"It really is a direwolf."
Everyone was stunned by the sight before them.
A direwolf.
The sigil of House Stark.
A creature of legend said to live only north of the Wall.
They hadn't been seen south of the Wall for over two hundred years.
For one to appear here now was not a good omen.
Most critically, the deserter had actually predicted it!
Theon Greyjoy whistled, dismounted, and approached cautiously.
"It's huge."
He kicked the stiff corpse with his boot.
"It's a monster."
"It's not a monster," Jon Snow retorted, dismounting as well and crouching down to examine it closely.
"It's a mother. Look."
He pushed aside the matted fur beneath the mother wolf.
Several furry little creatures were huddled together, nestled against their mother's cold body, emitting faint whimpers.
They were alive.
Bran's eyes lit up instantly.
"Look! Father!"
He jumped off his horse and stumbled over.
The pups hadn't opened their eyes yet; their bodies were only the size of small dogs.
Instinctively, they burrowed toward warmth.
Bran carefully picked one up and held it to his face.
The little creature was entirely black, save for its wet nose.
"Kill them," Theon Greyjoy's voice rang out coldly.
"They won't survive without a mother."
Eddard Stark frowned, looking at the fragile lives with a complicated expression.
"Born of the dead..."
"Theon is right," Ned said gravely.
"It's a mercy."
"No!" Bran cried out immediately.
Robb hurried to speak as well.
"Father, please."
"A direwolf dead in the south," an abrupt voice interjected.
The voice wasn't loud, but it halted everyone's movements.
They turned toward the source.
The speaker was the captured deserter, Lynn.
He stood there, shackles still on his wrists, his face bloodlessly pale.
But Lynn's eyes were unusually bright.
Ned Stark turned, his grey eyes locking onto him.
The gaze felt almost tangible, carrying scrutiny and authority.
Lynn did not retreat.
Meeting Ned's gaze, he continued calmly.
"My Lord."
"The direwolf is the sigil of House Stark."
"A mother wolf, dead on the road, her throat pierced by a stag's antler."
"Yet on her body are marks of being torn by a mountain lion."
Lynn spoke unhurriedly.
The smile on Theon Greyjoy's face froze.
He instinctively retorted, "How could there be mountain lions in the North?"
"Mountain lions only exist in the warm south!"
The stag, the sigil of House Baratheon—a crowned stag.
The lion, the sigil of House Lannister.
The wolf represented the Starks.
A wolf's throat pierced by a broken antler.
It pointed to the troubles left behind after King Robert's death.
Robert's children were not his own; it also pointed to Littlefinger's dagger that caused the chaos...
And Ned was that wolf.
Ned would die shortly after discovering the truth hidden in the words "The seed is strong."
"There are six pups here."
Lynn's gaze swept over the whimpering wolf pups.
"Four males and two females."
"Exactly corresponding to Lord Stark's six children."
Looking at the five direwolf pups on the ground, Theon wanted to argue.
"There are clearly five..."
But Ned's cold expression made him swallow his words.
The wind howled, whipping up loose snow and striking their faces.
This was no longer a coincidence.
This was an omen.
An ominous sign from the Old Gods.
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
Eddard Stark's voice was colder than the northern wind.
If the pups corresponded to his children, did the dead direwolf correspond to him?
"Winter is Coming."
Lynn enunciated each of the four words clearly.
Spoken by an outsider, the Stark words carried an eerie sense of destiny.
"This is not a gift, my Lord."
"This is a warning."
"Something beyond the Wall has awakened, and the Old Gods have sent a warning."
"They belong to the Stark children."
"They will protect them."
Having said his piece, Lynn fell silent and lowered his head again.
He had said enough.
Any more would not be a warning, but a curse.
He didn't want to lose his head.
Eddard Stark stood silently.
He looked at the dead mother wolf, the fatal antler, and the five pups.
"Unshackle him."
Although Ned still harbored suspicions about Lynn, his attitude had improved significantly.
Then, Ned's gaze fell on his youngest son, Bran.
Bran was hugging the pup tightly, looking at him pleadingly.
After a long time.
"You will raise them yourselves," Eddard Stark finally said.
"You will feed them yourselves, train them yourselves."
"If they die, you will bury them yourselves."
"Do not ask others to do it for you."
Joy instantly bloomed on the children's faces.
"There's another one!"
Jon Snow's surprised voice rang out.
From a nearby snowdrift, he pulled out another pup.
It had been pushed away by its siblings and was lying alone in the snow.
This pup was entirely white, with red eyes.
It lay quietly, not whimpering like the others.
"The runt of the litter."
Ned recalled Lynn's words. He had found it strange when Lynn mentioned six pups, as only five were visible.
But there really were six!
This made Ned start to believe that Lynn could see things others could not.
Could he truly prophecy?
Theon interrupted Ned's thoughts with a whistle.
"Matches you perfectly, Snow."
Jon ignored Theon and simply picked it up.
The little direwolf curled up quietly in Jon's arms, making no noise.
"That deserter was right, there really are six. So this one is yours, Jon," Robb said to his bastard brother with a smile.
Robb and Jon had a good relationship.
With reddish-brown hair and a sturdy build, Robb was fourteen.
As Eddard Stark's son, he inherited his father's character.
Honorable, loyal, and just.
A rare smile appeared on Jon Snow's face.
The direwolf incident thus concluded.
The guards escorted Lynn back into the formation.
No one looked at him again.
As if his shocking remarks were merely whispers in the wind.
But Lynn knew everything had changed.
Even with his head lowered, he could feel the gaze of the Lord of Winterfell lingering on his face for a long time.
Suspicion remained in that gaze.
But more than that, there was vigilance.
Robb and the others were too young to understand the implications of the stag, lion, and wolf.
But Ned understood perfectly.
Back at Winterfell, Lynn was not sent to the gallows, nor thrown into a dungeon.
He was confined in a room at the base of a tower.
The room wasn't large—just a hard plank bed, a table, and a small window letting in a cold draft.
Winterfell, built atop hot springs, had an excellent independent heating system.
It wasn't as cold as he imagined; compared to the days of sleeping in the wind as a Night's Watch deserter, this was practically heaven!
A guard brought a simple meal.
Black bread, roast meat, and a cup of steaming organ stew.
Lynn wolfed down the food, finally bringing a sliver of warmth to his frozen stomach.
The weakness in his body receded slightly.
He walked to a bronze mirror. His appearance was still his own, his name still his name.
It seemed his transmigration had altered the inherent perception of everyone around him, making everything appear reasonable.
Perhaps this was the power of the System.
This also made Lynn feel a bit better; at least he wasn't the ugly brute who got beheaded at the beginning of the show. How would he find women looking like that? He'd probably be despised to death...
From the window, he looked out through the narrow stone slit.
He could see a corner of the castle courtyard.
Guards were patrolling, servants were busy.
Everything seemed orderly.
But Lynn knew that beneath this calm, a massive storm was brewing.
He had forcibly bound his fate to the fate of this family in a nearly insane manner!
The blue panel visible only to him floated into view again.
His gaze landed on the glaring [Experience: 0].
Enemy Killing System.
To gain experience, he had to kill enemies.
But now he was an unarmed prisoner, locked in the most fortified castle in the North.
Who could he kill?
Lynn's brows knit tightly together.
He had to increase his strength as quickly as possible.
In this world where lives were as cheap as grass, power was the only thing he could rely on.