Chapter 1288 - Ch: 121-130

Chapter 121 Ghostly Shadows of the North

While Daenerys welcomed her most unexpected reinforcements in Essos, Bear Island in the North, an island enveloped by cold seas and hard rocks, also received an uninvited guest.

Sansa Stark, alone, sailed in a small fishing boat and set foot on this land, guarded by House Mormont for generations.

She did not reveal her identity, merely claiming to be a handmaiden named "Alayne Stone" who had fled King's Landing back to the North.

She had come to seek refuge with her distant "relative."

And the "relative" she was looking for was none other than the current Lady of Bear Island—a "Little Bear" who, though only ten years old, was already renowned: Lyanna Mormont.

"You said you were a handmaiden of House Stark?"

In the simple yet warm wooden hall of Bear Island, Lyanna Mormont, a girl small in stature but with eyes as sharp as a hawk's, sat on her large lord's chair, scrutinizing the woman who called herself "Alayne," who was several heads taller than her.

"Yes, my lady." Sansa bowed slightly, her posture humble yet dignified, "I once served Lady Catelyn Stark in Winterfell."

"Then why did you flee back from King's Landing?" Lyanna's voice was filled with a gravitas and wariness unbefitting her age.

"Because..." Sansa's eyes appropriately showed a hint of sadness and fear, "Because King Aegon, he is a tyrant. Although he avenged the North, he also imprisoned my mistress... Miss Sansa Stark. He wants to force her to marry him, just like the Mad King treated your aunt, Lyanna Stark, back then!"

"What?!"

Lyanna Mormont shot up from her chair!

Her most admired figure was her aunt, Lyanna Stark! Her most hated thing was the atrocities of the Targaryens!

"That Blackheart Aegon! How dare he treat Ned Stark's daughter like that?!"

"Yes, my lady." Sansa lowered her head, "Miss Sansa's life is worse than death. That's why she desperately sent me out. She told me to find you."

"Find me?" Lyanna furrowed her small brows, "I am just a small Lady of Bear Island. What can I do?"

"You can save the North." Sansa looked up, tears glistening in her eyes, "Miss Sansa said the North cannot fall into the hands of a tyrant again! She needs a true Northerner to stand up and unite all the families loyal to Stark! And you, Lady Lyanna Mormont..."

Sansa slowly knelt on one knee.

"You are the one she chose! She asked me to give you this."

Sansa pulled out the Needle, the symbol of Stark's honor, from her bosom!

Lyanna Mormont looked at the small but incredibly sharp Needle.

She recognized it as Arya Stark's sword!

Her last shred of doubt vanished!

She looked at the "loyal" handmaiden kneeling before her, and a blazing fury ignited in her heart!

"Targaryens..." She clenched her small fists, "They want to enslave us Northerners again! I, Lyanna Mormont, swear by the name of the Lady of Bear Island! I will never agree!"

Just as Sansa Stark successfully "incited" this toughest Little Bear on Bear Island, she did not know that on the other side of Bear Island, a shadow who had arrived earlier than her was quietly honing her swordsmanship on a secluded shore.

She was no longer the dirty tomboy.

Her hair had grown long, and her body was beginning to show the curves of a young woman.

But those gray, wolf-cub-like eyes had become even colder and more lethal.

She was Arya Stark.

"...Alayne Stone?" Arya stopped her practice sword and coldly asked the old Mormont soldier who had just brought her food, "Are you sure that's what she called herself?"

"Yes, my lady." The old soldier replied respectfully, "She claims to be your sister Sansa's handmaiden."

"Handmaiden?" Arya's face showed a cold, emotionless smile, "My sister Sansa... she would never use my Needle. She is a liar."

---

Bear Island, the main keep of House Mormont.

Night was deep, and the cold wind howled outside the wooden walls, like the wailing of the dead.

Lyanna Mormont, the young Lady of the island, sat before the fireplace, tightly gripping the Needle she believed to be Arya's, her heart filled with anger towards the Targaryen tyrant and loyalty to House Stark.

She had already prepared to summon her few but formidable Bear Island warriors at dawn tomorrow, ready to answer "Miss Sansa's" call.

Meanwhile, in another quiet guest room of the castle, Sansa Stark was also not resting.

She stood by the window, looking out at the dark, turbulent sea.

Her mind was rapidly replaying her next plan.

—To use Lyanna Mormont's prestige and the Northerners' inherent distrust of the Targaryens to create public opinion.

—To unite the stubborn Northern families unwilling to submit to Dragon King Aegon.

—To forge a third path between Roose Bolton and Aegon Targaryen.

A path of independence belonging only to the North, belonging only to Stark!

She was no longer Aegon's sword; she would be her own Queen!

"Thump, thump." A very faint knock sounded.

Sansa instantly became alert! She drew a delicate dagger from her boot.

"Who is it?"

"It's me." A hoarse, young, yet familiar voice that made her soul tremble.

Sansa's body suddenly froze! She turned around incredulously, looking at the heavy wooden door.

"Arya?"

"Creak—" The door opened.

A short-haired girl, dressed in the simple leather armor unique to Bear Island, stood silently in the shadows of the doorway.

She was no longer the tomboy of Winterfell.

Her figure had matured; though still slender, it was filled with a dangerous power like that of a leopard.

Her gray Stark eyes were like two cold stars in the darkness.

She just stood there, silently watching Sansa. Watching her short auburn hair, watching her luxurious yet cold King's Landing attire, watching her pale, trembling hand gripping the dagger.

"Sister." Arya spoke, her voice very soft, very flat, "You've grown taller."

"Arya... it's really you..." Sansa's eyes instantly reddened!

All her pretense, all her coldness, collapsed the moment she saw her only sister, whom she had thought long dead in King's Landing!

"You're alive! You're really alive!"

She threw away the dagger and rushed forward, wanting to hug her like they did when they were children!

However! Just as she was about to embrace Arya!

"Whoosh!" A cold light flashed! A small but incredibly sharp Needle stopped precisely before Sansa's throat, barely an inch away.

It was Needle! The real Needle!

Sansa's body froze instantly! She looked down at the sword she knew so well, then looked up at Arya's emotionless, cold face.

"Arya?" Her voice trembled.

"Why are you using my sword?" Arya asked coldly, her sword still steadily pointed at Sansa's throat, "Why are you using my sword to deceive Lyanna Mormont? Why are you lying? Why are you stirring up trouble between the North and King Aegon? Who exactly are you?"

Sansa looked at this sister, both familiar and strange, before her.

The joy of reunion in her heart was instantly replaced by a bone-chilling coldness!

She slowly lowered the hands that had been about to embrace, and slowly straightened her body.

Her eyes, which had just been red with emotion, returned to their icy blue, dead calm.

"I am." She answered, word by word, "Your Queen."

Chapter 122 The Crack Between Ice and Fire

"Queen?"

Arya's face showed a mocking, cold smile, "My 'Queen'? In King's Landing, you were Joffrey's 'little bird'. In Winterfell, you were Bolton's 'plaything'. And now,"

Her sword point advanced another inch, almost piercing Sansa's skin, "you are Aegon black heart's 'Raven'? You betrayed Father, you betrayed Robb, and now you want to betray the North?"

"I haven't betrayed anyone!" Sansa suddenly grabbed the sharp blade that was so close!

Blood instantly gushed from her palm! But she seemed to feel no pain!

She stared intently into Arya's shocked gray eyes!

"Everything I did was to reclaim our home! I endured humiliation in King's Landing! I barely survived under Tywin Lannister's feet! I watched our father be beheaded! I watched that bastard Joffrey humiliate Robb's body! And you?"

Her voice suddenly turned sharp, "Where were you? You were playing your 'game' with your ridiculous 'Needle'! What else can you do besides running away like a rat?!"

"You—!!" Arya was completely enraged! She suddenly pulled back her sword!

"At least I didn't beg our enemies like you did! At least I didn't forget that I am a 'wolf'! And you!"

She pointed at Sansa's lavish, King's Landing-style attire, "You've long since become a canary from the South! No, you're not even as good as a canary! You're Targaryen's 'bitch'!"

"Slap—!!!"

A crisp slap! This time it was Sansa who struck!

She used her uninjured, good hand to slap Arya hard!

Arya staggered and hit the doorframe.

She was stunned.

She hadn't expected her sister, who only knew how to cry and do needlework, to dare to hit her?

"What do you know?"

Sansa clutched her bleeding right hand, her body trembling violently from anger and pain.

"You know nothing! You only know your revenge! Your list! You don't understand what war is! What politics is!

Do you think Aegon Targaryen is our savior?

No! He is another, more terrifying dragon!

He used me to deal with Tywin, he used Robb to win the war, and now he sends me to reclaim the North!

Do you think he's doing it for the Starks?

He's doing it for himself! For his damn iron throne! He's using us!

Using the entire North as cannon fodder against the Others! And I..."

Sansa's eyes flickered with a nearly insane, cold fire!

"I will never allow it! The North is ours! Winterfell is ours! I will never hand it over to any king again! Whether it's Lannister or Targaryen!"

Arya was completely stunned by Sansa's "declaration" filled with hatred and ambition!

She looked at this sister who was both familiar and strange.

She suddenly realized she had never truly known her.

"So," Arya slowly tightened her grip on the rapier, "you're going to betray Aegon? You're going to start a civil war in the North when the Others come south? You're crazy."

"I'm not crazy!" Sansa looked at her coldly, "I'm just taking back what belongs to us! And you," Sansa extended her still-bleeding left hand to her, "my sister, will you help me? Or hinder me?"

---

In the hall of the wooden house on Bear Island, firelight danced between Sansa and Arya, casting their distorted shadows on the ancient walls.

The air seemed to have solidified.

