The horses kept pounding the frozen road. Hooves struck the hard soil again and again, sending small sprays of frost into the air. The wind grew sharper the farther north they rode, biting through cloaks and leather.
Newton leaned slightly forward in the saddle. He felt the rhythm of the horse beneath him.
Steady, and relentless.
Hours had passed since they left Snowland behind. The landscape had grown harsher. Trees appeared thinner. The ground turned pale with frost. Even the sky looked colder.
Then something appeared on the horizon. A dark structure rising slowly from the white land. Newton narrowed his eyes.
As they rode closer, the shape became clearer. Stone buildings. A cluster of towers.
The monastery.
And behind it, Newton straightened in his saddle. Something massive rose far beyond the buildings.
A wall.
It stretched across the horizon like the spine of the earth itself.
Tall, ancient, and unmoving.
Even from a distance it dominated everything around it. Newton's eyes fixed on it instantly. He raised his hand and pointed. "That must be it."
His voice carried a trace of awe. "The Divine Wall." He stared at it as though trying to measure its size. "Guarding the realm of men."
Commander Martin followed his gaze. He nodded slowly. "It is said the bricks were forged in dragon fire."
The riders continued forward as he spoke. "And sealed with dark magic." His voice lowered slightly. "It has never been breached for a thousand years."
The wall grew larger as they approached. The shadow it cast seemed to swallow the land around it.
Martin continued.
"And it will not be breached for another thousand."
Newton smiled. He liked the sound of that. The kind of certainty people believed in. The kind of certainty warriors fought for. For a moment he simply admired the wall. Then curiosity crept into his thoughts. "Legend says Neanderthals live beyond the wall."
His eyes remained fixed on the towering structure. "Is that true?"
Martin turned his head toward him. His expression remained thoughtful. "I suppose you will be the right person to answer that question in a few years."
Newton glanced at him. "I have never served at the wall," Martin added. "And I cannot say for certain if they still live beyond it."
A brief pause followed. "Or if they even exist anymore."
Newton nodded slowly. But the curiosity in his eyes did not fade. "I will find out." His tone carried quiet determination.
The riders continued moving until the monastery stood directly before them. The building looked older than anything Newton had seen.
Stone walls darkened by centuries of wind. Wooden towers leaning slightly under their own age. At the center stood a massive iron gate.
Martin raised his hand. The riders slowed. A guard stepped forward from the gate tower. Martin spoke clearly. "Inform the Grand Master of our arrival."
The guard bowed immediately. "Yes, my lord." He hurried inside.
Moments later the iron gate began to move. The metal groaned as it opened. The sound echoed across the frozen courtyard. The riders entered.
Inside, the monastery looked even older. Stone corridors connected the buildings. Training yards stretched across the ground. A few monks dressed in green robes moved silently between the halls.
Newton dismounted. The moment his boots touched the ground he heard footsteps approaching.
An old man emerged from the wooden steps of the main hall. His hair had turned completely white. But his posture remained strong. His shoulders stood straight.
His eyes were sharp. Martin bowed before the man even reached the bottom step. "Lord Martin of Snowland."
The old man spoke first. "What brings you to the convent, nephew?"
Martin rose and pulled a sealed parchment from inside his cloak.
He handed it forward. The old man accepted it..His eyes moved across the letter slowly.
Silence filled the courtyard. Then his gaze lifted. It landed directly on Newton. "You must be Newton Ice."
Newton stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Yes, Grand Master.".For a moment the old man studied him carefully.
Then something unexpected happened..A smile appeared on his face. He walked forward.
Before Newton could react, the old man wrapped his arms around him. "You were only a baby when I last saw you."
Newton blinked in surprise. Now the old man stepped back and examined him again. "And now you are a man."
Murmurs spread quietly among the soldiers behind Martin. Most of them looked confused.
Martin, however, showed no surprise..Neither did a few of his older men.
Newton frowned slightly. "You know me?" The old man chuckled. "Of course." His eyes sparkled with amusement.."There are very few Woodlands left in the world."
He folded the parchment carefully. "Why should we not know one another?" Newton stared at him for another moment.
Then realization struck. His eyes widened slightly. "You must be…" He hesitated for only a moment. "Aemon Woodland."
The old man smiled wider. "You are indeed a clever boy." He gestured toward the monastery hall. "Go inside."
His voice grew firm again. "Your training begins tomorrow."
Newton bowed deeply. "Yes, Grand Master.".He turned and walked into the hall.
Behind him Martin bowed again.."We must return to Snowland." He glanced briefly toward the sky. "We hope to reach home before nightfall."
Grand Master Aemon nodded. "Give my greetings to my nephew.".His voice softened slightly. "Tell him his son is in good hands."
