Daylight in the northernmost reaches of the Seven Kingdoms is always especially short. By three or four in the afternoon, the sky is already dim. On the easternmost stretch of the Wall, at the edge of the Haunted Forest near the Night's Watch port of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, the light is further muted by the thick canopy of trunks and branches, making the forest floor grow oppressively dark. The last traces of light fall on the crooked, gnarled branches that resemble monstrous specters baring their claws and fangs. As the cold wind blows, they sway and creak like twisted living beings, making the scene even more terrifying than complete darkness.
In this Haunted Forest, a snowdrift on the ground suddenly erupted as a shriveled figure broke through the surface. He—or rather, it—was not alone. In the span of a breath, a second… a third… a tenth… followed closely behind.
Tens of thousands of wights, who had lain hidden and unmoving beneath the snow for months, conserving magic and avoiding human detection, now awakened in unison as a faint magical signal swept past. Like mushrooms sprouting after a spring rain, they emerged from their snowy shelters one by one, shaking off frost and ice, and began staggering eastward toward the coast.
Wights. Wight wolves. Wight bears. Every creature that once lived Beyond the Wall had been turned into a puppet under control. The dead gathered into squads, squads into columns, columns into tides... until a vast sea of wights, a deathly black swarm, slowly surged toward the shoreline, still beyond the sight of the Wall's sentries, roughly a mile from the Wall itself.
At the coastal edge toward which they moved, two White Walkers stood atop a massive reef, having arrived moments earlier. These were the commanders of the eastern advance—the "Eastern Commander" and the "Eastern Deputy Commander." They stood silently, waiting for the final moment.
...
The concentration of cold magic between heaven and earth had not yet peaked. The temperature had not yet fallen to its lowest point. Even the Bay of Seals had not completely frozen over. At least half a month remained before the most ideal time to strike. But… since that lofty and mysterious being had issued the attack signal, there must be a reason.
As the most loyal servants of that being, the White Walkers never questioned, only obeyed.
Now, the wights that had burst through the crust of snow and risen from the ground were gathering at the shoreline. They waited for the mysterious one to perform a miracle—to create a path across the Bay of Seals for the eastern army to bypass the Wall.
The sea was vast and deep, holding an incalculable volume of water. Water's specific heat capacity was infamously high. Freezing such a mass through unnatural means was nearly impossible. Lowering the temperature of the bay by even one degree would demand more energy than even that "mysterious being" could likely command.
But... at this moment, the seawater temperature had already dropped below freezing, entering a supercooled state. Due to currents, tides, and the constant ice-clearing efforts of human defenders, it had not yet solidified. It was only one step away. In such a scenario, applying a final external force could trigger the freezing process. It would come at a cost, and it wouldn't be as efficient as waiting for natural freeze, but it would suffice to initiate the battle earlier and seize strategic advantage.
Cold, damp vapor constantly condensed on the frost-covered bodies of the two White Walkers. From time to time, they had to shift and shake off the thick layer of "ice skin" building up on them to avoid being frozen solid. But the foolish waiting would not last forever. Time shifted from dusk into night. The sky grew pitch black.
When the final wight limped into formation with the deathly army, the two White Walkers finally ceased their silent vigil of the sea and turned toward the northern sky.
From the sacred Land of Always Winter, faint rumbling could be heard. A vast, boundless energy had completed its final convergence and now surged southward toward the Wall—or more precisely, toward the Bay of Seals—at frightening speed.
---
On the waters of the Bay of Seals, five Night's Watch ships, unaware of the magical disturbance, continued working under the glow of lanterns.
Though the White Walkers had not yet launched their attack, the ice-clearing team from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had already become the first humans in Westeros to engage in a battle—albeit an indirect one—with the god of cold.
The weather was growing colder, and the ice formed faster along the shallower waters of the shoreline. Sometimes, it thickened an inch overnight. If left unchecked for even a day, the ice would rapidly spread outward, threatening to freeze the entire bay adjacent to the Wall.
Despite the late hour, the crews worked overtime. A single day of delay, thinking "we'll rest and handle it tomorrow," could undo weeks of progress. Ice would accumulate faster and thicker, eventually rendering all prior efforts meaningless.
They had spread coal slag along the entire coastline, a few meters into the water. This dark material absorbed sunlight and helped melt and weaken the ice each morning where it clung to the shore. Each ship would then dispatch men to break apart the floating ice. Large chunks were tied to iron stakes with ropes and dragged away by ship. Smaller pieces were hauled with nets and deposited in a natural harbor several miles south to prevent them from drifting back. Thus, a full cycle of labor was completed.
As long as this process continued, an ice bridge that could bypass the Wall would never form.