"Hinder you?" Arya looked at Sansa's outstretched hand, stained with her own blood, and a cold, mocking smile appeared on her face.

"Sister, have you been in King's Landing too long? Do you think everyone is like you, only understanding betrayal and lies? I am a Stark! I am Arya of Winterfell! I will never betray my Wolf Pack!"

"I am the Wolf Pack!" Sansa's voice suddenly rose, and the oppressive aura of a regent queen, forged in King's Landing, erupted!

"And you!" She pointed at Arya, "You are just a stray, lone wolf who only knows revenge! You don't understand what family is! You only know your own list! You are even willing to abandon your faith for your ridiculous revenge, to serve that damned Many-Faced God!"

Arya's pupils suddenly contracted! Her biggest secret was known by her?!

"You investigated me?!" Arya's killing intent instantly boiled!

"I investigate all threats in my kingdom!" Sansa met her killing intent without backing down! "And a Faceless Manwho has almost forgotten who she is, is the biggest threat to me!"

"You..."

"Enough!!" A young but authoritative roar interrupted the sisters' confrontation!

Lyanna Mormont, at some point, had appeared at the doorway, wearing a small chainmail and holding a battle-axe taller than herself!

Behind her were a dozen solemn Bear Island veterans.

"In the territory of my Mormont family! In front of the heroic spirit of my aunt Lyanna Stark! You two sisters, flowing with Stark blood, are arguing about betrayal?! Are you not ashamed?!"

"Lady Lyanna!" Arya immediately put away her sword; she didn't want to hurt the girl who had taken her in. "She's a liar! She's using you!"

"I'm not being used." Lyanna Mormont slowly walked in.

Her small eyes first gave Arya a cold look, then turned to Sansa.

"I don't care who among you is a 'Raven' and who is a 'lone wolf'. I also don't care who wants to pledge allegiance to the 'Dragon King' and who wants to betray him. I, Lyanna Mormont, only know one thing!" She suddenly propped her battle-axe on the ground!

"The North only pledges allegiance to the Starks! And now," she looked at Sansa, "you are Ned Stark's only heir in the North."

"So I pledge allegiance to you."

"Lyanna! You can't!" Arya was anxious! "She'll drag the North into another war!"

"So what?!" Lyanna suddenly turned and glared at her! "The North has never feared war! We only fear betrayal! And you!" She pointed at Arya, "You'd rather trust a Targaryen tyrant far away in King's Landing, riding a dragon! Than trust your sister in front of you, who shares the same blood as you?!"

"...I..." Arya was speechless. She found she couldn't refute it.

"Arya." Sansa spoke.

She slowly wiped the blood from her right palm with her uninjured left hand.

Her face returned to cold calmness.

"You are right. I am a 'liar'. I am also a 'bitch'. I am even a 'traitor'. I learned all the dirty tricks you despise most in King's Landing. But,"

She looked up, her ice-blue eyes clear and firm at this moment!

"I used these 'dirty' tricks to bring down Tywin Lannister! I used these 'dirty' tricks to execute Joffrey! I used these 'dirty' tricks to get back Daario's three thousand wolves! I used these 'dirty' tricks to let Wyman Manderly avenge the 'Red Wedding'! And now..."

She looked at Arya.

"I need to use these 'dirty' tricks to take back our home, Winterfell. I don't need your allegiance. I don't even need your forgiveness. I just need you to answer one question. Roose Bolton and Ramsay Bolton... are they on your list?"

Arya's hand gripping the rapier tightened sharply! These two names had been silently recited thousands of times in her heart!

"...Yes." She squeezed out a word through clenched teeth.

"Good." Sansa nodded, "Then our goals are consistent. I don't care if you are a Faceless Man or Arya Stark. I now command you, in the name of the Queen of the North... to join my Winter Wolf Pack. Become my sharpest blade. You will be responsible for the killing. And I," a cold, King's Landing smile appeared on her face, "will be responsible for the lying."

Arya looked at this sister who was both strange and familiar.

The anger in her heart slowly subsided, replaced by a sense of identification she had never felt before.

"Okay." She slowly put away her rapier, "I'll join. But after we kill all the Boltons and Freys..." She looked up, her gray wolf eyes still cold, "I will go to King's Landing myself. To see this so-called Dragon King you speak of. To see if he is truly a savior, or the next name on my list."

Chapter 123 Bad News

After forming this fragile and cold'sisterly alliance,' Sansa Stark did not linger on Bear Island for a moment.

She refused Lyanna Mormont's allegiance of 'Bear Islandwarriors.'

"You are too few. Stay on the island and guard the west coast, preventing another invasion from the Iron Islands."

She only took one person with her—Arya Stark.

The two of them sailed in the small fishing boat, returning overnight to the Winter Wolf Pack fleet hidden in the fog... inside the command center of the flagship, the direwolf.

Daario Naharis looked at the cold young girl with a Needle on her back who had suddenly appeared by Sansa's side, his brows furrowed so deeply they could trap a fly.

"My Lady," he protested in a low voice, "our operation is top secret. How could you just bring an unknown wild girl onto the ship?"

"She's not a wild girl," Sansa said without turning her head, as she untied the blood-soaked bandage from her right hand. "She is Arya Stark."

"The other heir to Winterfell."

"What?!" Daario was shocked!

"She is also," Sansa looked up at Arya, who was curiously examining the steel warship, "...our Winter Wolf Pack's new Chief Assassin."

"From now on," Sansa abruptly spread the map of the North on the chart table, "the plan changes!"

"Daario!"

"Present!"

"You and your three thousand Wolf Pack will proceed upstream as planned! Straight to The Dreadfort!"

"I want you to burn House Bolton's stronghold to the ground within five days!"

"Yes, My Lady!" Daario excitedly accepted the order!

"And what about you?"

"Arya and I," Sansa's finger pointed to an unexpected place on the map, "we are going to the Bay of Ice."

"The Bay of Ice?!" Daario paled, "Isn't that where you sent Lord Manderly to attack?"

"Manderly can't take it," Sansa shook her head, her eyes cold and full of calculation. "The Bay of Ice is easy to defend and hard to attack. Manderly's two thousand knights are just a feint, to lure Roose Bolton out of Winterfell!"

"And we..." She looked at Arya, "we are the true fangs striking at his heart."

"We will infiltrate the Bay of Ice through the swamps. Arya will open the gates, and I will welcome... welcome Lord Wyman Manderly's victory."

...However, just as Sansa Stark was setting her trap for Roose Bolton.

"Thump! Thump! Thump!"

A rapid ringing of bells, signaling the highest alert, suddenly began to clang wildly on the flagship, the direwolf!

"What's going on?!" Daario was the first to rush out of the command center!

"Commander!" A lookout soldier on deck scrambled down the mast! His face was filled with unprecedented terror, "...South...South!" He pointed to the sea they had come from, "Look! Look there!"

Sansa and Arya also rushed onto the deck! They looked in the direction the soldier was pointing!

On the gray horizon, where the fog had just cleared, a long, white 'ice wall' appeared, approaching them at a visible speed?

No! That wasn't an ice wall! That was the completely frozen sea!

"Rumble—!"

The land and sea began to tremble violently at this moment! As if thousands of troops were thundering beneath the ice!

"...What...what is that?!" Daario gripped his scimitar, his voice trembling.

"...Impossible..." Sansa murmured. She looked at the ice wall devouring them at several kilometers per hour, "...The Wall...The Wall has fallen?"

"Roar—!"

A chilling, unearthly roar, as if it could freeze the soul, came from the endless 'white'!

Immediately following! On the frozen sea, a giant figure appeared, riding an undead warhorse, clad in ancient black armor!

His skin was like ancient ice. His blue eyes, burning like stars! From a great distance! Were locked onto this black steel flagship!

"...Night King," Arya uttered the forbidden name in the ancient language she learned as a Faceless Man, "He has come."

Arya's voice was almost swallowed by the sudden, hellish cold wind that swept over them! That was not a normal wind! That was the breath of death!

The moment the Night King appeared, the direwolf, the most advanced warship forged of steel, emitted a grating 'creak'!

The iron plating on the hull, meant to withstand waves, quickly solidified with a thick, eerie blue frost within seconds!

The air seemed to have been sucked dry!

All the Winter Wolf Pack soldiers on deck, the most elite warriors who had fought their way from Essos with Daario, couldn't even hold their weapons at this moment!

Their beards, eyebrows, and the seams of their armor were freezing at a visible rate!

"...Quick...look!" A lookout let out a desperate, distorted shriek!

He wasn't pointing at the 'Night King' standing still on the ice. He was pointing at their feet!

Sansa, Arya, and Daario suddenly looked down!

The gray sea, which had been churning, was now...motionless.

Centered around their fleet, the 'white ice field' brought by the Night King was closing in on them like a living, greedy beast! That wasn't freezing! That was devouring!

"No—!"

A small Winter Wolf Pack scout ship on the outermost edge of the fleet was the first to be caught by the rapidly spreading ice!

"Clang! Snap—!"

The steel hull was as fragile as thin paper before the ancient magical ice!

The moment the ship was frozen, it was twisted and deformed by the terrifying compression and low temperature!

The more than one hundred 'Wolf Pack' soldiers on board couldn't even let out a single scream!

Before Sansa and Arya's eyes, they, along with their ship, were frozen into a giant, blue ice sculpture!

"...God..." Daario Naharis, the king of mercenaries who had seen countless deaths and bloodshed, felt a shiver from his soul at this moment, "...What in the hell is that thing?"

"It's war," Sansa gripped the cold ship's rail tightly with her uninjured, trembling hand!

She finally understood! She finally understood what Aegon had told her in King's Landing—"...You are playing politics...and I am facing gods."

Is this a god? Is this the ultimate enemy that even Aegonfeared?

