The Hollow King
Winterfell was silent. Too silent.
Job woke before dawn, breath misting, the room colder than it should have been. The fire was still burning yet he felt ice crawling under his skin.
He stood before the mirror. His reflection stared back and blinked a second too late.
"Not again," he whispered.
He reached toward the glass and his reflection smiled first.
"She's lying to you," it whispered.
Job stumbled back. The mirror rippled, like water. A faint outline of a man stood behind his reflection the same ghost from before, the same shape, the same face.
"You're not real."
The reflection tilted its head. "Neither are you."
Then it stepped forward through the mirror.
Job's scream froze in his throat as shadow merged with flesh. The cold consumed him, and the world went dark.
The Woman Who Dreamed Too Deep
Althea woke gasping, her hands glowing faintly with divine light. She had been dreaming no, walking.
In the Dreaming Realm, she'd seen Job's soul flickering, half-swallowed by shadow.
She rose from bed, threw on her cloak, and strode to the Great Hall. Bran was already there, eyes clouded white.
"You saw it," she said.
He nodded slowly. "The reflection grows stronger. The gods are rebuilding him from the inside out."
"Then we'll stop them."
Bran's tone was almost pitying. "Can you? The part they're using isn't foreign. It's the part of him that belongs to you."
Althea froze. "What are you saying?"
"You bound your power to him when you brought him back. You made him half-god and half-ghost. They're not stealing him. They're collecting what's theirs."
The truth hit her like frost in her lungs.
"Then I'll unmake the bond."
Bran's voice was soft. "You'll unmake him."
The Council of Crows
By midday, the hall was filled again. Davos, Arya, Nelly , Tormund, and the last remnants of the North's commanders.
Job entered last pale, quiet, but composed. His eyes were colder than usual.
"We march for the Vale," he said, voice too steady. "The Lion has gathered zealots in her name. If we wait, she'll turn faith into fire."
Davos frowned. "You should rest, my lord. You haven't slept in days."
"I don't need sleep."
The way he said it sent a chill down every spine in the room. Even Ghost the direwolf at his heel growled low.
Althea's gaze flicked toward him, reading the signs no one else could see the faint shimmer around his shadow, the way it didn't move when he did.
"Job," she said softly, "look at me."
He did. And for a heartbeat, she saw two men inside the same body.
"You're not yourself."
His lips curled faintly too faintly, too cold. "You think you know me, goddess? You made me this way."
Before she could answer, the torches in the hall flickered out.
A wind swept through whispering voices in a dozen tongues.
And then, just as suddenly, silence.
Job blinked. His expression softened, confused. "What happened?"
She forced a smile. "Nothing you can't still fight."
But her hands trembled. The thing inside him was learning to hide.
The Mirror War
That night, Althea stood alone in the godswood, calling on the Weirwood's roots to open the Dreaming path.
"Show me what he sees," she whispered.
The air shimmered and she fell into darkness.
She found herself standing in an endless field of mirrors. Each one reflected a different version of Job boy, king, killer, lover.
But in the center stood the false one the ghost wearing Job's face.
"You don't belong here," she said.
The ghost smiled. "Neither do you."
"Release him."
"Why would I? I am him the version that doesn't break, doesn't bleed, doesn't love you."
She took a step closer, silver fire flaring around her. "Then I'll burn you from the inside out."
The ghost tilted his head. "If you do that you'll burn him too."
Her light faltered.
"He's bound to me now," the ghost said. "Every piece of pain you heal, I become stronger. Every time he touches you, I feed."
He reached out and suddenly, Jon was there, the real Jon eyes wide, trapped between them.
"Althea, stop!"
But she couldn't. Power surged, fire colliding with frost. The Dreaming Realm shook.
When the light faded, the ghost was gone and Jo was on his knees, bleeding from his eyes.
"Job?" she whispered.
He looked up and for a moment, his gaze was not his own.
"You can't save what was never yours," the ghost's voice whispered through his mouth.
Then he collapsed.
The Wolf's Prayer
Job woke three days later, in her arms. The snow outside had turned to storm.
"You shouldn't have gone after it," he murmured.
"I couldn't lose you."
"You already are."
He took her hand, pressing it to his chest. "Every night I feel it. The shadow moving. It wants to live. It wants to wear me until I'm nothing."
Tears filled her eyes. "Then I'll share the burden. I'll bind it into both of us."
"No." He cupped her face. "If you do, it wins."
"Then what choice do we have?"
He looked at her and smiled faintly. "The same one we always did."
He kissed her forehead gently. "Fight until there's nothing left."
The Crownless Night
That evening, Job stood alone before the godswood, Longclaw driven into the snow.
"If there are gods above or below," he said quietly, "take what's mine. Leave her out of it."
The wind rose. The Weirwood's branches twisted, the face carved in its bark shifting to something ancient watching.
A whisper came, A soul divided cannot stand.
Job closed his eyes. "Then let me be the one to fall."
The Dawn of Betrayal
From the shadows beyond the wall, Lily watched through a scrying flame, her eyes glowing gold.
"He tears himself apart," she murmured. "Soon, there'll be nothing left to save."
Behind her, the Choir hundreds of vessels knelt in prayer. Their eyes burned with divine light.
"And when he falls," she said, smiling, "the gods will walk again."