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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 104: đť•đť–†đť–™đť–™đť–‘đť–Š đť•đť–Šđť–žđť–”đť–“đť–‰ 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖆𝖑𝖑.Â
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The wights did not move slowly or appear lethargic, as one might expect from undead creatures. They crashed into one another violently and literally crawled over each other, as if the thing they desired most in the world stood directly ahead of them. More than undead creatures, they looked like men driven completely mad.
Even after all the violence and death he had witnessed throughout his long life, the sight unsettled Edward.
He drew his sword while Aelia handed out Valyrian steel daggers to the humans in the group. Fortunately, Jon Snow carried Longclaw, which would allow him to defend himself.
—Shit, form up and stay together —Edward ordered as he moved to the front.— Aelia, Anna, if necessary, be ready to grab everyone and run.
The wights reached them quickly.
The first creatures slammed into the group, but the vampires stood at the front, absorbing the full force of the impact. Edward swung his sword violently and drove it through one of the wights' chests. The creature collapsed lifelessly at once.
Even so, there were too many of them.
Edward grabbed one by the ribs and hurled it into the next, using its body to halt another charge. Aelia skewered one with her rapier and immediately swung the blade again to sever a third's head. Then, with a powerful kick, she launched one of the corpses into the line of wights advancing toward the group.
For the first time, Anna did not seem inclined to ignore Edward's orders. She quickly yanked one of the wildlings aside to prevent a wight from biting his throat before throwing the creature into the group in front of her. Then she ran another through with her sword, and its body immediately dropped to the ground, though two more took its place before it had even finished collapsing.
The wights crashed into one another constantly and shoved against the group with everything they had. Fortunately, Edward, Aelia, and Anna had begun using the sturdier corpses as improvised shields to prevent them from breaking through the defensive line.
Even for their enhanced reflexes, there were too many.
One managed to seize Tormund's leg and nearly dragged him out of formation, had Anna not hurled her sword directly into the wight's head before retrieving it and quickly returning to the line.
A spear sliced through the air straight toward him.
Edward could not move aside. The projectile's path led directly toward the group behind him, and if he dodged, it would strike them without warning.
He adjusted his stance and brought his Valyrian steel sword up in a sharp arc, intercepting the spear head-on. The impact was monstrous, and the ice exploded against the steel, shattering into a spray of fragments that flew in every direction.
Edward was startled because, in the instant before the collision, he experienced something he had not felt in years.
Since becoming a vampire, he had never again sensed that certainty that a single mistake could cost him his life. During that brief second as the spear hurtled toward him, every instinct screamed that if the attack struck him, it would kill him.
Ice shards embedded themselves in his clothing and exposed skin. They did not appear to be deep wounds, merely superficial cuts across his face, neck, hands, and arms. The splinters lodged in his flesh without fully piercing through it, and for a moment he hoped that would be the end of it.
It was not.
An unnatural cold, beyond anything he had ever experienced as a vampire, spread rapidly from the places where the ice had embedded itself. The skin around the wounds began to harden, and his muscles seemed to tighten, stealing mobility from his fingers and joints.
Frost began to form around the injuries, and Edward immediately felt his movements growing slower and heavier. He tightened his grip on the hilt and stepped forward despite the stiffness.
Edward crossed swords with the White Walker, yet neither seemed capable of gaining the advantage. He targeted vital points, the neck and skull, while the creature blocked every strike with direct, rigid movements.
But something had troubled him since the fight began.
Though his senses remained diminished, the creature's proximity allowed him to perceive more clearly what was happening around him.
The White Walker made no sound whatsoever. It did not breathe, exhale mist, crunch the snow beneath its feet, or leave footprints as it advanced. And yet, amid the constant clash of steel against ice, there was one sound he could hear just as clearly as the impact of their blades.
A steady, rhythmic sound.
He tried to focus on it while deflecting another slash and answering with a low thrust, but the ice sword came for his head once more, and the impact forced him backward, breaking his concentration before he could identify the source.