"Roar—!"

Just then! The Night King moved! He did not charge personally.

He simply slowly raised his arm, which was clad in ancient armor! With his movement! From the endless 'white' behind him!

"Rumble rumble rumble—!"

Countless blue eyes lit up! Thousands! Tens of thousands! Hundreds of thousands!

The First Men, wildlings, Night's Watch, giants, mammoths... all the creatures who had died in this 'Long Night' and had slept north of the Wall for thousands of years, at this moment, all transformed into an army of the dead!

They marched with synchronized, bone-chilling steps! Beginning to charge towards the Winter Wolf Pack fleet, which was about to be completely frozen!

"It's over," Daario closed his eyes in despair. On the open sea, in this inescapable cage that was about to become an ice field, they were like turtles in a jar!

"No!"

Just in this most desperate moment! Sansa Starksuddenly looked up! There was no despair in her ice-blue eyes! Only a desperate will to survive, pushed to the brink!

"Daario!" She roared with all her might at the still-stunned commander! "My command! All fleet, beach the ships!"

"What?" Daario turned back sharply, looking at her in disbelief! "We are steel warships! We are not rafts! How can we beach? We will run aground!"

"If we don't beach, we'll die here!" Sansa grabbed his collar, her nails almost digging into his flesh!

"Listen! That's the coast of Bear Island!" She pointed to the faintly visible dark coastline to their left-rear! "That's the land of the North! I don't care how you do it! Ram into it if you have to! I'd rather die on the land of the North! I absolutely refuse to die in this cold, hopeless sea!"

"Arya!" She turned sharply!

"Present!" Arya had already drawn her Needle!

"Winter Wolf Pack!"

"Roar!" Under the threat of death, the three thousand Wolf Pack also erupted with their last bit of ferocity!

"We're going home!"

Sansa drew the sister sword Aegon had given her—that valyrian steel Needle! The sword pointed directly at the dark coastline of the North!

"All forces! Charge!"

Chapter 124 Bloodstained Landing

"Crazy! This woman is completely crazy!"

Daario Naharis cursed furiously in his heart as he watched the Queen of the North, who had seized his "command" at the most critical moment!

But! He also drew his twin swords at the same time!

He roared at the hesitant captains, "...Are you all deaf?! Didn't you hear the Queen's command?! Overload all power cores! Row all the oars that can still move! Ram them!"

"Roar!"

The Winter Wolf Pack fleet, an invincible armada forged by Aegon's "black technology" steam power and the wealth of Essos.

At this moment, it abandoned all "tactics" and all "glory."

They were like a group of desperate gamblers, pushed to the brink, staking their own fate and the fate of this fleet on the Bear Island coastline just a few kilometers away!

"Boom"

The flagship, the "direwolf," was the first to turn its bow!

Its sharp wolf snout, used to ram enemy ships, emitted a piercing roar as it was propelled by the overloaded steam power.

It chose not to flee! It chose the most tragic way... to storm the beach!

"Crack! Crackle—"

The rapidly closing "ice sheet" finally "bit" the stern of the "direwolf"!

The huge steel rudder was instantly frozen and then shattered by the terrifying, unnatural ice power! The entire warship jolted violently!

"Power overload!" Daario roared, his eyes wide with fury, "...Even if it explodes, get me through!"

"Rumble"

The direwolf's power core erupted with unprecedented horsepower in this final frenzy.

It actually dragged its half-frozen hull, using its indestructible wolf snout to violently ram into the dark, rocky coast of Bear Island.

"Boom"

An earth-shattering roar! Heaven and earth split apart!

The "direwolf," this priceless steel beast, suicidally and tragically "nailed" itself onto the land of the North!

Its massive "wolf snout" deeply wedged into the frozen soil and rocks of the coast! And its stern remained forever in that sea of death, which had completely turned into a "blue ice field"!

"Puff!"

Sansa was violently flung by the immense impact, crashing against the wall of the command room! She felt as if her bones were about to fall apart!

"...Cough, cough..." She spat out a mouthful of blood, but a tragic, victorious smile appeared on her face, "We're home."

"Everyone!! Disembark!! Disembark!"

"Arya!"

"Here!"

Arya, like the most agile wolf cub, had already secured herself with a grappling hook the moment the ship crashed!

"You and your Wolf Pack, go down in the first wave and establish a defensive line on the shore!"

"Daario!"

"Yes, my lady!" Daario also scrambled to his feet! He wiped the blood from his face!

"Burn them!" Sansa pointed at the subsequent warships, now immobile and trapped on the ice!

"Ignite all the black oil, fire arrows, and wood on the ships! I want to create a wall of fire between us and those abominations!"

"Yes!"

Daario took the order! He knew this was their only way to survive!

He immediately directed the surviving archers and crossbowmen on deck: "Fire arrows! Oil pots! Target our own ships! Fire!"

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—!"

In an instant! Hundreds of arrows and ceramic pots, burning with black and green flames, cut through the cold, dark night sky.

They landed precisely on the subsequent warships, which were already engulfed by the army of the dead.

"Boom! Rumble—!"

The strongest weapon Aegon had prepared for them to attack The Dreadfort—wildfire!

At this moment, it became their last hope for self-preservation.

Green, hellish flames shot into the sky.

Tens of thousands of the dead, who had just climbed onto the warships' decks, were incinerated the moment they touched the wildfire!

The flames ignited the wood, ropes, and all supplies on the ships!

The dozen or so massive steel warships trapped on the ice surface transformed into giant sea torches within mere seconds!

They formed a continuous line along the Bear Islandcoastline, creating a blazing green wall of fire several kilometers long!

"Roar—?"

The hundreds of thousands of dead, who had been furiously charging across the ice, for the first time halted their unstoppable advance before this wall of fire, imbued with magic and intense heat!

They were creatures of ice, instinctively fearing fire; tens of thousands of the dead, unable to stop, crashed into the green wall of fire!

They let out silent, mournful screams in the unquenchable flames, turning into wisps of black smoke!

"It worked!" Daario yelled excitedly, "We stopped them!"

"No." Sansa's blood-stained face showed no joy; she merely looked in despair at the cold figure still standing behind the wall of fire. "...The Night King."

The Night King slowly raised his hand, as if mocking their pathetic, tiny struggle.

"What is he doing?" Daario asked, puzzled.

"He's..." Sansa's pupils suddenly contracted to their extreme, "He's summoning a blizzard! He wants to extinguish our fire!"

Before she finished speaking!

"Whoosh—!"

A death storm, a hundred times colder than before, swept in from the Land of Always Winter!

Before this terrifying, magic-infused blizzard, the green wall of fire, whose flames had been soaring, began to visibly shrink!

"No, no! The fire's going out! Hold the line quickly!" Aryashrieked on the shore!

Because she saw that the dead had already begun to step on the charred bodies of their companions, forcefully pushing through the dying wall of fire!

"It's over." Sansa closed her eyes in despair.

However! Just then!

"Thump, thump, thump—!"

A desolate, ancient war drum belonging to the North suddenly resounded from the cliffs of Bear Island behind them!

Immediately after! A girl's roar, though young but filled with an iron will, cut through the entire blizzard!

"Warriors of Bear Island! The Long Night is upon us! The North is in peril! In the name of the Old Gods! Charge with me!"

Sansa sharply turned her head!

On the dark cliffs, Lyanna Mormont, the ten-year-old little she-bear, stood in her ill-fitting ancient armor, holding high her family's battle-axe.

Behind her were the sixty-two men, the last line of defense for Bear Island, composed of veterans and youths, charging fearlessly towards the tens of thousands of the dead who were about to breach the wall of fire!

Chapter 125 Blood of Bear Island

"Follow me—charge!!!"

Lyanna Mormont's battle cry tore through the night sky.

The voice was so young, yet filled with an iron-like resolve.

Sansa Stark stood on the wreckage of the soon-to-be-overturned "direwolf" and witnessed a scene she would never forget.

The Lord of Bear Island charged at the very front.

Her small body, clad in ill-fitting ancient armor, was like a stubborn black nail.

Behind her was not an army—it was a group of old men and children, the last men of Bear Island.

Their armor was rusty, their weapons ancient, wielding their grandfathers' battle-axes and fathers' hunting knives.

There were only just over sixty of them, yet they dared to charge at a hundred thousand dead.

"No," Sansa murmured.

A soul-searing shame surged within her—she had played power games in King's Landing, plotted betrayal in the North, while this ten-year-old girl was defending her home.

"Roar—!!!"

The army of the dead broke through the dying fire wall! The first wave of wights, charred black, climbed over the ashes of their comrades, crashing head-on into Lyanna's charge!

"For Bear Island!!" Lyanna roared.

She was not even as tall as a wight warrior's battle-axe, yet she was as agile as a true she-bear.

She slid under a wight's crotch, her battle-axe imbued with all her strength, viciously severing its Achilles tendon!

As the wight fell, a white-haired Mormont veteran beside her immediately roared and smashed its skull with a warhammer!

"They..." Daario Naharis crawled to Sansa's side, even the voice of this King of Mercenaries, who had seen countless deaths, was trembling, "They are going to their deaths!"

"They are buying us time!" Sansa snapped her head back, the fear and calculation in her eyes completely gone, replaced only by the cold clarity of being pushed to the brink, "They are protecting their Queen!"

She pointed to her blood-stained chest and declared loudly, "And I... must not let them die in vain!"

"Arya!!" she yelled at the black figure that had already leaped off the deck.

"I'm here!"

Arya's voice came from the very front line of the battlefield.

Sansa looked at her sister—no longer the tomboy from Winterfell.

She was death, she was shadow, she was a cold and deadly dance.

