I ever wanted. Don't let the gods win by sparing me."
Her tears turned to frost. "Job"
"Do it."
The storm raged. The world cracked. And Althea screamed as she drove her light through him.
The End of the Dream
Silence.
Snow fell. The Choir turned to ash. The gods' voices faded.
When the last light died, only one figure remained Althea, kneeling in the snow, Job's body in her arms.
The sky above glowed faintly, no longer gold or blue, but silver.
The merging of fire and frost the mark of both.
She whispered through trembling lips:
"You said love would save us. Maybe it still will."
She kissed him. Her light entered him one last time and vanished.
The snow stirred.
Jon's eyes opened. Silver now. Neither mortal nor god something new.
"What are you?" she breathed.
"The dream you refused to end."
The Dawn That Never Came
The next morning, the battlefield lay frozen in peace.
The gods were gone. The Choir silenced.
But above Winterfell, a single aurora burned white and silver, eternal.
Those who saw it called it the Crownless Light.
Those who prayed beneath it felt a presence neither cruel nor kind but watchful.
And in the heart of Winterfell, a voice whispered from the cold
"The Dreaming is not dead. It only waits for those who dare to love it again."