The group had nearly finished destroying the horde of undead.
Because of that, Anna was able to disengage from the fighting and recklessly charged at the creature Edward was battling.
Out of the corner of his eye, Edward saw her hurl herself at the Walker, intending to drive her sword into its side while relying on her speed to catch it by surprise. But the creature turned and, without withdrawing the blade it held against Edward, raised one leg and delivered a brutal kick to the vampire's torso.
The impact hurled her backward and sent her bouncing several times across the snow before she came to rest half-buried by the force of the blow.
Edward exchanged more strikes with the creature, but he continued searching for the source of that sound.
Until he finally found it.
The sound was a rhythmic drumming that repeated again and again. In fact, had he stopped to think about it calmly, the answer would have been obvious, but everything he believed he knew about these creatures had unconsciously led him to dismiss the possibility.
It was the beating of its heart.
The White Walker was alive.
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[The Lands of Eternal Winter, Several Thousand Kilometers Beyond Craster's Keep]
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Bran Stark briefly regained consciousness as snow struck his face. He could barely keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds before passing out again, but every time he woke, he saw a figure dragging him across the frozen tundra while the blizzard swept across the landscape around them.
He tried to look for Hodor, Meera, Jojen, or feel Summer's presence, but he found none of them, only that figure continuing to advance through the snow while pulling his body behind it. Then he lost consciousness again.
He did not know how much time passed between one moment of awareness and the next; he remembered only fragments of gray sky, gusts of wind, and that figure moving ahead of him.
Then everything vanished, and the next time he opened his eyes, he was no longer lying in the snow.
Bran blinked several times before slowly sitting up and looking around. He was in an enormous chamber whose walls seemed to be made of crystalline ice, though what caught his attention most were the black, rotting roots that spread across the floor, walls, and ceiling, twisting over one another until they converged at the center of the room.
There, surrounded by that tangled mass of dark roots, was a gigantic black heart beating steadily, each pulse traveling through the roots wrapped around it as though they were all part of the same creature.
Bran stared at it for several seconds before noticing a figure standing near the heart.
He tensed immediately.
—Who are you? —he shouted.— Where am I?
The figure was wrapped in a tattered black robe. It seemed to ignore Bran's cries while remaining hunched over a crude wooden table, absorbed in examining several objects resting upon it, studying them as though it did not understand what they were.
Bran could make out a rag doll, a pendant fashioned from an arrowhead, and several small wooden carvings of girls.
He rose from the frozen floor of the chamber and watched his breath fog before him. The air was so cold that he could see every exhalation.
—Who are you? —he shouted again, raising his voice even further.
This time he reinforced the words with the psychic force granted by his greensight. At last the figure stopped and slowly turned toward him, though the hood concealed most of its face beneath deep shadows.
—I am sorry —it replied in a deep, guttural voice.— I was asleep... or was I dreaming? Forgive me. I am not accustomed to having living guests.
Bran raised his voice again, using the power of his mind as Brynden Rivers had taught him in his dreams.
—Who are you? What do you want? —he demanded without taking his eyes off the figure.
The figure remained motionless for several moments.
—Who am I? —it repeated, tilting its head slightly.— Who am I?
A monstrous, guttural roar escaped its throat as it clutched its head with both hands, as though the question itself caused it pain.
—Who am I? What am I doing? What am I doing? I know. I remember. —it babbled between uneven breaths.— No, I do not remember. I am trapped between threads. Threads and voices. My head is full of voices urging me to kill, to destroy, to eradicate.
It pressed one hand against its head and began slamming itself into the wall as if struggling against something invisible before finally regaining control.
—These threads... you will help me remove them —it growled, baring its teeth.
The creature lowered its gaze.
—A thousand years. A thousand years taking every tiny spark of light I could steal from the living, taking every glimmer to kindle my mind a little more, a thousand years to think clearly again —it murmured while staring at the floor before it.
It roared in agony once more and fell to its knees.
