The call arrived two days later, once they'd made it back to Winterfell.
Justin stood in the practice field, working with fresh trainees. A bunch of kids, more or less. Teens, mostly. Their grips on the blades were shaky - like the steel could lash out at any second.
"Your grip is wrong." He adjusted a recruit's hand position. "You're strangling it. The sword should feel like an extension of your arm, not a—"
"Commander." The words sliced into the quiet dawn. A young messenger - too fresh-faced to have a beard - stood there, dressed in the Duke's livery. Not waiting. His lord wants you now."
The new guys snapped upright. Justin spotted a mix of jealousy and calm across their expressions - jealousy because their leader got private time with the Duke, while others felt it unfair; yet glad the harsh drill was ending early.
"Dismissed. Practice the forms I showed you. All of them."
He trailed the page down Winterfell's halls. The fortress grew piece by piece, twisty and dark. Justin learned each turn, every secret nook - knew them well. Survival at court demanded it.
The page took him nowhere near the grand hall or meeting room - instead, straight to the Duke's personal study. One he'd stepped into just two times prior. Each visit was about picking up a medal.
Duke Aldric stayed near the glass, eyes on the peaks. As Justin came in, he still faced away.
"Close the door."
Justin was the one. The snap of the lock felt way too sharp.
"The Whispering Mountains." The Duke's voice was soft. Almost gentle. "Beautiful this time of year. Before the snow comes and buries everything."
Justin stayed quiet. After two decades on the job, he'd learned timing - when to talk, when to step back.
"We have a problem." The Duke finally turned. His face showed concern. Perfect, practiced concern. "Our scouts have detected unusual activity near the old Void fissure. The one we sealed after the Third Incursion."
The Third Incursion happened eight years back. Still, that crack ought to be quiet by now.
"Unusual how, Your Grace?"
"Fluctuations in the seal's integrity. Minor, but concerning." The Duke moved to his desk, where a map lay unfurled. His finger traced a route through the mountains. "If that fissure reopens, we could be facing another wave within months. Maybe weeks."
Justin looked at the map. That crack in the ground sat way out there. At least three tough days on horseback. Rugged land ahead - tight trails, loose rocks that shifted underfoot. Ideal spot for someone waiting to attack.
Quit it. She smashed that worried idea. The Duke didn't -
"I need someone I trust for this." The Duke's eyes met his. "Someone with the skill to assess the threat accurately. Someone who can handle themselves if things go wrong."
"You want me to scout it."
"I need you to scout it." The Duke's hand rested on the map. "Take your personal guard. The men you trust. Make it quick and quiet. If word spreads that the fissure is unstable, panic will do more damage than any beast."
It added up. Totally smart move. Justin ran loads of ops just like this one - pulled through every time by staying sharp, always expecting trouble.
But.
That glance in the Duke's eyes a few days back - just a hint of worry. Not quite panic, but close.
"When do I leave?"
"Tomorrow, before dawn. I'll have provisions prepared. Take the northern route—it's longer but more stable this season."
Justin bowed. "Your will, Your Grace."
"Justin." The Duke's voice stopped him at the door. "I know I ask much of you. More than any lord should ask of his commander. But you understand why."
"Because I'm good at what I do."
"Because you're the best." The Duke smiled. It looked genuine. Probably was, in its own way. "Come back safe. Marcus still talks about how you saved his life. He's been asking to train with you."
The words oughta've been a gift. But they came off more like a rope pulling tight.
---
He had twelve bodyguards. Some he'd pulled from danger before. Others made promises - not to a family name, but straight to him.
He probably didn't notice it at the time, yet that moment oughta have tipped him off right away.
They headed out before sunrise, just like they were told. Up north, the path twisted through mountain gaps where cold gusts sliced hard. Justin stayed quiet on his horse, thinking ahead, planning moves. In case the crack in the ground was still open, setting up a border made sense. Get a message sent down the line. Pull villagers away if things looked risky.
His captain, Dermot, kept pace on his left - rough-faced, tough as nails, fought alongside Justin since day one. Fifteen winters they'd weathered, through thick and fire. Both made it out of Crow's Reach bloodied but breathing, way back when Justin led squads with guts instead of brains.
"Peaceful trip," Dermot muttered. His fingers lay loose near his blade - just a little too relaxed.
"Thinking about the mission."
"Right. The mission." Something in Dermot's tone made Justin's hand drift toward his own weapon. "Must be important, us going alone like this. No bannermen. No backup."
"The Duke wants it kept quiet."
Sure. Quiet," Dermot said, grinning - but the look never touched his eyes. "As still as a graveyard."
Justin's focus shrank to one spot. Hoofbeats thudded nearby. His sword felt heavy in hand. Twelve enemies circled close, each placed just so.
Who else knows about this?
"Something on your mind, Dermot?"
"Just wondering if you've thought about the future, Commander. Your future, specifically."
They'd reached a tight path by then - rock walls close on both sides. A deadly spot if attacked. Justin picked it earlier using the Duke's old map.
The Duke's map.