Despite the ear-numbing cold, the soldiers tasked with ice-clearing worked with high morale. Though exhausting, the duty was among the most generously compensated. Commander Cotter Pyke of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea understood the hardship and rewarded it accordingly. Crews worked one day and rested the next. Some even pulled strings to get on the roster.
However, Yohn Royce, the former Lord of Runestone and now in charge of the ice-clearing operation, did not enjoy the work. Though he was named Commander of the ice-clearing team and did not have to physically break the ice himself, he also didn't get the rotation schedule. He had to head out to sea daily with the fleet. Since Aegor had humiliated him upon taking office and threatened him with execution, Cotter Pyke seemed to have changed. He no longer entertained talk of dealing with Aegor, refused to excuse Royce from duty, and even assigned people to watch over him—almost as if, without constant supervision, Royce might start plotting trouble again.
Though he understood Cotter Pyke meant to protect him, the heavy-handed method was hard to accept.
Still angry, Yohn Royce stood at the bow of the warship Mermaid, sternly supervising the work. He had no choice. Living under someone else's roof meant bowing your head. If he failed even at this task, and Aegor decided to punish him again, no one could shield him.
Today's operation was nearly 80 percent complete. One more large chunk of ice to tow, a few more acres to clear, and they could return to Eastwatch and hand over to the night patrol.
Everyone's spirits lifted at the thought. But just as they shouted and worked away, their voices began to falter. More and more men stopped moving, pointing toward the northern sky and murmuring anxiously. Yohn Royce was about to bark at them to focus—until he looked up himself and froze.
In the last light of dusk, the northern horizon revealed a strange scene. A hazy white mist, stretching from east to west, loomed where nothing should have been. It blended with the ocean and sky but stood out starkly against the dark forest backdrop. It looked like an infinite wall of fog—infinitely high, infinitely wide, infinitely thick—draped between heaven and earth like a curtain.
What in the name of the gods is that?
Yohn Royce's eyes narrowed in disbelief. The next second, realization dawned. Whatever it was didn't matter. What mattered was that it was moving. And it was rushing toward the Wall.
Something that massive, yet so fast that he could perceive its movement with the naked eye even from miles away... What kind of speed was that?
Judging by its color and shape, it was some kind of monstrous ice storm. A chill ran up his spine. He wasn't worried the storm could tear down the Wall, but... he was on a ship. A ship floating on the freezing Bay of Seals.
"Stop staring! Everyone, back on board!" he shouted hoarsely, gripping the ship's rail and screaming at the crew still on the floating ice. Without waiting for a response, he turned to the sailors aboard the Mermaid. "Lower all sails! Turn the ship to face north, a strong wind is coming fast! Signal the Blackbird and the other oared ships to do the same! Anyone not on duty, get below deck and hide under your bunks. Pull your blankets up and extinguish all lights!"
The soldiers on the ice snapped into action. They dropped tools and bolted toward the nearest ships. Some slipped and fell, but none broke through the ice. Then came the sound—like a thousand dragons roaring. The storm was so fast that from the moment it was spotted to the moment it reached them took barely over a minute.
When it was just a few hundred meters away, Yohn Royce gave up trying to rally the last stragglers. He dove into the cabin, slammed the door shut, and dove under the table.
He had lived long enough to trust his instincts. If he had raised sails and tried to retreat to Eastwatch, the ship wouldn't have lasted three seconds in that wind. Even anchored and facing the wind, hidden below deck, the storm still wreaked havoc.
Boom.
No one could have imagined the sound the wind made slamming into the ship. Debris pounded the hull. Inside the cabin, men were flung about like ants in a washing barrel, crashing against every wall, floor, and ceiling surface without a single spot spared.
After half a minute of chaotic agony, Yohn woke from a brief daze. The cabin was a mess, with people and furniture jumbled in piles. Thankfully, they had extinguished the oil lamps beforehand, or the cabin would have turned into an oven.
He was fairly sure the ship had rolled at least once during the storm, but somehow it had returned upright. Now, it wasn't rocking at all, not even with the waves. It was perfectly still.
That didn't make sense. The Mermaid was a medium-sized ship with no cargo and had been anchored nearly a mile from shore. How could a gust of wind run it aground?
Puzzled, Yohn opened his eyes and realized his pain was fading. At first, he thought he hadn't been badly injured. Then he noticed the numbness in his face and the frost clinging to his beard. It wasn't from the impact. It was from the cold.
He leaned against the wall and stood up with difficulty. Ignoring the groaning men around him, he kicked open the cabin door, which had warped and jammed, and stepped out onto the deck.
"By the Old Gods..."
In the last shreds of twilight, he finally understood why the ship no longer rocked. Why the air felt like death.
(To be continued.)