A bone-deep cold struck Thorfinn. To keep from freezing solid, he had to move as much as possible, yet he was also terrified of making noise, so his movements were kept to a minimum.
Thorfinn focused intently on the Others, following their trail. Footprint by rotting footprint of the wight's warhorse, he crept closer to the Others' main encampment. The nearer he got to their destination, the more intensely the cold bore down on him. This unnatural chill was truly unbearable, and it took his meager magical ability just to maintain a tolerable temperature.
Approaching the Others' lair like this was like walking a tightrope over a thousand-foot chasm; one false move meant utter destruction. Thorfinn's adrenaline surged, and every rustle of wind or snap of a twig sent a shock of fear through him. The Other rode its dead mount into an icy cavern. It seemed to be an untrodden path, as there were thankfully no guards, which was a welcome relief to Thorfinn.
Gazing at the cave, which seemed to possess a strange, delicate beauty with its crystalline ice formations, Thorfinn felt a genuine spike of fear. This was home to a horde of monsters. Yet, relying on his keen sixth sense, he felt he could still scout ahead. The Others didn't move quickly, which at least gave him a slight edge.
After a quick mental pep talk, Thorfinn gritted his teeth and ventured deeper into the cave.
The cave floor was rough but manageable. As he proceeded, the ground began to slope downwards. The deeper he went, the dimmer the light became. The snow-like walls looked like dull, frosted glass, and the faint light was just enough to see by.
It wasn't a long path, but Thorfinn walked it for what felt like ages. Perhaps due to the extreme tension, the intense strain on his nerves caused his already formidable mental power to break through a threshold. Vaguely, a new perspective opened in his mind—a view constructed purely of psychic energy.
Could this be it? The Sixth Sense?
What incredible timing! At this critical moment, having an extra viewpoint was a massive help. For the sake of safety, Thorfinn had chosen to leave his two animal companions, Alpha and Lady Owl, outside; they couldn't guarantee his safety in a pinch. This breakthrough in his mental power was incredibly timely, a direct result of his prolonged meditation and accumulated practice. After all, quantity always leads to a qualitative change.
He kept his physical body as far away as possible from the range of his psychic probe, focusing his attention on searching his surroundings. After passing through several deep, dim, ice-clad tunnels, Thorfinn finally found what he was looking for.
Fuzzily, Thorfinn could "see" the scene: A baby lay quietly on an altar carved from solid ice. It seemed hungry, occasionally sucking on its fingers. This small gesture offered no comfort or warmth, and it was unaware of what awaited it.
There were dozens of Others present. Only a handful, clad in crude armor, stood encircling the altar. The rest, mostly bare-chested, stood further back at the edges, perhaps indicating a difference in rank. They seemed to be waiting for something, and it was clear there was a higher-ranking being above them—the Others had a "lord."
Thorfinn and Mance had long suspected that the Others possessed intelligence. Yet, this Lord of the Others was remarkably reclusive. While his subordinates were frequently active, none of the high-ranking leadership had ever appeared. Clearly, the Others' leader had a master plan, though no one yet knew what restricted their movements. Even so, a King of Monsters with a sharp mind, if he ever chose to act, would surely unleash something terrible.
Legend held that the first-created Other had no companions. Thorfinn could now roughly guess the purpose of this altar: the transformation of new Others. Was a legend about to be validated right before Thorfinn's eyes? Frowning, he carefully focused his senses on the scene.
It seemed the Lord of the Others was about to appear.
Before that could happen, Thorfinn concentrated on the baby. A newborn is as innocent as a blank sheet of paper. Thorfinn could not save him, so he decided to observe the Others' actions.
Looking at the male infant on the altar, Thorfinn's mental energy began to penetrate the boy's body. He wanted to use the boy's perspective to see his surroundings. Since his psychic-only view was indistinct, actively "offering" his physical self as an observer was a death wish. In such a critical moment, even facing an infant, Thorfinn had to cross his own moral line.
The baby made no fuss, but its small body was enveloped by Thorfinn's psychic energy. Like a frog in slowly warming water, the energy seeped in, slow and steady, entering his brain, sensing his body, and finally seizing control... Without a sound, the small body of the male infant had a new owner. The skinchanging was successful. The look in his eyes changed, now filled with curiosity and scrutiny.
However, Thorfinn had missed one crucial detail. For an underdeveloped infant, though they can see after birth, their vision is blurry, only working for close objects and not for distant ones. This extra sight was useless! Thorfinn was speechless. He had been reborn and experienced infancy himself—how could he have forgotten this detail?
Through the blur, he could only make out cold, hard faces covered in frost, pairs of cold, bright blue eyes, and tall bodies infused with ice magic. Their somewhat angular bodies were covered in pale blue skin, a kind of frost-purple—the ultimate creation of ice and death magic: the Others.
Footsteps echoed. A shadow emerged from the deep cave. This must be the Lord of the Others. He had a similar face but possessed far greater presence. In Thorfinn's psychic perception, he was a veritable wellspring of magic, a formidable foe who was utterly different from the common Others.
Thorfinn also knew the Lord of the Others before him was not the Night King. The Night King in this world was a legendary Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The Night King was of House Stark, named Bran, the thirteenth Lord Commander. He was a fearless warrior.
Legend says he fell in love with a woman whose "skin was as pale as the moon, and her eyes were like blue stars... her skin was as cold as ice." After taking her back to the Nightfort, he crowned her his queen, and they reigned for thirteen years.