The soldiers of the Winter Wolf Pack were afraid. They were warriors, not demon slayers, and facing unkillable monsters, their line was collapsing.

But Arya was not.

Her rapier flashed in the firelight, like a silver viper, each thrust precisely hitting a wight's throat, eye socket, or the blue core that drove them.

She moved like the wind, weaving back and forth in front of the collapsing defense line, single-handedly stabilizing a gap dozens of meters long!

"Monster," Daario muttered, watching Arya fight, "Are all of House Stark monsters?"

"We are 'wolves'!" Sansa replied loudly, regaining her pride in that moment, "Wolves never wait to die!"

She looked around—the fire wall was completely extinguished, the Night King's blizzard had won.

Tens of thousands of wights on the ice surface surged onto the narrow shore like a black tide.

Lyanna and her sixty warriors were about to be overwhelmed, and Arya's defense line was also nearing its limit.

They couldn't hold on much longer, maybe five minutes, maybe three minutes.

"Daario!"

"Here! Your Majesty!"

"I don't care how you do it! How many of the Winter Wolf Pack are left?"

"Fewer than two thousand able to fight!"

"There are still supplies on the beached ship! And black oil and dragonglass!"

"It's too late! We can't defend this beach, we'll be drowned!"

"Then where can we go?!" Daario roared in despair, "Behind us is a cliff! To our left and right are icy seas! We have no way out!"

"No," Sansa's gaze swept across the battlefield, looking towards the towering Bear Island cliff, "We have a way. We're going home—to Mormont's castle, up the cliff!"

"Are you crazy?! That's a sheer cliff, how do we get up?"

"Lyanna knows the way! Her people came down from there, there must be a path!"

Sansa commanded in the Queen's unquestionable voice:

"Daario, take five hundred men to support Lyanna Mormont, bring her and her warriors back alive! That is an order!"

"All others, archers, crossbowmen, cover Arya! We must contract our defense line and move towards the cliff!"

She shouted with all her might to the entire battlefield:

"Everyone, move towards the cliff! Move towards Arya Stark! We retreat!"

"Retreat?" Arya sneered on the front line, "Sister, you still only 'run away'."

But despite her taunt, her body had already tactically retreated, directing the soldiers around her: "Three to a group! Alternate cover! No lingering! Stab the eyes! Stab the throat! Retreat!"

"Boom—rumble—!!!"

A loud noise shook the shore, and the army of the dead parted like the Red Sea, making way for their true master.

A colossal shadow slowly emerged from the frozen sea—taller than the mast of the "direwolf", each step making the earth groan.

It was a dead frost giant, its skin purplish-blue, impaled with the broken swords of the Night's Watch, its eyes burning with ice-blue flames, dragging a spiked club made from the entire keel of a whaling ship.

"...God," Daario stopped, utterly despairing, "We're all going to die here today."

It was the embodiment of despair.

When the wight giant appeared on the battlefield, time seemed to stand still.

Lyanna's warriors stopped their battle-axes, the Winter Wolf Pack soldiers forgot their crossbows, and even Arya's "sewing needle" froze in mid-air for half a second.

It was a horror beyond human comprehension.

The giant stepped over the dozens of meters wide ruins of the fire wall, lowered its blue-flame-burning eye sockets, and looked down at these struggling insects.

"Roar?" It let out a low growl, as if mocking.

"Fire!!" Daario was the first to react, the mercenary's ferocity overcoming his fear, "All archers, crossbowmen! Shoot its eyes! Shoot—!!!"

Hundreds of arrows soared into the sky, some with fire, fiercely striking the giant!

But the arrows hit its iron-hard frozen skin, bouncing off, with only a few sticking near its eye sockets, yet not even piercing the epidermis.

"It's useless," an archer lowered his longbow, "Our arrows can't hurt it."

"Roar—!!!!"

The giant was enraged! It raised its spiked club, like a battering ram, aimed at the densest crowd—the beach where Arya and Lyanna had converged—and smashed it down fiercely!

"Run!!!" Arya shrieked, pushing Lyanna away, rolling to the side with the agility of a Faceless Man.

"Boom—rumble—!!!!"

The spiked club landed, and Bear Island trembled as if in an earthquake! The hard shore was smashed into a pit several meters deep, and the thirty-odd Winter Wolf Pack soldiers and seven or eight Mormont warriors who had been standing there were reduced to a mixture of red and black minced meat and ice shards.

"...No...no..." The surviving soldiers collapsed, throwing down their weapons and rushing into the dark seawater, preferring to freeze to death than to be turned into meat paste.

"Stop! Cowards!!" Daario cut down a deserter, "Whoever takes another step back, I'll kill him first!" But morale was broken, and mortal courage was worthless in the face of divine power.

"Sister," Arya wiped the blood from her face, looking at the giant pulling up its spiked club, and whispered, "It seems I will die before you."

"No! You won't die!" Sansa's voice trembled, "Lyanna! Lyanna Mormont! Stand up!"

Lyanna was trembling. This ten-year-old girl was not afraid of wights, not afraid of death, but she feared that unconquerable power.

"Your people!" Sansa pointed to the fleshy remains, "They are watching you! Your family has guarded this place for generations! Are you going to shrink back before 'it'? Are you going to bring shame to Bear Island?"

"No," Lyanna stopped trembling, propped herself up with her giant battle-axe, "Bear Island never shames."

She looked up at the giant, which was raising its club again, and in her black eyes, there was only the resolve of the ancient First Men.

"Arya Stark!" she suddenly shouted, "Are you fast?"

Arya was stunned: "I am fast."

"Good, then keep up with me."

Lyanna made a move that surprised everyone—she turned her back to the falling spiked club, faced the collapsing Northern soldiers, and raised her battle-axe!

She did not charge at the giant, but at Sansa, at the only way out: the dark cliff!

"Men of the North!" she roared in a young voice that pierced the battlefield, "Your Queen is there! Your home is there! Your way out is also there! And I—" She suddenly turned her head, looking at the wight giant that had locked onto her, "I, Lyanna Mormont, will cover your... retreat!"

After saying that, she looked at no one else.

This ten-year-old girl, the bravest little she-bear in the North, single-handedly dragging a huge battle-axe, launched her last charge into the shadow of death and the tide of a hundred thousand wights.

"No—!!!!" Arya's eyes were splitting with rage, but she knew she couldn't stop her.

"Sister!" Arya made her choice at that moment, she did not accompany Lyanna to her death, but rushed towards Sansa, "She bought us time! Go! Go!!!!"

Chapter 126 The Final Charge

"Go!"

Arya's shriek was a command, not a plea, and the sound instantly pierced Sansa's fear.

But Sansa didn't move. She couldn't move, her eyes fixed on that tiny figure.

Lyanna Mormont was charging.

She was alone, charging towards the undead giant taller than the walls of Winterfell, like a fledgling bird flying into a winter storm.

"No," Sansa whispered.

This was not part of her plan; her plan should not involve the sacrifice of children.

The undead giant noticed the tiny provocateur.

It stopped its spiked club, which was about to swing at the crowd, and lowered its eye sockets, burning with blue flames, as if curious, or perhaps insulted.

It put away its weapon and extended its giant hand, made of millennia of ice and skeletal remains, slowly reaching for Lyanna—it wanted to crush this last resistance like crushing an insect.

"Lyanna! Run!!!" Arya's eyes were bloodshot; she wanted to rush forward but knew she was too late.

Lyanna didn't run; she was a Mormont, the Lady of Bear Island, and her home was beneath her feet. She had nowhere to retreat!

"Roar—!!!" She let out a childish roar belonging to a "mother bear," and just as the giant hand was about to close, she didn't dodge. Instead, she used the shadow to leap high, fiercely "nailing" her small body and giant axe onto the giant's hand!

"Ouch—?!" The giant let out a confused roar for the first time. It felt no pain, only an obstruction, and slammed its palm shut!

"No!!!" Sansa let out a desperate shriek.

"Crack—"

A bone-chilling sound of bones shattering rang out, and the ancient Mormont armor instantly collapsed under absolute force.

Sansa watched with her own eyes as Lyanna's tiny body was crushed by the giant hand.

...No... no..." Daario also stopped swinging his sword.

All the Winter Wolf Pack soldiers around him witnessed this scene.

Their courage, their hope, the ten-year-old girl who charged at the front—she was dead.

The undead giant opened its hand, wanting to see the "insect" it had crushed.

Lyanna's body slipped through its fingers like a broken rag doll, her breathing stopped, but her eyes still glared angrily at the giant.

And beneath her broken armor, her small hand still clutched a black dragonglass dagger—the one Sansa had left for her in the Bear Island cabin, saying: "This is a king's gift, used to kill monsters."

The undead giant looked down at the girl, dead yet still glaring at it, and extended a finger, wanting to crush her.

Just then, Arya's icy voice rang out: "Now!!!"

She didn't charge at the giant but at Sansa, grabbing her arm: "Run!!!"

Sansa was still immersed in immense grief.

"She bought you time!" Arya roared, "Don't waste her death!"

Sansa jolted awake, looking up—the undead giant had stopped because of Lyanna's provocation, bringing a brief pause to the army of the dead.

And Lyanna's final charge and tragic sacrifice also stunned the collapsing Northern soldiers; their fear was replaced by a more primal anger.

Their Lady, a ten-year-old girl, died for them!

"Your Majesty..." A centurion of the Winter Wolf Packtrembled as he looked at Sansa, "Please give the order!"

Sansa closed her eyes, shedding one last tear, which froze the moment it fell. When she opened her eyes again, there was only the dead silence of the Northern winter.

"Daario!"

"Here!!!"

"Consolidate the defensive line! Target the cliff!"

"Arya!"

"Here!"

"You and your guards will cover the retreat! By any means necessary, hold them back!"

