Rayder tried to step back, but his body would not move. The dream bound him like chains of ice. Panic clawed at his chest—if he could not wake, then the Night King would consume him here, in this frozen world of shadow.
His thoughts raced. Why had this dream begun? What tethered him here? And then he remembered—the ice spear.
That cursed weapon had been the key, the crack through which the Night King had reached for him.
If I survive this… I'll never touch it carelessly again.
He forced his will into focus. Flames flickered in his violet eyes, golden light burning to life, clashing against the icy blue that gnawed at his mind. The world around him trembled. His skull felt as if it might split apart. He gritted his teeth, clutching his head, forcing the fire to blaze brighter.
Then—like breaking the surface of water—his eyes flew open.
He was back.
The canvas of his tent above. The muffled howl of the Frostsnow Tooth Mountains outside. His chest heaving, his palms slick with sweat. Relief washed over him like warmth in the cold. He had escaped.
But the warning was clear. The Night King had found him, and next time, he might not be so lucky.
Rayder sat up, heart still racing. His gaze turned toward the spear lying nearby, gleaming faintly in the half-light. He picked it up slowly, gripping the cold haft. It felt wrong in his hand—too alive, too heavy with intent.
"Better to destroy it."
He stepped outside the tent. The mountains were silent, snowfields silver under a pale sun. Holding the spear high, he tried to snap it across his knee. It didn't bend. He slammed it against rock. Sparks flew, the ice unmarred.
Frowning, he called softly, "Kidora. Wake."
The dragon stirred, three heads lifting, eyes glowing curious gold.
Rayder thrust the spear toward him. "Bite it. Break it."
For a moment, Kidora studied the weapon, nostrils flaring. Then, with one swift snap, it caught the spear between its teeth. The crunch echoed sharp as thunder. Rayder's eyes widened as the dragon chewed it like brittle glass, shards of frozen light scattering before being swallowed whole.
"…You glutton," Rayder muttered, torn between exasperation and relief.
The spear was gone. Swallowed. Destroyed—or consumed. He checked the system window for Kidora, searching for any trace of harm. The status read: Good. Only then did he breathe again.
Yet even without the spear, the unease remained. The Night King's gaze had brushed against him. He could no longer move blindly.
That night, sleep eluded him. Every time his eyes shut, he expected the cold blue stare to return. So he lay awake until dawn.
---
The next day, the mountains glittered under a hard noon sun. Rayder emerged from his tent, the dragons stirring to his call. As he fed them, something strange caught his sight.
Thin, white lines shimmered faintly in the air. Threads, almost invisible, stretched between him and the dragons. They pulsed softly, specks of light running along them like sparks traveling down a wire.
Rayder froze.
He followed one thread with his eyes. It shimmered into the distance, disappearing into the sky above. Others seemed to plunge downward, into the mountains, vanishing into unseen depths.
"What… is this?"
The connection was undeniable. These threads linked him and his dragons, binding them together in ways deeper than command. Yet when he looked outward, beyond his bond, he saw others. White strands stretched across the valleys below, converging toward the endless plain where the dead marched.
The realization struck him.
These were conduits. Channels of power. Through them, the Night King poured his will into corpses, animating them, driving them, weaving them into his vast army. The "faith" or "energy" that the greenseer had spoken of—it flowed along these very lines.
Rayder's heart raced. If he could study this web, unravel its secrets, perhaps he could sever it. If he could cut the threads, he could weaken the Night King's army, strand his wights without command.
Excitement flared. Danger followed.
For threads could be followed both ways. If he saw them, then perhaps the Night King could see him in return.
Rayder clenched his fists, eyes gleaming. "So this is your secret."
He returned to his tent, determination burning. He would study these threads—break them, twist them, claim them. Whatever it took.
The Night King had found him. Now, he would find a way to strike back.
---
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