—But I keep forgetting. I keep forgetting. I cannot remember —it muttered through growls.
It picked up the rag doll from the table and held it gently between its fingers.
—I only remember my princess —it whispered while brushing the fabric with its thumb.
Then it suddenly snapped its head toward Bran and pointed at him with a skeletal, trembling finger.
—You! —it shouted.— You will help me find her. You will open my mind. That is what the crow wanted you for, but now you will do it for me.
Fear coursed through Bran's body.
Once again he called upon the power granted by his greensight and unleashed another psychic scream, this time intending to injure the creature and escape.
But the figure raised a hand.
For a single instant, the air throughout the chamber froze.
And so did Bran.
—You are alone, child —the creature said as it took a step forward.
Bran remained motionless upon the frozen floor.
The figure lowered the hood of its tattered robe and revealed a skeletal face that was utterly inhuman. There was no skin, muscle, or flesh supporting the skull; only two red lights burned deep within its eye sockets, while a black crown clung to the bone as though it were a mineral vein that had grown directly from it.
—There is only darkness for you and only death for your people. But you can save yourself, child ... if you help me remember —it said, inclining its skull slightly toward him.
The creature took another step.
Then a monstrous, unnatural roar erupted from its throat. It seized its head with both hands and began shaking violently, smashing itself against the icy walls as though it were suffering.
Bran could not move and could only watch. As suddenly as it had begun, the episode ended, and the creature regained its composure.
—My slaves are only the beginning. I shall gather a grand and terrible army, and we will march upon the realms of men —it declared, extending one hand toward the chamber.
Then it convulsed again.
Its roar echoed through the room as it doubled over and its skeletal hands clutched at its skull.
—The dead will not rest until I am whole once more —it growled between spasms.
Its voice cracked beneath another guttural snarl as it seemed to writhe in pain.
—And I shall never rest until the last remaining light has been extinguished —it roared, lifting its head toward the frozen ceiling.
Suddenly it lunged forward and seized Bran's head with both hands. The energy radiating from the undead creature pierced his mind instantly.
Bran felt an agony that burned him from within, as though red-hot iron spikes were being driven into every thought he possessed. He wanted to scream, pull away, or simply close his eyes, but the strange spell still held him frozen, and he could do none of those things.
—Help me remember, little crow —it whispered, bringing its face close to Bran's.
Those were the last words he heard.
Darkness began to envelop him as the pain consumed everything else, and before he lost consciousness, his gaze rose one final time toward the center of the chamber.
There, the black heart still hung suspended among the roots, beating stronger with every pulse.
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Thank you all for being here once again this week.
First of all, sorry for the delay with this chapter, but I actually ended up rewriting almost the entire thing.
Honestly, it's kind of fascinating, almost bizarre, the difference between what I write when I'm completely sleep-deprived and what I write when I'm actually well-rested. The original version of this chapter was basically 2,500 words of the battle beyond the Wall, which you'll still find in the first half of the chapter.
The problem was that it contained an absurd amount of unnecessary detail. Things like exact character positioning, body posture, and overly detailed explanations of the simplest actions instead of just narrating the events as they happened. If anything, a few internal thoughts here and there are enough to add depth to a scene, but this was starting to feel like writing five lines about the color of a wooden chair.
That's what I mean. It creates a strange cognitive dissonance for me because when I come back and reread those chapters later, it genuinely feels like they were written by a completely different person.
So I went through it, fixed what I could, and reworked the chapter as best as possible.
In the end, I actually think the battle turned out pretty well.
I also added the second half of the chapter, which focuses more on the Lands of Always Winter and drops a few small hints about what I have planned for the Night King, his lore, his circumstances, and the broader background behind everything that's coming.
Hopefully you'll enjoy it.
As always, thank you for reading, and I hope to see you all here again next week.
And if you'd like an extra chapter this week, well, as I mentioned before, I'm currently unemployed, which means I actually have time to write.
So if we reach 300 Power Stones, I'll release an extra chapter.
See you next week, or maybe even sooner.