"Everyone else!" She turned to the surviving Mormontwarriors and re-assembled soldiers, "We go up the cliff! To Mormont Castle! Live—live for Lyanna Mormont!"

"Roar—!!! For Lyanna! For Bear Island!" The soldiers' morale was ignited by tragic fury.

"Boom—!!!" The undead giant lost patience, stomping on Lyanna's remains, and again raised its spiked club, intending to crush these resisting ants.

"Now!!!" Daario roared, commanding the last of his troops, "Shield wall! Hold! Buy the Queen time! Arya!"

"I know!" Arya said without a word, and with a dozen of the most elite Wolf Pack assassins, she met the first wave of the dead like black lightning.

They were sharp daggers, firmly fixed at the very front of the army of the dead.

Rapier danced, each thrust taking a wight, tearing a path to the cliff through the tide of death with mortal bodies.

"Quick! Quick! Quick!" Sansa disregarded her queenly demeanor, scrambling with the soldiers towards the vertical crevice hidden in the ice and snow.

She was the first to dig her hands into the cold rock, her nails breaking, blood and rock freezing together. She felt no pain, only climbed frantically upwards.

The soldiers followed closely, forming a fragile human chain.

"Daario!!!" Arya shrieked at the end of the defensive line, covered in black blood. A guard was grabbed by the ankle by a wight; she unhesitatingly cut off his lower leg: "...Forgive me." She kicked the screaming guard towards the army of the dead, "...For the sake of more people."

"Retreat quickly! We can't hold them!"

The undead giant's spiked club crashed down again! "Boom—!!!" Daario's shield wall was breached, and dozens of soldiers turned into blood mist.

"Hold on!!!" Daario's eyes were bloodshot as he looked at Sansa, who had climbed halfway up the cliff, knowing he couldn't leave. He looked at Arya, fighting fiercely beside him: "...Little girl! Are you afraid of death?!"

"I am death!" Arya replied coldly, piercing another wight's eye socket.

"Good! Then let's go meet the Old Gods of the North together!!!" Daario laughed, turned, and no longer retreated. With the last fewer than a hundred Winter Wolf Pack soldiers, he raised his valyrian steel sword and, facing the undead giant and the boundless army of the dead, launched his final glorious charge as the King of Mercenaries.

"Daario!!!" Sansa cried out in despair from the cliff, watching him and his soldiers swallowed by the black tide of death.

"No!!!" Arya was also stunned; she hadn't expected this Southern mercenary to choose the same end as Lyanna.

"Go quickly!!!" A surviving soldier pushed Arya towards the crevice, "Protect the Queen! This is Commander Dario's last order!"

"Boom—!" Before the soldier could finish, he was swept away by the undead giant's spiked club, vanishing into the snowstorm.

"Ah—!!!" Arya let out a beastly roar, not looking back, grabbing the rock and climbing frantically upwards.

Below the cliff, there were no living souls left.

Only endless wights, and the Night King, who slowly raised his head, watching the last two survivors on the cliff with icy blue, merciless eyes.

He slowly raised his hand, pointing at the corpse of Daario Naharis, who had just died heroically, and the crushed remains of Lyanna Mormont.

The two bodies twitched, slowly opening their eyes.

They were cold, blue eyes, just like the Night King's.

"No."

Sansa witnessed the most terrifying scene at the top of the cliff.

Lyanna's broken body stood up, Daario's remains stood up, and hundreds of recently deceased Winter Wolf Packsoldiers all stood up.

Their movements were stiff, weapons still in hand; they slowly turned, and in their empty eye sockets burned the same icy blue hellfire as the Night King.

...No... no... no..." Sansa broke down.

She could face death, betrayal, even the undead giant, but she couldn't face this!

She couldn't face Lyanna, who died for her, couldn't face Daario, who pledged allegiance to her, now all her enemies.

"Arya..." She trembled, reaching out to pull her sister, who had just climbed the cliff, "...They..."

Arya didn't look back, not even at the bottom of the cliff.

As a Faceless Man, she understood death better than Sansa: "They are no longer themselves; now they are 'its' weapons."

Having said that, she suddenly drew her rapier, and with a "whoosh," she stabbed a Wolf Pack soldier who had just climbed up beside her through the heart!

"Arya! What are you doing?!" Sansa shrieked. That soldier was alive, a survivor!

"He's about to die," Arya said expressionlessly, pulling out her sword.

The soldier's lower leg had a shallow black wound from being grabbed by a wight while climbing, "He was 'marked'."

The soldier fell, his eyes wide with terror, his last words: "Tha... thank you."

After he gasped his last breath, his body didn't move again—Arya's sword had pierced his heart; he would not rise again.

Sansa looked in horror at her sister, covered in the blood of both living and dead, and suddenly felt a stranger. The Arya before her made her colder than the Night Kingbelow the cliff.

"Go quickly." Arya ignored Sansa's shock, grabbing her arm with surprising strength, "Mormont Castle is our only chance; we must close the gates before 'they' climb up!"

"Climb up?" Sansa suddenly turned her head! The undead giant had reached the bottom of the cliff; it was too tall to climb but raised its spiked club and slammed it fiercely into the cliff!

"Boom—rumble—!!!" Rocks flew, and the already fragile crevice shook violently!

"Quick!!!" Arya dragged Sansa, sprinting towards the wooden gate of Mormont Castle, which was close at hand! Behind them, hundreds of lucky surviving soldiers also ran frantically, racing against death!

"Boom—" Another strike! The cliff edge collapsed, and several soldiers running at the back fell with the rocks into the sea of the dead!

"Close the gate!!!" Arya was the first to rush into the castle gate, and with the old Bear Island veterans behind the gate, they pushed the ancient, giant wooden gate with all their might!

"No! Wait!!!" Sansa stopped and looked back, "There are still people!" Dozens of soldiers were still on the collapsing cliff edge, only a dozen meters from the gate!

"No time!!!" Arya roared, "We must close the gate!"

"No!!!" Sansa rushed back, grabbing the hand of the soldier running at the front, and with her queenly delicate body, fiercely pulled him inside the gate, "Quick! Get in!"

"Your Majesty!!!" The surviving soldiers were in tears, not expecting the Queen not to abandon them!

"Damn it!" Arya cursed, letting go, drawing her rapier, and standing before the open castle gate, intending to hold it for a few more seconds for her "foolish" sister!

Just then, "Roar—!!!" A mournful roar, a black figure leaped over the collapsing cliff, springing up from dozens of meters below!

It was Daario Naharis! No—it was "Wight" Daario!

His blue-burning eyes were fixed on Sansa Stark, to whom he had once sworn allegiance to the death!

The King of Mercenaries' speed had not slowed due to death; instead, it was more eerie and deadly!

He landed silently, his valyrian steel twin swords drawing two cold arcs of death, aiming directly for Sansa's throat!

"Watch out!!!" Arya shrieked, wanting to save her, but was blocked by another small figure!

"Roar!" Lyanna Mormont! "Wight" Lyanna! She leaped up like a cannonball, her small dragonglass dagger aimed at Arya's heart!

The Stark sisters, before this last castle, faced their most desperate "old acquaintances."

Chapter 127 The Reunion of Ice and Blood

Time seemed to stand still at this moment.

Sansa Stark watched with wide eyes as two cold, familiar valyrian steel arcs swung towards her throat.

It was Daario.

He was her sword, her protector.

Now, he had returned to kill her.

Her mind went blank; she even forgot fear, feeling only an absurd sorrow.

She had outrun the undead giants, outrun a hundred thousand troops, only to die by the hand of her most trusted subordinate.

"No!"

She didn't close her eyes.

"Clang—!!!"

A crisp sound of metal clashing exploded in her ears, sparks flying!

Sansa was not dead.

The valyrian steel rapier Aegon had given her, without her even realizing it, instinctively parried Daario's left-hand sword!

But Daario's right-hand sword, still carrying the icy breath of death, slashed towards her cheek!

"Pfft!"

The dull thud of a blade piercing flesh came, and Sansa's body stiffened abruptly. She looked down and saw a black valyrian steel dagger protruding from her left collarbone.

"Ugh..."

An icy, soul-piercing agony instantly spread throughout her body.

"Sister!!"

Arya's scream came—she too was embroiled in a bitter fight.

She faced Lyanna Mormont, this ten-year-old "Wight," who was even more terrifying than in life.

Lyanna felt no pain, no fear, only the infinite strength bestowed by the Night King, and a primal, bear-like fighting instinct.

Her small body moved like black lightning, the dragonglass dagger in her hand relentlessly targeting Arya's vital points.

Arya's rapier displayed skill and dance, while Lyanna's dagger was pure, mutual destruction.

"Clink! Clang! Clang!"

Arya was forced to retreat step by step, feeling troublesome in a fight for the first time.

She couldn't bring herself to kill—facing Lyanna, a hero who had just sacrificed herself for them, how could she pierce her head with her sewing needle?

"Arya!!"

Sansa's scream distracted her.

"Puff!"

Lyanna seized the opening, her dragonglass dagger slicing across Arya's ribs, blood instantly soaking her leather armor.

"Urgh!"

Arya cried out in pain, kicking Lyanna away. But Lyanna landed unharmed and charged again—she was a tireless killing machine.

"Quick! Close the gate!!"

"Close the gate!!!"

The surviving Bear Island Veterans let out desperate roars. The dozens of "Wolf Pack" soldiers rescued by Sansa finally rushed through the city gate.

"Your Majesty!!"

They witnessed a horrific scene: their Queen, impaled in place by her former commander, Daario!

Wight Daario's ice-blue eyes held no emotion.

He pulled out the dagger from Sansa's shoulder, bringing forth a gush of hot blood, and raised both swords again, preparing to deliver the final blow.