He was finally defeated by his own brother, the King in the North, and the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Joramun, combined. After his death, people discovered he had offered sacrifices to the Others, and all records of the Night King were destroyed, his name becoming forbidden. Yet, in the ghost-ridden lands Beyond the Wall, such tales always survive, and Thorfinn had been lucky enough to hear it from an Elder.
The Lord of the Others drew near the baby, coming to his side. This was Thorfinn's chance to leave, but to his horror, he found himself trapped within the infant's body—his spirit could not escape.
What is causing this?
Could it be the Lord of the Others?
Thorfinn grew anxious. He was utterly incapable of mounting any kind of counterattack. This baby's body had zero fighting power!
What to do? What to do?
Perhaps due to Thorfinn's emotional turmoil, the result was the male infant's loud, wailing cry, which echoed through the ice-carved cave. The baby's cries resounded through the space, but the cold Others did not stir. They stood as still as statues.
The Lord of the Others reached the edge of the altar and looked down at the crying baby. Thorfinn thought he heard a strange sound—a chant, perhaps, or just an illusion, it was impossible to tell.
The Lord of the Others did not pause. He stood over "Thorfinn" and stretched out his arms. The phantom chant in Thorfinn's ears intensified, and a cold, deathly power began to invade the baby on the altar. That power raged through the small body, reversing the cycle of life and death.
From his psychic viewpoint, an ominous blue energy filled the air, like the ending of the world. Yet, in his growing mental haze, Thorfinn felt a connection: This power was remarkably similar to the ability of a Skinchanger to control an animal...
I'm going to die. I'm going to die. To feel death close in like this was a horrific experience. His brain felt dark and numb, his limbs unresponsive, his heart stopped, his blood no longer circulating, and he could not breathe. He had no sensation, like entering an endless, eternal dream.
But this was not a complete death. Instead, he stabilized in a state between life and death—a new Other was about to be born. The Lord of the Others picked up the now-silent male infant. Their eyes met. The vibrant eyes of life were replaced by eyes of startling blue, and the tears still clinging to the boy's eyelashes instantly froze to ice.
He could not recall the Other's face, but Thorfinn would never forget those blue eyes that filled his vision. What a terrifying color it was, a blue that seemed to contain the universe, connected to the depths of hell itself. The gaze conveyed only death, coldness, and solitude.
The Others must have their own way of communicating, but Thorfinn could not understand their language. With his blurred vision, he couldn't even tell how they were communicating. Only faint, intermittent sounds reached his ears, and no matter how hard Thorfinn strained to hear, he could not make them out.
Thorfinn felt that after the young Other's transformation was complete, a strange connection had formed between him and the boy; they seemed to be able to communicate without barriers.
The Lord of the Others lifted the boy high. From the superior vantage point, he could see the many members of his tribe welcoming the arrival of the new member. The Others also raised their weapons in a silent gesture of welcome.
Strangely, at that very moment, Thorfinn was able to withdraw his mental energy. He seemed to take something else with him—a new power. Similar to the ominous energy of the Others, it was ice magic with something else added. He felt he could use ice magic now.
What Thorfinn did not notice at that moment was that his eyes had become a deeper blue...
At the same time, the Lord of the Others sensed something. His expression became serious, and a message tinged with anger was transmitted from him. He had detected another presence here, a feeling and scent that suggested a human. As a priest of the Great Other, he could not be mistaken about that.
The Others began to move, dispersing to search and eliminate the reckless intruder as quickly as possible. Could Thorfinn evade this pursuit?
The psychic link was two-way. Thorfinn also sensed the danger. Seeing his chance, he immediately took off running at breakneck speed—a new personal record, no doubt.
It seemed there was a huge difference between running for your life and regular training. Fortunately, Thorfinn had kept up his physical conditioning. After a short, frantic sprint, he burst out of the cavern.
Out of the cave and faced with the vast, endless ice plain, Thorfinn was at a loss for a moment. After a brief hesitation, he instinctively bolted towards the nearest forest.
White Snow, the Shadowcat who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, ran with Thorfinn. In the boundless world of ice and snow, the man and the Shadowcat were as conspicuous as a bonfire in the night.
After running a great distance, Thorfinn finally dared to look back. He saw, far away, an Other riding a tall wight warhorse standing on the highest point—the uncrowned Lord of the Others. He did not pursue. As Thorfinn turned his head, the Lord of the Others confirmed that Thorfinn was the human who had just infiltrated their camp.
Invisible gazes clashed: one imposing and formidable, the other desperately fleeing, wishing for more legs, terrified of being caught.
The Others had sent a pursuit party. Three ice spiders scurried out of the cave toward Thorfinn's position, along with three Others riding wight warhorses and a large number of wights, moving at a decent speed towards their target. The three Other riders wore no armor, clearly not high-ranking commanders, but even so, the situation was extremely dangerous.
In the Lord of the Others' view, dispatching this force to hunt down one fleeing young man was more than enough.
Thorfinn was far from broken by fear. While he was running fast, it was a tactical retreat! No one in their right mind would fight a horde of the undead in the Others' own stronghold. Despite all of Thorfinn's efforts to appear weak, these damned Others had sent a sizable undead army after him. To survive, Thorfinn had to push his running speed even higher.
He ignored the burning pain in his lungs from the cold air, his feet pounding the ground. He had only one thought: run faster, run faster... The benefit of long-term physical training shone in this moment of crisis. Having gained a time advantage, Thorfinn at least didn't have to worry about being caught right away.
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