Martin inclined his head. "The Warden will be pleased to hear that."
The soldiers mounted their horses again. Within moments they rode back through the iron gate. The monastery courtyard grew quiet. That night Newton sat across from Grand Master Aemon in the dining hall.
A simple wooden table stood between them. Bowls of bread and stew rested in the center..The hall smelled of smoke and herbs.
Newton ate quietly. But his mind wandered. Aemon watched him for a while. Then the old man set down his cup. "You look anxious."
Newton glanced up.
"Is there something you wish to ask?" Newton hesitated. Then he nodded. "Yes."
Aemon leaned back slightly. "Speak." Newton leaned forward across the table. "Have you ever gone beyond the wall?"
The old man chuckled. The sound echoed softly across the hall. "Of course." He lifted his cup again. "I have served here for fifty five years."
He took a sip. "Do you think I could avoid the wall for that long?" Newton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Then he leaned even closer. His voice lowered slightly. "Have you seen them?"
Aemon's eyes narrowed slightly. "The Neanderthals." The room grew quiet. For a long moment the old man said nothing.
Then slowly, he nodded. "Yes."
Newton's eyes widened. "I have fought them." The old man's gaze drifted toward the far wall as though remembering something unpleasant.
"And once…" A faint smile appeared on his lips. "They nearly cooked me for their dinner."
Newton's mouth fell open. "They are real?".His voice rose slightly.."They eat humans?"
Aemon shook his head slowly. "Do not look so excited, boy.".His expression hardened slightly.
"They are no stories." He leaned forward. His voice dropped lower. "They are now your greatest enemies."
The old man paused. Then he added quietly. "And they are not a pleasant sight."
Newton's life at the convent was both good and bad. At first, it felt like fortune had chosen him.
The grand master's eyes lingered on him longer than the others. Instructions came to him more often. Corrections were sharper, but also, closer. As if he mattered more.
It should have felt like an honor. It did..Until the others noticed. Then it became something else.
Whispers followed him across the training yard. Conversations paused when he passed. Some of the boys looked at him with narrowed eyes, others with tight smiles that never reached their faces.
And then there was Stanley. He approached Newton one afternoon, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. His expression carried no warmth.
"I need you to watch the plates." Newton looked at him for a brief second. Not confused. Just measuring. Then he nodded.
He had learned quickly. Seniority mattered in the convent. Not strength. Not talent.
But position.
And he had none. So he obeyed. From that day, he became the one who lingered behind after meals. The one who washed what others dirtied. The one who stirred pots while others rested.
Hands that held a sword in the morning scrubbed grease by evening.
Still, he trained. And when he trained, something shifted. The yard was filled with noise that morning. Wooden swords clashed. Boots struck the ground. Boys shouted, grunted, stumbled.
Newton stood at the center of it..Ten of them circled him. They rushed him together. Very fast.
Too confident.
Newton moved, not wildly, not desperately, but precisely.
One step to the side. A turn of the wrist. The first boy lost balance before he even understood what had happened.
Newton drove forward. A shoulder struck his chest.
Another fell. A swing came toward his head. He ducked, and pivoted. His blade tapped the attacker's ribs. Hard enough to mark. Not enough to injure.
Another came from behind. Newton twisted, caught the arm, and used the boy's own movement to throw him aside.
The ground hit him before he could react. Three more rushed him..He stepped back once.
Then forward. Very fast. His blade moved in clean arcs. Well controlled.
Each strike landed. Each opponent dropped. By the time the last boy hesitated, Newton was already in front of him. The wooden blade rested lightly against his throat.
Silence fell.
The boy swallowed. Then he stepped back. Around them, the others remained on the ground.
Breathing hard. Staring. Master Aemon watched from the edge of the yard. His expression did not change. But his eyes sharpened.
"The boy is ready," he said quietly. Beside him, Tywin Taylor frowned. "Ready for what?".Aemon's lips curved slightly.."To take the oath of brotherhood."
Tywin turned fully toward him now..His brows pulled together. "I know you are fond of the boy," he said carefully, "but that is not our way."
His gaze shifted briefly toward Newton. "We train candidates for at least eight months before inducting them."
Aemon did not look away from the yard. "See." He lifted a hand slightly, pointing. "What is there to train?"
Newton stood among the fallen boys, steady, breathing controlled.
"He has the movement of a sword warrior." Aemon's voice lowered. "We need him now." Tywin opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
Aemon's tone had already changed. "That is my decision." There was no room left in it. "Prepare the boy for the oath."
Tywin exhaled slowly. His jaw tightened for a brief second. Then he bowed. "Yes, Grand Master."
