Shadows Beyond the Wall
The wind carried a scent older than any living thing frost, decay, and blood long buried. Job Snow rode along the northern ridges, Ghost at his side, eyes scanning the endless white. Beyond the Wall, shapes moved in the storm, larger than men, taller than trees, their eyes glowing faint red.
"They're coming," Job murmured.
"The Frost-Wraiths just like the old legends said."
He had seen many horrors, but the Wraiths were different. Not spirits of the dead, but twisted echoes of the living, corrupted by the Frost-Flame and bound to the North's memory.
The Child's Trial
In the Silver Tree grove, the child trained tirelessly under Maeve's watchful eye. Snow swirled around her, alive with frost magic, shaping itself into weapons and shields at her command. Her small hands weaved through the air, and the tree responded, silver leaves whispering guidance.
"The Frost-Wraiths march," Maeve said, voice echoing like ice cracking.
"You must awaken fully your blood alone can bind them, or they will devour the North."
The child's eyes glowed as she reached out, touching the Silver Tree. Visions of the Frost-Wraiths swarmed her mind villages swallowed by snow, soldiers frozen mid-step, men and women transformed into icy husks with glowing eyes.
"I, I can see them," she whispered, trembling.
"I can feel their hunger."
"Good," Maeve said.
"Fear is not weakness. Fear is the first lesson in surviving what no mortal should endure."
Northern Council
Winterfell's Great Hall was filled with anxious voices. Northern lords debated strategy, swords and banners crossed as arguments flared. The Frost-Wraiths' advance had reached scouts sent to the lands beyond the Wall, and terror was spreading faster than the snow.
"We cannot wait!" Lord Manderl roared.
"The North is defenseless. We have no magic to stop them!"
Job Snow stood at the center of the hall, calm but resolute.
"We have the child," he said.
"And we have the Silver Tree. We may not fight them with swords alone, but we fight with memory, blood, and courage."
Some lords scoffed, others whispered prayers to the old gods. The divide between fear and faith was sharp, but Job did not flinch. He had survived the Long Night once and the North would survive again.
First Contact
As night fell, scouts returned with terror etched into frozen faces. Frost-Wraiths had been spotted near the Weirwoods, moving as a coordinated force. They were silent, yet their presence warped reality snow deepened unnaturally, shadows lengthened even in moonlight, and whispers carried through the air like wind through hollow bones.
Job, Althea, and Maeve convened at the godswood.
"They are not mindless," Althea said.
"They remember. They remember us."
"Our memories created them," Maeve added.
"Every battle, every Frost-Flame, every death it all feeds them. And now, they march to test the child's power."
The child stepped forward, silver eyes glowing.
"Then I will meet them," she said.
"I will not let them consume the North."
The March Begins
Snow fell heavier than ever as the Frost-Wraiths emerged from the forest. They moved like a living fog, limbs elongated, faces twisted, eyes glowing red. Wolves howled in terror, the wind carrying the echoes of screams frozen in time.
Job and the Northern army advanced cautiously, swords raised, shields tight. Yet even armed men trembled at the unnatural silence, at the chilling aura that sapped warmth from the world.
"Hold the line!" Job commanded.
"Do not let fear guide you. Only resolve can stand against them!"
Clash of Frost and Memory
The child raised her hands toward the sky, summoning the Silver Tree's power. Frost spiraled from its roots, forming a barrier around the courtyard. Memories of the North's greatest warriors past Starks, fallen heroes, and forgotten defenders emerged as spectral forms, fighting alongside the living.
"Focus on their pain," Maeve instructed.
"Bind it. Transform it. Let their memory anchor you."
Spectral warriors clashed with Frost-Wraiths, swords of ice striking against limbs of frozen shadow. The child's power surged with each blow, her control growing, yet each effort drained her energy, leaving her pale and trembling.
Sacrifice and Strategy
Job noticed the Wraiths were too numerous, too coordinated.
"We cannot hold them here forever," he shouted.
"We must draw them toward the godswood. Their hunger is for the Silver Tree."
Althea nodded, frost swirling around her fingers as she created channels of memory, guiding the Wraiths' attention.
"You will not face them alone," she said to the child.
"Together, we bind them. Together, we survive."
The First Breach
A massive Frost-Wraith broke through the spectral lines, its form larger and more terrifying than the rest. Its frozen claws slashed through memory constructs, scattering spectral warriors into shards of light and shadow.
The child screamed, summoning a surge of the Silver Tree's energy. Frost spiraled outward, encasing the Wraith in ice, yet the effort left her on her knees, exhausted, barely holding consciousness.
"Do not falter!" Maeve shouted.
"Your blood holds the key remember what your ancestors endured!"
Job charged the weakened Wraith, Longclaw striking, the blade glowing faintly against shadow. Together, father, mother, and child in spirit if not in blood pushed the monster back, binding it to the memories of the North.
Victory and Cost
By dawn, the Frost-Wraiths had retreated, leaving Winterfell scarred but standing. Spectral warriors dissolved back into memory, leaving only faint glimmers in the snow. The child had survived, but her body was weak, her hands trembling, her silver hair streaked with frost and sweat.
Job lifted her into his arms.
"You are stronger than any army, stronger than any legend," he whispered.
Althea placed a hand on the child's forehead, magic flowing faintly, healing and calming.
"But remember," she said softly,
"this is only the beginning. The Frost-Wraiths are bound to memory. And memory is endless."
A Dark Omen
From the South, Lily's forces advanced. News came via spies and ravens her mercenaries carried Valyrian magic, and she sought the Silver Tree itself, hoping to harness its power for her own claim over Westeros.
"The next war will not be fought with steel alone," Althea said.
"It will be fought with blood, memory, and shadows."
Job gritted his teeth, Ghost growling, sensing the unseen threats beyond the Wall and from the South.
Winterfell may survive the Frost-Wraiths, he thought.
But the world beyond is still a storm waiting to break.