"I think about it sometimes," Justin said carefully. His muscles coiled beneath his armor. "Usually right before someone tries to kill me."
Dermot laughed. "You always were sharp. Too sharp, maybe. That's the problem, isn't it? You see everything. Figure out everything. Beat everyone."
Three guys came forward from the back. Slow, as if shifting positions by chance.
"The Duke appreciates my skills."
"The Duke fears them." Dermot's sword rasped free. "We all do. You're not natural, Justin. Common-born men don't fight like you. Don't think like you. It's like watching a puppet with someone else pulling the strings."
The other blades appeared. A dozen guys stepped forward - his so-called faithful crew.
All of them.
Justin had the knife ready, no thinking needed. His muscles remembered every fight he'd ever faced.
"The Duke sends his regards," Dermot said. His face showed something like regret. "Your fame has become a threat to the bloodline. Can't have the troops loving a commoner more than their rightful lords, can we?"
"So this was always the plan. The fissure?"
"Dormant as a stone. Always was." Dermot shifted his weight. Attack stance. "Nothing personal, Commander. Just business. The Duke promised lands. Titles. Enough gold to retire somewhere warm."
"He promised me those things too."
"Yeah, well. You're the one who taught us that words are cheap." Dermot lunged.
Justin blocked the strike - metal screeched on metal, noise bouncing between rock faces. Others rushed in beside him, closing fast.
He had taught these guys himself. Was aware of how they moved. Where they slipped up. That tiny stutter in Galen's swing. How Tormund always gave away his lunge.
His sword hit Galen's neck. Then he collapsed, making a choking sound.
Eleven left.
He's gonna wipe us out!" a voice yelled - shaky, tense. Perfect. When folks get scared, they stop thinking straight.
They pushed forward at once. Justin stepped back, making use of the tight path ahead. No room for them to flank - forced into single file instead.
His blade flashed fast. Ducking strikes, then striking back - each action tight. Smooth. Nothing extra. Just clean steps following one another.
Tormund dropped, Justin's blade stuck in his eyeball. A second guy - name lost on Justin - got cut near the leg artery, then went down yelling.
Nine.
Yet Justin was losing blood. A slash on his shoulder - got it from a random hit. One more on his leg. Not bad enough to stop him, just painful enough to slow down.
They'd caught on lately - staying back while he slowed. Not rushing things, just waiting it out. One step at a time, letting fatigue set in.
Dermot watched from the back, his face carved from stone. "Should've just taken the gold and retired, Commander. Would've been easier for everyone."
"Where's the fun in that?"
Justin faked a move to the left, then darted right - his sword slicing past leather, deep into flesh. A gurgling hiss escaped the guy's throat.
Eight.
Yet numbers kept piling up. Hurt or scared, they still fought well - his doing. He shaped them like that.
A mace slammed into his side. A sound snapped. Fire burst across his torso - sharp, overwhelming.
He tripped. While they moved closer.
This time, it's real. Here's where everything stops.
No. Not yet.
Justin yanked the guy's arm - turned his force back at him. Slammed him right into a pair standing close by. Bodies twisted together, making a mess on the ground. That chaos gave Justin just enough time.
He ran.
Pride told him to hold ground. Go down swinging. Yet Justin made it two decades by learning when to bolt.
The path stretched forward. There it was - the ancient rift in the void, exactly where the map marked. Like a living sore in space, weakly stitched shut. Nearby terrain felt off - edges bent strangely, dark shapes crawling opposite to the sun.
He turned to see them closing in - Dermot's voice cut through the noise, barking commands.
A sword hit him right between the shoulders. Though the metal slipped sideways on his armor, the impact still shoved him ahead.
Toward the fissure.
"No! Don't let him—"
It was over. Justin's foot landed on shaky soil near the crack. Then the dirt gave way.
He was falling.
Above, people looked down. Dermot's face held a hint of sorrow instead.
Tell the Duke," Justin panted, mouth stained red, "just say I -
A form shot out of the crack. Not high-tier - just a Void Beast, pulled in by his scent. Next came one more. After that, two others joined. Finally, four eyes glowed in the dark.
They realized it. The crack could collapse at any moment. Creatures were bound to show up - everyone was aware.
The creatures closed in fast. Sharp claws, biting teeth, pitch-black shadows everywhere. He tried fighting - his arms wouldn't move like they should. Too much blood gone. Ribs cracked under pressure. Injuries piled up, overwhelming him.
Dermot stood there, along with the rest, eyes locked on the creatures hauling him farther down the crack. They stayed like that, staring, till he vanished into the throbbing black - something off, something not right.
The last thing Justin noticed? The sky. Bright blue, sort of blank. Not caring at all.
The last thing on his mind, just before blacking out - when everything faded into darkness:
Why?
What's the point of handing it all over, then snatching it back? Build someone up, only to tear them down - why do that? Seriously, why even start if you'll end it like this?
The dark replied - its voice stiff, lifeless - not sharp but burning deep inside his fading mind
[CRITICAL HOST BODY FAILURE DETECTED]
Then nothing.