He turned. He walked across the yard. The boys were still recovering when he approached Newton. "That is enough for today."
Newton looked at him. "Go in and refresh yourself." Tywin paused. Then added, "You are taking your oath today."
Everything stopped.
The yard fell into a strange stillness. One boy straightened abruptly. Another turned fully. "What oath taking?" someone whispered.
Newton's brows furrowed. "It has only been a week since I arrived." His voice carried confusion now. "I thought it would take eight months."
Tywin's teeth pressed together. "You should ask the grand master that question." His eyes held Newton's for a brief moment. "Not me."
Newton did not argue. He nodded once. Then turned and walked away.
Inside, water ran over his skin. Cold, and sharp.
He scrubbed quickly. His mind moved faster than his hands. A week. Too soon. Something felt off. But no one stopped him. No one explained.
When he stepped out, robes were waiting.
Green, deep, and heavy. They dressed him without words. Layer after layer.
Cloth, armor, and boots. Each piece added weight. Not unbearable, but pressure.
He had worn armor before. But this felt different. As if it carried something more than metal.
"Follow me." Tywin's voice cut through his thoughts. Newton moved. They walked through narrow corridors lit by dim torches. The air grew cooler, and quieter.
Then they entered the divine temple. Newton slowed. Statues lined the space.
Tall, silent, and watching. He moved his eyes across them.
Then he saw it. A figure. A man holding a sword. Even in stillness, the presence was undeniable.
Newton stepped closer. His breath slowed. "That must be Odin," he whispered. His gaze dropped to the sword.
Recognition struck immediately. "I recognize it." His voice lowered further. "It is the same sword my father wielded."
Tywin said nothing. His silence was heavy, and unyielding.
Newton glanced at him briefly. Then back at the statue. "Odin is truly the first wielder of the sword?"
Still nothing.
Tywin's face remained tight. Unmoved. They moved forward again. Toward the altar.
Grand Master Aemon stood waiting. Fully dressed. Armor polished. Cloak falling behind him. He looked less like a man. More like something carved from the same stone as the statues.
Newton's body reacted before his mind caught up. A slight tremor ran through him. The air felt thicker, and heavier.
"Kneel." The word was calm. But it carried weight. Newton dropped to one knee. A wide parchment was placed before him.
The letters stretched across it. Waiting. "Say your vows."
Newton looked down. For a moment, his throat tightened. Then his lips moved.
"Knights gather, and now my service to the gods begins." His voice echoed softly within the temple. "It shall not end until my death." His grip tightened slightly on his own knees. "I shall know no woman, hold no lands."
The words came steadier now.
"I shall wear no crowns and win no glory." The silence around him deepened. "I am the sword of Odin, the life of Freya." His voice rose slightly. "The watcher on the walls. The shield that guards the realms of men."
Aemon's eyes remained fixed on him. "I pledge my life to the service of divinity." Newton's chest rose. "My sword to protect the innocent." The words pressed harder now. "My body and my sword shall remain divine till my last breath."
Silence followed.
Aemon nodded once. Then he reached for the golden sword resting on the altar. He lifted it.
Slowly, and deliberately. Then placed it on Newton's shoulder.
"In the name of Freya…" His voice was steady. "I judge you to be pure."
The blade shifted. To the other shoulder. "In the name of Odin…" The weight pressed down slightly. "I judge you to be brave."
Then the sword lifted. And came down gently upon Newton's head. "In the name of the departed knights…" The temple seemed to hold its breath. "I charge you to defend the innocent."
A pause. "To keep your vows."
Another pause.
"And to die for the cause of the monastery…" The blade remained steady. "And if need be."
Silence stretched. Long, and unbroken. Then Aemon lowered the sword. He turned it flat across both hands. "I, Aemon Woodland…" His voice filled the temple. "Grand master of the monastery, and representative of Odin and Freya, the first gods."
Newton's breath slowed.
"I name you Knight of the gods." The words landed. "And the doer of the gods' bidding."
Everything became stilled.
"Arise." Aemon's voice sharpened slightly. "Newton Ice, the divine knight of the gods."
Newton stood. The weight of the armor settled differently now. Not heavier. Just real
Aemon stepped forward. Extended his hand. Newton took it. Their grips locked. "Now your service begins."
One by one, the knights stepped forward. Each grasped his hand. Each repeated the same words. "Your service begins."
Again, and again.
When Newton finally stepped out of the temple, the air felt different. The courtyard stretched before him.
Filled. Every eye turned. Every voice gone. They looked at him. Not as a trainee. Not as the boy who washed plates.
Something else. Something sharper. Something heavier. No one spoke. But the silence said enough. They all knew. Another legend had been born.