"No!"

Sansa fell to the ground, clutching her rapier with her uninjured right hand, watching in despair as the butcher's blade descended. She knew she couldn't block it.

"Farewell."

She whispered softly, closing her eyes.

"Roar—!!!!"

A beast's furious howl erupted, and a massive black figure sprang from beside Sansa! Swift, fierce, enraged!

"A direwolf?!"

Sansa's eyes snapped open.

It was a huge black direwolf, the mascot of the Winter Wolf Pack fleet, the purest-blooded war wolf Daario had brought from Essos.

It had survived the crash and climbed the cliff.

It recognized Daario, smelled the nauseating scent of death, and saw its "mistress," who often fed it, lying in a pool of blood.

The beast's loyalty overcame everything, and it fiercely bit down on "Wight" Daario's neck!

"Crunch!"

Daario's neck was bitten, but as one of Wight, he did not stop. The dagger, originally aimed at Sansa, sharply turned and plunged into the black Wolf's ribs!

"Awoo—!!!"

The black Wolf let out a pained howl, but refused to let go! With its last ounce of strength, it held Daario tightly, tackling him to the ground!

"Quick!!"

Arya seized the opportunity, no longer entangled with Lyanna, and rolled to Sansa's side, pulling her up!

"Into the city!!"

"No! The Wolf!!" Sansa cried out. She saw the loyal black Wolf stabbed more than a dozen times by Daario, now motionless.

And "Wight" Daario and "Wight" Lyanna rose again, charging towards the rapidly closing city gate!

"Close the gate!!"

Arya used all her strength to shove Sansa inside the gate, then, along with the Bear Island Veterans, braced her body against the heavy wooden gate!

..."No!!!"

Sansa looked back from inside the gate, seeing only Arya's blood- and mud-stained, yet cold and resolute face, and her silent mouth forming the words:

"Live on."

"Boom—!!!"

The massive wooden gate slammed shut before her eyes! The huge bolt dropped, completely isolating the castle from the hell outside!

"Arya?"

Sansa collapsed against the cold gate.

"Arya!!!"

She frantically pounded on the gate.

"Open the gate!!"

"Open the gate!!!"

"It's no use, Your Majesty." A Bear Island Veteran held her, tears streaming down his face, "Miss Arya... she stayed outside."

"No... no..."

Sansa's body slowly slid down.

Her uninjured right hand still tightly gripped the valyrian steel rapier.

She heard the tireless, frantic pounding on the gate from Daario and Lyanna outside, interspersed with a familiar, short, battle cry belonging to her sister.

Then, everything fell silent.

Chapter 128 The Siege of Despair

Arya—!!!

Sansa's scream was the last crack in her facade as queen.

Using her good left hand and her injured, bleeding right shoulder, she frantically hammered the cold, ancient giant door, mixing wood splinters with frozen blood.

"Open the door! Open the door!!" She sounded like she was commanding and begging at the same time.

Her sister was outside; everything she cared for was outside.

"Your Grace." An old, trembling voice sounded—it was the Bear Island Veteran.

He and the three other surviving Mormont warriors, four men whose combined age approached three centuries, were desperately holding the massive bolt that had just been slid into place.

"The door... cannot be opened."

Tears streamed down the veteran's face.

"Lady Arya... she bought us this door with her life. We cannot... waste her sacrifice."

BOOM—!!!

A deafening crash interrupted Sansa's cries.

The entire castle shook violently, and the giant bolt let out a sickening 'groaning' sound, as dust trickled down from the gap in the door.

Sansa stopped hammering.

The fewer than a hundred surviving soldiers of the Winter Wolf Pack in the courtyard also held their breath.

Everyone looked in horror at the groaning door.

"Wha... what is that?" a young soldier asked, trembling.

"It's the giant." The veteran's voice was despairing yet calm.

BOOM—!!!

Another strike, even more violent! A savage crack appeared on the surface of the thousand-year-old wooden door, spreading out from the position of the bolt.

"Hold it! Everyone, hold it with your lives!!" the veteran roared.

The surviving soldiers reacted, throwing down their weapons and howling as they rushed forward with their flesh, blood, and shields, pressing themselves desperately against the collapsing door alongside the Bear Island Veteran.

"Your Grace!!" A Wolf Pack centurion rushed to Sansa, seeing the blood pouring from her left shoulder—a puncture wound left by Daario's sword.

"You are injured!"

He tried to support her, but Sansa pushed him away.

"I am not injured!" Her voice was icy and trembling.

She leaned against the wall, her ice-blue eyes scanning the small, hellish courtyard.

There were wounded everywhere, and despair everywhere.

Fewer than a hundred of them survived, trapped inside this wooden 'box'.

And outside, there was a giant, a hundred thousand troops, and that god—the Night King.

"Everyone." Sansa spoke, her voice soft, yet exceptionally clear amidst the rhythmic pounding on the door.

"All those who are injured... all those who have been scratched or bitten by the dead... step forward."

The courtyard fell silent. The soldiers looked at each other, not understanding what she meant.

"What is it, Your Grace?" the centurion asked.

Sansa did not answer.

She slowly walked up to a young soldier leaning against the wall.

He was perhaps only seventeen years old, and had been brave during the climb, but there was a shallow, black scratch on his calf—left by the collapsing of the Kingsguard whose leg Arya had severed.

"You are a warrior." Sansa looked down at him.

The young soldier was overwhelmed: "I... I am the Queen's sword!" He struggled to bow.

"Good." Sansa nodded. "Then now... serve your queen one last time."

She slowly drew the valyrian steel rapier she had been holding in her right hand—this was her only uninjured hand.

The young soldier's smile froze. "Yo... Your Grace?"

"We don't have time." Sansa's voice was trembling, but the hand holding the sword was steady. "I cannot let you'stand up' inside these walls... I cannot let you harm your comrades. Forgive me."

"No... No! Your Grace! I'm still myself!!" The soldier scrambled backward in terror.

"I know." Sansa's tears finally fell. "That is why I must... send you on your way while you are still yourself. Go meet your Old Gods."

The valyrian steel rapier plunged precisely into the soldier's heart, without the slightest hesitation.

The young soldier fell, his eyes wide with disbelief.

He would never'stand up' again.

The entire courtyard was silent. All the surviving soldiers stared at their Queen, their 'Rose of the North', with looks reserved for a monster.

Sansa Stark slowly pulled out the sword, shaking the warm blood from the blade.

Her left shoulder was bleeding, her right hand was killing, and her face was half tears, half ice.

"I will say it again." Her cold, emotionless voice echoed in the despairing courtyard. "All those who are injured, or who believe they might'stand up,' line up and come to me to receive your final 'peace'."

"This is your final honor as 'the living'... and the last 'mercy' I, as your Queen, can grant you."

A deathly silence.

BOOM—!!!

The door was struck again! The bolt snapped with a loud 'crack'!

"Ah—!!!"

Dozens of soldiers holding the door, along with the shattered planks, were hurled inward by an irresistible colossal force!

The massive, rotting head of the undead giant, burning with blue flames, poked through the hole!

"ROAR—!!!"

It opened its abyssal maw and bit down on two Wolf Pack soldiers who couldn't dodge in time!

The sound of bones and steel shattering rang out, and blood and guts sprayed the courtyard like rain!

"It's over..." The centurion closed his eyes in despair. "Gods... save us..."

"The Gods will not save us." Sansa's voice remained strangely calm amidst the hellish scene.

She looked at the massive head rampaging in the courtyard, slowly raised her sword, and aimed it at the dripping blue giant eye.

"He cannot save us." A tragic and manic smile appeared on her face. "But 'fire' can."

"Centurion!"

"Here! Your Grace!"

"Do you remember our wildfire?!"

"What?!"

"Our ship sank, but the supplies did not! Those wooden crates salvaged from the *direwolf*!"

"Those small, black clay pots!"

The centurion's eyes suddenly lit up! He remembered—that was the'secret weapon' King Aegon had given them to deal with the Bolton!

"I understand! You! You! You!" The centurion frantically directed the soldiers still able to move around him. "To the cellar! Bring me all those black jars! Hurry!"

"The rest of you!" Sansa raised her blood-soaked sword high, facing the giant head that was wildly thrashing and biting in the courtyard, and commanded sharply:

"Archers! Use your dragonglass arrows!"

"Shoot its eyes! Draw its attention!"

She stared at the monster that was about to demolish the entire castle, and said, word by word:

"We are going to slay a god!"

Chapter 129 The Funeral of Jade

The Giant's skull was jammed in the broken door frame, like a wild beast caught in a trap.

Its single eye, burning with blue flame, spun wildly, searching for more fresh flesh and blood.

"Roar—!"

It opened its massive mouth full of rotten teeth, and a foul, icy wind instantly swept across the courtyard.

Two veteran Mormont soldiers who were too slow to react were caught in its jaws; there was only the crisp sound of shattering bones, and blood immediately dripped from its chin onto the pristine white snow, leaving a shocking red stain.

"Arrows! Shoot its eye!" Sansa's voice was already hoarse.

She couldn't feel the pain in her left shoulder, only a numb coldness, a sign of excessive blood loss.

The remaining five archers fired their last dragonglass arrows.

The black arrowheads streaked through the air, accurately embedding themselves in the Giant's face. The dragonglass, which possessed a fatal burning effect against Wight, immediately caused its skin to sizzle and emit black smoke.

The Giant roared in pain, violently shaking its huge head. The massive timbers of the door frame groaned and splintered, and the entire gatehouse began to sway precariously.

Countless fragments of stone and snow fell, burying the few archers beneath them.

"It's going to break through!" Centurion Torren burst out of the cellar entrance, tightly clutching two black earthenware pots—extremely unstable wildfire, their last hope and their means of mutual destruction.

