The wind beyond the Wall howled with icy fury, congealing cold that pierced to the bone.
Farther north than the Neck, beyond the source of the Milkwater, beyond even the furthest reaches known to Westeros, there stood a realm forged entirely of ice.
This was a land called the Lands of Always Winter.
Here, ice of unimaginable thickness gleamed with a deep, translucent blue, as if it could draw a person's soul into its gem-like, cruel beauty.
Some ice rose like mountains, towering as though they could pierce the clouds.
Some were like blades—so sharp they could cut the air itself, the wind screaming as it passed.
Others were like jagged fangs, interlocking yet orderly.
And in places, even the cold itself seemed to condense into mist, shaping vast frozen plains.
At the very edge of life and the world, within this land wrought entirely of cold, the frozen earth split open into a bottomless chasm—like the gate to hell itself.
In this world where nothing existed but cold, even the deep blue ice grew darker with depth, swallowing all light, until the chasm became a profound, abyssal black.
The deeper it went, the darker it became.
And yet, it was not silent.
There was no eternal stillness, no echo that could linger for a thousand years, no desolation untouched by life.
Within that pitch-black fissure, ghostlike figures drifted through the darkness, emitting a pale, cold, faint glow.
Their color was like milk—pale yet hollow, translucent and unreal.
Only when they flickered slightly did they seem to exist at all.
Above each of these drifting phantoms hovered a pair of eyes like blue stars—azure points of light that adorned the dim darkness like a night sky, radiating a hollow, chilling depth.
These were the Others.
This was their domain.
A forbidden land of life.
And yet, today, it welcomed a guest.
A living man—one who, by all rights, they should instinctively hate, kill, and raise again as a wight stained with black blood.
The man wore a black robe, his eyes closed. Frost had formed thickly across his skin in this frozen world.
He was tall, with a well-proportioned frame and broad shoulders. He looked to be in his fifties or sixties.
His bald crown gleamed, ringed by disheveled golden hair, which connected to the thick golden beard along his jaw.
His hands were folded over his abdomen, his face calm, as he lay within a small wooden boat.
He looked like a corpse—frozen stiff by the cold.
Yet in the gaze of those star-like blue eyes, the figure in the boat was still a living man.
His heartbeat was so faint it was nearly inaudible, like a frozen stone. His breath was nonexistent.
And yet, warm blood still flowed through his body, not yet frozen.
Under the watch of those countless blue gazes, not a single one showed hostility.
Instead, it was as if they were paying him silent respect.
Four Others carried the wooden boat, step by step, toward the deepest part of the chasm—the darkest place, yet also the only one illuminated.
At the front of the darkness stood a towering mountain of ice crystal.
Its shape was peculiar, like an explosion frozen at its very moment—radiating faint blue light in the abyss.
Within those jagged crystal formations, a throne of ice, guarded by blade-like spires, stood at the very center.
The four Others advanced, carrying the boat toward the throne.
Then, suddenly—
A horn sounded.
Its source was unknown. The sound was distant, long and echoing, like a call from the far side of time itself.
It began faint, almost inaudible, then swelled, growing louder until it became deafening.
The sound rolled outward in waves, shaking the world.
Then—
Silence.
A vast silence.
But it did not last.
A faint tremor rose from beneath their feet—irregular, subtle.
The Others turned, their attention drawn toward its source.
Along with it came a harsh, grating sound—like glass shattering and grinding against itself.
Ice… was breaking.
No—
More precisely, a glacier not far from the chasm… had awakened.
It shook off the snow upon it, shattered the ice encasing it, then slowly raised its head toward the sky.
"ROAR!"
A thunderous roar followed, sending avalanches cascading, the earth trembling.
A dragon—covered in frost, with pale blue crystal eyes and vast translucent wings—spread itself and exhaled a breath of freezing mist into the heavens.
An ice dragon had awakened.
Deep within the chasm, a pair of pale green eyes flecked with gold opened.
Upon the throne, an unseen gaze seemed to fall upon the scene.
…
At present, Castle Black had changed greatly.
With the passage of time and the constant influx of troops, it was no longer the small, desolate place it once had been.
And that was not even counting the wildlings beyond the Wall, who were being settled further east.
Now, along the Wall, the population had swelled.
