Daylight did not scatter the dead.
The five wights Rayder had tracked from the Frostfangs stirred again, crawling out of the snow as if the light itself could not banish them. Their eyes burned with that unnatural, icy blue glow—cold stars in a sunlit world.
Rayder frowned. "So they walk even in daylight…" The contradiction gnawed at him. He did not dare approach. Instead, he shadowed them from afar, waiting to see where their steps would lead.
That night, they rose once more and pressed northward. Rayder studied his map. Their path led toward the Frostfang Mountains—and beyond. His heart quickened.
He followed astride Kidora, keeping distance, always watching through the dragon's golden eyes. In the dark, he saw the effect of their presence on the world. Beasts that normally roamed the night—snowcats, wolves, even bears—fled at the wights' approach. Predators became prey, scattering like vermin.
Rayder chuckled under his breath. "So even beasts know terror. Not of men… but of what walks after death."
He thought bitterly of the greenseer he had slain. That old fool had refused him the secrets of magic, yet here was proof of power worth coveting. Power that commanded even the laws of life and death.
His musings ended when more shadows began to gather. From every direction, corpses shambled from the snow. First a handful, then dozens, their blue eyes flickering to life.
By the time the wights reached the mountains' far side, they numbered over a hundred. And still they came.
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For more than two weeks Rayder stalked them, deeper and deeper into unmapped wilderness. The Frostfang peaks fell away behind, giving way to gentler hills and then to a vast, featureless flatland. The air grew sharper, the cold more cruel, until even breath seemed to freeze before leaving the lungs.
At last, they crossed into a land few men had ever seen.
The Land of Eternal Winter.
Here, the sky hung heavy and silent. No storm, no snowfall—only stillness. The plain stretched without end, white and silver, frozen in time. Beneath his boots and dragon claws lay not soil but a sheet of ice so hard it sparked when struck by steel. Even Kidora's talons scraped against it with no purchase.
And on that plain… Rayder saw them.
First a line. Then a wave. Then the full, impossible truth.
The snowfield was not empty. It was filled.
Tens of thousands—no, millions—of wights stretched across the horizon. A gray tide, motionless, endless, covering the ice from one edge of sight to the other. A sea of corpses awaiting command.
Rayder's scalp prickled, a cold sweat breaking across his back despite the freezing air. "So this… this is the Night King's strength."
The sight explained everything. Why kingdoms had fallen, why legends spoke of the Long Night. No mortal host could stand against this flood. Even with dragons, even with fire, it was madness.
Among them rode figures taller, sharper—the Others themselves. Pale as moonlight, clad in armor of frost, they sat astride skeletal horses, spears of blue ice gleaming in hand. They moved with eerie precision, patrolling the vast host like generals of a silent army. An unbreachable wall of cold, living and eternal.
Rayder's hands tightened on his reins. His dragons could not face this alone. He remembered the tales—an ice spear hurled through the sky, a dragon falling, pierced and broken. His lips pressed thin. "Even I… may not walk away if I test him here."
Still, retreat was bitter in his mouth. He had come to hunt the Others, to claim their secrets. To turn back now would feel like cowardice.
So he chose another way.
He withdrew from the endless plain and set an ambush along a narrow pass between the Frostfangs and the ice flats. There, new wights straggled in from the south, drawn inevitably toward the army. Dozens at a time, walking without thought.
Perfect prey.
Rayder gave the signal.
Two dragons loosed their fury, torrents of fire tearing across the snow. The heat was blinding, the roars deafening. Wights shrieked as they burned, bones collapsing into black ash.
Rayder's system chimed in his mind. Energy surged upward. Each wight fed him strength—three to a point, a steady harvest.
He watched the flames consume them and allowed himself a rare smile. "Yes… this is the place. A sea of prey, endless fuel."
The Land of Eternal Winter had revealed its terror. But to Rayder, it also revealed its promise..
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Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)