Three soldiers followed him, each carefully holding an earthenware pot.

"Your Grace! We have the things!" Torren's face was covered in sweat, cold sweat brought on by the severe cold.

His hands were trembling; the slightest mistake and these alchemical creations would explode, sending everyone skyward.

"Good." Sansa looked at the pots, a flicker of madness in her ice-blue eyes.

"Listen, we only have one chance."

She pointed at the Giant's skull violently smashing the door frame.

"We can't throw them over; it will swat the pots away. If the pots explode on our side, we are finished."

"What do we do then?" Torren shouted urgently.

"The gatehouse is collapsing! It's about to squeeze through!"

"Feed it," Sansa said coldly.

"What?" Torren was stunned.

"Make it swallow them." Sansa raised her blood-stained valyrian steel direwolf sword and turned to face the monster.

Her slender figure appeared incredibly small beneath the Giant's shadow.

"I will draw its attention. When it opens its mouth, you throw the pots inside. Can you do that?"

Torren looked at the young queen, seeing the bloody hole in her shoulder, the tear tracks on her face, and, more importantly, the burning resolve in her eyes.

He suddenly understood why Daario Naharis and Lyanna Mormont were willing to give everything for her.

"Yes!" Torren yelled through gritted teeth.

"For The North!"

"To survive," Sansa corrected him.

She took a deep breath of the freezing air, suppressed the metallic sweetness in her throat, and walked toward the center of the courtyard, which was the Giant's blind spot and the most dangerous distance.

"Hey! Big guy!" Sansa shouted with all her might, simultaneously striking her shield with her sword.

The crisp metallic sound was jarringly loud on the chaotic battlefield.

The Giant's single eye snapped over, fixing on the tiny human radiating the scent of "life" that it detested.

It recognized her as the woman who had been directing the resistance.

"Roar!" The Giant let out a deafening bellow, stretching its neck.

Its skull lunged in like a hunting python, opening its massive, cow-swallowing maw and snapping viciously at Sansa!

"Your Grace! Run!" the soldiers screamed in terror.

Sansa did not run.

She stared intently at the enormous mouth drawing closer, at the rotten tongue and jagged tusks inside, smelling the stench of death mixed with the scent of Daario and Lyanna.

"Now!!!" she roared internally.

Instead of retreating, she took a step forward!

The valyrian steel direwolf sword in her hand transformed into a silver streak, stabbing fiercely into the Giant's upper palate!

"Splat!" The sharp blade easily pierced the flesh of Wight, sinking deep into the Giant's mouth.

"Awoo—!" The Giant let out a howl of pain, its movement freezing, its massive mouth stretched wide by the agony.

"Throw!!!" Torren seized the fleeting opportunity, roaring as he hurled the two black earthenware pots with all his might!

The soldiers behind him followed immediately; five arcs of death flew precisely into the Giant's mouth.

Time seemed to slow.

Sansa watched the pots fly over her head, shatter against the huge teeth, and green liquid splash out.

"Get down!!!" Sansa released the sword hilt, dove backward, and rolled into a snowdrift.

The next second, the world was swallowed by green.

"BOOM— — — —!!!!"

wildfire was the Targaryen Family's most insane legacy, a liquid flame, an inextinguishable curse.

It detonated inside the Giant's mouth.

Emerald green fireballs exploded one after another, instantly consuming the skull.

The Giant's skull melted under the high temperature, its brains evaporated, and even its death scream was swallowed by the blast.

The shockwave swept across the courtyard.

Sansa felt as if she had been hit in the back by a bull.

The blast sent her flying, slamming her heavily against a stone wall, and her vision went black; she nearly passed out.

Green flames surged down the Giant's neck, igniting the entire wooden gatehouse.

"Rumble—!" Amid the massive sound, the gatehouse collapsed.

Massive timbers, rocks, and burning debris completely buried the Giant's remains and the breach.

The towering flames cast an eerie, ghastly green hue upon the night sky.

The green light reflecting on the survivors' faces made them look like demons crawled out of hell.

The courtyard was deathly silent, save for the crackling of burning wood and the muffled groans of the wounded.

"...Did we... win?" A blood-soaked soldier crawled out of the snowdrift, staring blankly at the burning green tomb.

"No," Sansa's faint yet calm voice came from the corner.

"We are just... not dead yet."

Torren stumbled over to help Sansa up.

When he saw her appearance, the hardened man's eyes welled up.

The wound on Sansa's left shoulder had been cauterized by the heat, half her hair was singed, her face was covered in soot and blood, and her fine clothes were tattered beyond recognition.

But she was still standing, pushing Torren away and using her sword to support herself.

She looked at the "new wall" formed by ruins and green fire, knowing that Daario, Lyanna, Arya, and all her guilt and sins were buried behind it.

"Barricade all entrances," Sansa ordered.

"Check the cellar, count the headcount, and gather everything edible, even the flesh of dead horses."

"Your Grace," Torren hesitated, "the wildfire has blocked our path too. We can't get out."

"We never planned on leaving." Sansa turned, looking toward the dark, silent main keep, the Mormont Family's last stronghold and their final coffin.

"We will stay here and wait."

"Wait for what?" Torren asked, confused.

"Wait for the King's reinforcements? King Aegon is in King's Landing; he cannot make it in time. Besides, The Wall has fallen; all of The North is finished."

"No." Sansa shook her head, looking up at the endless darkness beyond the green sparks.

She seemed to see a pair of ice-blue eyes looking down from the clouds.

The Night King did not continue his attack; he was like a patient hunter, waiting to savor his prey's despair.

"We are waiting for a Dragon," Sansa whispered.

"A Dragon?" The soldiers exchanged bewildered glances.

"King Aegon had Dragons, but could a Dragon fly halfway across the continent to save a few dozen remaining soldiers?"

"Not Aegon's Dragon." Sansa offered a grim smile, remembering Varys's intelligence, remembering the "aunt" rising in the East, remembering the Queen who possessed three true Dragons.

"We are waiting for the real 'Fire' to ignite this 'Ice'."

"Go inside." Sansa waved her hand.

Her body had reached its limit; her vision was blurry, and the cold was biting into her bones.

"We must survive until the fire goes out."

The survivors helped one another, dragging their wounded bodies into the grim main keep.

The hall was freezing; no fire was lit, as the wood needed to be saved to reinforce doors and windows.

Dozens of soldiers huddled together for warmth.

Of the three thousand who had set out, fewer than fifty remained now.

Sansa sat alone in the high seat—where Lyanna Mormonthad once sat.

The chair was large, covered with old bearskin, and she huddled within it, like a girl wearing her parents' clothes.

Torren brought over a bowl of murky hot soup made from snowmelt and dried horse meat.

"Your Grace, drink a little."

Sansa didn't take it, her gaze fixed blankly on the hearth, which held only cold ash, not fire.

"Torren," she suddenly spoke, "did you see Daario?"

Torren's hand trembled, spilling a little soup.

"I saw him, Your Grace.

He... he was outside the gate, burned by the wildfire."

"That's good." Sansa nodded.

"At least he is warm now.

He hated the cold most, always complaining that The North was too cold, longing for the sun of Tyrosh and those women with colored beards."

Her voice faded, sounding like a dream: "I am afraid of the cold too, and I want to go home.

Not Winterfell, but a real home, with Father and Mother, with Robb teaching Bran archery, with Arya causing mischief, and Jon polishing his sword in the corner.

Everyone is there, and there is no Night King, no Game of Thrones."

"Your Grace..." Torren choked up.

The hardened veteran, who had killed without blinking, was now weeping openly.

He knew that their Queen's heart had been shattered into countless pieces, and every piece bore the name of a dead person.

"Please drink the soup," Torren pleaded again.

"For the children."

Sansa suddenly looked up, her eyes sharp as knives.

"What did you say?"

Torren was startled and lowered his head.

"I... I meant, for these soldiers, they are still children."

He pointed at the sixteen or seventeen-year-old, shivering recruits in the corner.

Sansa looked over, seeing the purple lips and the eyes desperate for survival on those young faces.

The sharpness in her eyes faded, replaced by an unavoidable, heavy sense of responsibility.

As long as she was alive, she could not let them despair.

"Give it to me." Sansa took the bowl and drank deeply, ignoring the heat.

The strong, warm liquid revived her dying body.

She set the bowl down heavily, reverting to the politician who had survived the viper's nest of King's Landing, the commander who had charged the Night King.

"Torren, count all the dragonglass, even the fragments.

Gather all iron objects and forge more weapons.

If anyone is bitten, they must not hide it; I will grant them a decent end.

Understand?"

"Understood!"

Sansa pulled out the exquisite scroll tube gifted by Aegon, containing specialized paper and a miniature mechanical "raven"—an invention of Qyburn, impervious to severe cold and capable of carrying a very short message once.

She had intended to use it to report victory after taking The Dreadfort, but now it was a final testament and a plea for help.

She bit her finger and used her blood to scrawl the message: "The Long Night is here. Bear Island has fallen. We are waiting for dawn. Or death. Sansa."

She rolled up the paper, inserted it into the bird's abdomen, and wound the spring until the gears clicked.

Sansa stood up and walked to the ventilation window.

She pushed the window open, and the cold wind, wrapped in snow, rushed in.

She released her hand, and the silver mechanical bird buzzed its wings, flying like a faint shooting star into the blizzard, stubbornly heading south.

Sansa closed the window and turned, facing the remaining soldiers and the endless Long Night.

She drew her sword, and the cold light flashed.

"Now, let us see how long we can hold out in this hell."

Meanwhile, outside the castle ruins, the green wildfirewas weakening, having consumed everything combustible.