Not counting anything else, the armies of the Seven Kingdoms alone had exceeded fifty thousand.
With their supply lines, merchants, and followers, the number of people from the Seven Kingdoms alone had surpassed one hundred thousand—nearing two hundred thousand.
Including the wildlings, the population had nearly reached three hundred thousand.
In the North—especially in the Gift—this land had once been nearly empty.
Its current "prosperity" was something that had arisen only recently.
The changes brought by such population density meant that even in this far northern land, where snow once fell constantly, the white of snow was now rarely seen.
Instead, the ground was a mix of frozen ice shards, mud, and animal waste.
Perhaps even Brandon the Builder, who had raised the Wall, had never imagined that one day this desolate land would become so lively.
Even so, the great golden dragon—larger than a castle—could no longer coil itself within Castle Black as it had before.
So Robert descended outside the castle, lowering himself to allow his riders to dismount, his eyes filled with curiosity and faint excitement as he looked upon the transformed Wall.
Kal, along with his witch, his dragon, and his golden-furred hound, had arrived at the Wall once more.
Benjen Stark, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch—now a title in name more than reality—stood outside Castle Black with nobles from across the Seven Kingdoms, awaiting the King.
Among the many colors of their banners, the black of the Night's Watch stood out—though it was scarce.
The Night's Watch still numbered only a few dozen men.
Though Benjen had once requested expansion, the King had rejected it.
Thus, though its structure remained, the Night's Watch had become a shadow of its former self.
Ironically, at a time when the Wall's strength had never been greater, the Watch itself had never been weaker.
The black cloaks and banners that once dominated the Wall were now rare among the colorful sigils of noble houses.
Though nominally, the Gift and its lands still belonged to the Watch, in truth—
Their master had already changed.
Not the nobles.
But the young man stepping down from the dragon.
A king who had abandoned his inherited surname and declared himself King.
A man believed, perhaps, to be the incarnation of the Seven in the mortal world.
"Your Majesty!"
Since Kal's coronation decree, no one in the Seven Kingdoms—no matter how lowly—was required to kneel.
Thus, all present merely bowed slightly.
"At ease," Kal said, waving his hand. His gaze lingered on the transformed Castle Black.
"You've all worked hard. What stands here now speaks of your efforts."
"It is our duty, Your Majesty," Benjen replied, stepping aside to lead him forward.
"With so many troops stationed here, the old structures were no longer sufficient. After centuries of neglect, much had already fallen into ruin."
"I never imagined the Wall could become so populated. Some have even proposed giving this settlement a new name."
Kal's interest was piqued. "And what name is that?"
"There are many suggestions, but the most favored is… Dawn Outpost."
A faint light appeared in Benjen's eyes—he approved of it.
Castle Black… reborn as Dawn Outpost.
It carried a lighter, more hopeful meaning.
"A good name," Kal nodded. Then, as if inspired, he continued, "Then the first outpost beyond the Wall shall be called Morningstar."
"We will plant our banners northward—step by step—until the day of victory. And the place where we plant the final banner…"
"…shall be called Ever Summer."
As he spoke, Kal found himself imagining it—a tale that would become legend, filled with both grandeur and poetry.
But as his words fell, Benjen's faint smile faded.
Kal noticed immediately.
"What is it? Has something happened?"
"No… it's nothing. I only… worry, because…"
He did not finish.
But the meaning was clear.
Unlike the nobles beside him—whose faces shone with excitement at the thought of glory—Benjen had lived the Watch's reality.
For the Watch, their oath was everything:
Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death… I am the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the walls…
"Because launching an offensive against the Others… has never been done before, has it?" Kal said, finishing his thought.
Benjen nodded.
"Yes, Your Majesty. You saw the conditions beyond the Wall when we sent rangers. This is not a land southern men can easily endure."
"And beyond that… our enemies are not merely the Others."
His voice was not lowered.
It drew immediate protest.
"Lord Commander, you underestimate us!"
"The North does not hold a monopoly on warriors!"
But Benjen merely glanced at them—at their heavy furs—and said nothing.
Kal only smiled and looked up at the towering Wall.
"If we do nothing, we will still perish."
"If we fear falling and never take the first step, we will never grow, never move forward."
"Lord Commander, we are not cowards."
"Yes, the danger is greater than we know."
"But I believe in us."
"Man can defy nature."