The Night King, riding his undead warhorse, slowly approached the ruins, ignoring the green fire and the charcoal-like Giant's skull.

His gaze penetrated the rubble and stone walls, locking onto the special woman with "wolf blood" in the great hall—a crucial part of his plan.

He raised his hand, halting Wight army.

The black tide receded, forming a massive encirclement around the castle.

Wight stood silently in the snow like motionless statues, waiting for cold, starvation, and despair to crush the last resistance.

In the innermost layer of the encirclement, two distinct figures stood side by side: Daario Naharis, the new White Walker commander with half his face burned and wielding twin swords, and Lyanna Mormont, whose armor was shattered and body twisted, yet still tightly clutching a dragonglass dagger.

Their faces were expressionless as they watched the castle and the Queen they had once sworn to protect until death.

The blizzard intensified, masking all sounds, leaving only the silence of white and the black hidden beneath it.

The Long Night had only just begun.

Meanwhile, in the distant South, on the warm Dragonstone, a storm capable of changing the war was brewing.

Daenerys Targaryen stood before the map table, her hand resting on the "Winterfell" piece.

Beside her were Tyrion Lannister, Jorah Mormont, and the Red Woman Melisandre.

"Do you feel it?" Melisandre's voice trembled as she stared fixedly at the eerie, pale blue fire in the hearth.

"What?" Daenerys frowned.

"The cold." Melisandre turned, her eyes filled with terror.

"It has come.

The true enemy has crossed the sea and is consuming... the Wolf."

Daenerys felt an inexplicable pang in her heart, as if something in the northern blizzard was calling to her.

"Ready the Dragons," she suddenly commanded.

Her voice was quiet but brooked no argument.

"Your Grace?" Tyrion was stunned.

"Where are we going? King's Landing?"

"No." Daenerys turned and walked toward the door, heading toward the cliff where the three great Dragons were moored, her silver hair flying like a battle standard in the sea wind.

"We are going north, to see this... so-called 'Long Night'."

Chapter 130 The Fury of Dragonstone

The storms of Dragonstone always carried the scent of salt and sulfur, but tonight, the sea wind was mixed with a chill from the far north.

Daenerys Targaryen stood on the terrace of the Painted Table Chamber, behind her lay the massive stone table carved with the map of Westeros.

Tyrion Lannister anxiously followed behind her on his short legs, his voice sounding sharp due to his urgency.

"Your Grace, you must think twice! This is not just a risk, this is—forgive my bluntness—this is madness!"

Tyrion struggled to keep up with the Queen's pace, his hands waving in the air, attempting to capture even a shred of Daenerys's attention.

"We have just secured the loyalty of the Golden Company, and the fleet from Braavos controls the seas. Right now, that 'false king' in King's Landing is facing panic over the collapse of the Northern Wall. This is the perfect moment for us to sail south and seize the iron throne!"

Daenerys stopped and spun around abruptly. Her silver-gold hair flew wildly in the wind, and her violet eyes burned with a light hotter than dragonflame.

"Seize the iron throne?" she countered, her voice calm yet carrying a chilling sense of pressure. "Tyrion, if what that Red Priestess says is true, if the Long Night truly descends, if the dead truly cross The Wall... then when I sit upon that chair forged from a thousand swords, who will I rule? A pile of corpses?"

"That is a problem for Stark and that false king Aegon!" Tyrion argued. "Let them fight the dead to the death first. That 'black heart' Aegon holds wildfire capable of blowing up half of King's Landing, as well as those strange exploding weapons. Let him wear down the Night King's forces. We can reap the rewards..."

"No."

A steady, husky voice interrupted Tyrion's political calculations.

Ser Jorah Mormont stepped out of the shadows.

His weathered face was filled with gravity. He looked at Daenerys, his eyes holding nothing but unreserved loyalty and affection.

"khaleesi is right," Jorah said in a deep voice, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixed on the distant North.

"I grew up in the North, and I know the legends there.

If The Wall truly fell, if that 'Cold God' truly awakened, then this is no longer a war for the throne, but a war for survival.

Once the North falls, millions of the dead will sweep across the continent like locusts.

At that point, The Walls of King's Landing won't stop them, nor will the sea around Dragonstone."

Since yesterday, an inexplicable restlessness had surged in Daenerys's heart. Her three dragons—Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion—had also become unusually agitated. They circled over Dragonstone all day, letting out hostile roars toward the North.

It was the instinctive reaction of apex predators sensing the presence of another apex predator.

"Prepare the dragons." Daenerys hesitated no longer. She strode toward the cliff edge, where the dragons' lair was. "Jorah, assemble the Unsullied, the Dothraki cavalry, and the Golden Company. Get the fleet ready. Tyrion, you will remain at Dragonstone."

"Your Grace! You are going alone?" Tyrion was aghast.

"No, I am not alone." Daenerys turned her head. Just then, an earth-shattering dragon roar echoed through the sky.

The massive black dragon Drogon soared up from beneath the cliff, obscuring the moonlight. Its huge body cast a suffocating shadow on the ground.

Daenerys grabbed Drogon's hard scales and vaulted onto his back.

She looked down at the others, like a Valkyrie about to conquer the world.

"I am Targaryen, I am the mother of dragons."

"Since that Night King wants war, I will give him war."

"Since he brings winter, I will bring—"

"—Fire and Blood!"

With that command, the three great dragons simultaneously beat their wings and soared high.

The immense airflow instantly overturned the braziers on the terrace. Amidst the chaos and darkness, three figures representing the ultimate power of the Targaryen family streaked across the sky, like three meteors flying against the current, speeding toward the distant, cold North.

---

King's Landing, Red Keep, the strategy room in Maegor's Holdfast.

The atmosphere here was even more oppressive than at Dragonstone.

A huge map of Westeros was spread across the table, covered in small flags representing different factions.

But now, everyone's gaze was fixed on the blank area to the north—the area that once represented The Wall, but was now replaced by a pale white skull piece.

Aegon Targaryen sat in the seat of honor, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the table.

He had already shed his usual luxurious silk robes, replacing them with light, strong valyrian steel scale armor. At his waist was the sword belonging to Aegonthe Conqueror—Blackfyre.

"Varys," Aegon said without looking up, his voice chillingly calm, "Say it again."

Master of Whisperers Varys was pale, his usual false smile entirely gone.

He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and whispered, "Your Grace, the latest news... Although ravens have died in large numbers due to snow and wind, our remaining 'little birds' in White Harbor managed to send back the intelligence at great risk. The Wall has indeed fallen, and Eastwatch is in ruins. And..."

Varys swallowed, seemingly unable to believe the words he was about to say: "Furthermore, Miss Stark did not proceed to The Dreadfort as you planned. She changed course halfway, taking the main fleet of the 'Winter Wolf Pack' to Bear Island."

"Bear Island?"

Tyrion, the hand of the king, standing nearby, frowned. "That godforsaken place? Why would she go there? It's isolated overseas, and once the sea freezes, it will be a death trap!"

"That is exactly what worries me." Aegon abruptly stopped drumming. He looked up, a sharp glint flashing in his black dragon eyes. "The Night King is not a mindless beast. He retains the intelligence he had in life, and understands strategy better than we do. If Sansa went to Bear Island, and the sea freezes over..."

"That would be a sitting duck." Tyrion gasped. "If I were the Night King, I would devour that isolated force first, turn those thousands of well-equipped 'Winter Wolf Pack' soldiers into the vanguard of the wight army, and then march south to attack Winterfell."

"More than that." Aegon stood up and walked to the map, pressing his finger heavily on the location of Bear Island. "There is something more important there. Sansa has the valyrian steel sword I gave her, which the Night Kingfears. But what he fears more is..."

Aegon did not finish his sentence. He knew that what the Night King truly feared, or rather, truly desired, was the Stark bloodline. It was the last vessel of the ancient magic on this continent.

"Your Grace!"

Just then, Maester Qyburn rushed in, holding a strange, ticking device—the remote aether wave receiver that Aegon had ordered Qyburn to construct using technology extracted from a modern knowledge base.

"We have a signal!" Qyburn's sinister old face was currently filled with fanaticism. "Though it is weak and the interference is strong, there is definitely a signal source sending information to us from the North! It's the mechanical bird you gave Miss Stark!"

"Read it!"

Qyburn quickly unrolled the parchment in his hand. It recorded the intermittent Morse code that had been translated:

"Long Night... Bear Island... fallen... waiting... death... Sansa."

A deathly silence enveloped the entire strategy room.

Tyrion's wine cup dropped to the floor, red wine spilling onto the map, looking exactly like blood.

"She... she is calling for help." Varys mumbled. "But Your Grace, from King's Landing to Bear Island, even riding fast horses would take a month, and sailing would take half a month. We... we cannot make it in time."

"Yes, a mortal army cannot make it in time."

Aegon looked at the pool of blood-red wine on the map, and a crazy, savage smile suddenly curled his lips.

That smile sent shivers down the spines of everyone present, as if the 'black heart King' who once made all of Westeros tremble had returned.

"But a 'monster' can."

He turned and looked out at the pitch-black night sky.

"Qyburn, is what I asked for ready?"

"Of course, Your Grace." Qyburn's eyes shone with morbid excitement. "It is my masterpiece. Although it hasn't undergone final testing, theoretically, it can fly."

"Very well." Aegon strode out, his cloak snapping behind him. "Tyrion, you remain in King's Landing and initiate the'Scorched Earth Protocol.' If I do not return, blow this city and that iron chair sky high. Do not leave a single brick for the dead!"

"Your Grace! Where are you going?" Tyrion shouted after him.

Aegon did not look back. His voice traveled through the long corridor, echoing over the Red Keep, carrying a desperate finality:

"I am going to a rendezvous."

"A rendezvous of Ice and Fire."