Snow falls again by evening—not heavy, but steady, drifting from the sky like soft, white ash. Birchwatch grows dim, fires crackling to life in hearths and braziers, sending thin spirals of smoke into the cold air.
Aeryon stands near the well, drawing up a bucket of freezing water to splash across his face. The cold shocks him awake, clears the last haze of warmth from the longhouse.
Children run past him laughing, their small boots kicking snow at his legs.
"Watch it," one of the mothers calls. "If you hit the stranger, you clean the snow off him yourselves."
The kids scatter.
Aeryon wipes his face on his sleeve and straightens.
The UI pulses—soft, almost shy.
[DEPARTURE: 7 HOURS UNTIL SUNRISE]
He dismisses it instantly.
Can't let the glow last longer than a blink.
Behind him, Bram approaches with a bundle of firewood in his arms.
"You set for tomorrow?" Bram asks. "Rodrik rides early."
"Nearly," Aeryon says. "Just gathering my things."
Bram nods.
"He's a good man, Rodrik. Doesn't waste words."
He adjusts the firewood bundle.
"You ride with him, you'll be safe enough."
Aeryon offers a polite smile.
"Safe is all I need."
Bram laughs once.
"Safe isn't somethin' folk expect this far north. You get used to danger at your elbow."
Aeryon lifts the bucket, pours out the remaining water, and hangs it back on its hook.
"Sleep well, Bram."
"You too," Bram says. "Storm's lettin' up, so tomorrow will be a clear road."
Aeryon turns, heading toward Tressa's hut to gather his cloak and satchel. Snow crunches under each step, the cold cutting sharper as night settles fully.
Halfway to the hut—
The UI flashes.
Red.
[DETECTION WARNING]
[OBSERVER RANGE: MODERATE]
[DIRECTION: NORTH-EAST — SAME AS BEFORE]
Aeryon slows without appearing to slow, letting his stride fade naturally as he reaches the village's central firepit.
Two old men warm their hands by the flames. One lifts his eyebrows at Aeryon.
"You look like a man listenin' for somethin'," the old man says.
"Just thinking," Aeryon replies.
The man grunts.
"Thinking's dangerous after dark. Nothing good comes out of the woods past dusk. Not man, not beast."
Aeryon nods once, then continues walking—calm, unhurried—toward Tressa's hut. But instead of entering, he passes by it, giving the impression he's simply stretching his legs before bed.
Snow muffles the world.
Birchwatch fades behind him, house by house, light by light.
He keeps his breathing steady as he moves closer to the treeline—one step at a time—boots leaving crisp prints in the snow.
The trees loom tall and black in the moonlight, branches heavy with frost.
When he's about ten paces from the first tree, the UI pulses again.
[OBSERVER: CLOSE]
[STEALTH SIGNATURE: NON-HUMAN]
Aeryon's hand drifts lightly to the hilt of his sword. Not drawn—just there.
He waits.
Silent.
Snow gathers on his shoulders, on the edge of his cloak, on the top of his hair.
The wind whistles softly through the branches.
Nothing moves.
Until—
A small figure darts between two trunks on the far left.
Fast.
Silent.
Almost gliding.
Aeryon doesn't pursue.
He stands completely still.
The figure stops.
Half-hidden behind a pine.
Aeryon shifts his eyes slightly—not turning his head, not reacting sharply. Just enough to see.
Two pale eyes peer out from the shadows.
Not like a human's.
Not like a wolf's.
Wide.
Unblinking.
Reflecting the firelight from the village like polished stone.
Aeryon slowly lowers his hand from his sword hilt. He does not want to appear aggressive. Whatever this thing is, it already knows more about him than any villager—and is cautious enough to stay hidden.
The creature's head tilts.
Slowly.
Curiously.
Then—
The soft crunch of footsteps behind Aeryon.
Not stealthy.
Not dangerous.
He doesn't glance back.
Tressa's voice cuts through the night:
"Boy," she mutters, "if you piss in the snow that close to the woods, you'll attract every beast with a nose."
Aeryon turns slightly, eyebrows raising.
"I'm not—"
"Hush," she snaps. "Old woman doesn't need details."
Aeryon glances back at the tree—
The pale eyes are gone.
Vanished without a sound.
The UI fades.
[OBSERVER: LEFT RANGE]
Tressa hobbles closer, her cane stabbing into the snow.
"You've got the look of someone being watched," she says softly, eyes narrowing at the treeline. "And you're too calm about it."
Aeryon keeps his expression neutral.
"You came looking for me?"
"No," she mutters. "Came lookin' for my goat. The useless creature wandered off again. But if somethin' up there is watchin' you…"
Her voice lowers.
"…you'd do well not to look back at it."
Aeryon's eyes flick toward her.
She notices.
"Oh, don't stare," she says, waving a hand at him dismissively. "I'm old, not blind. I've lived long enough to know when the woods have their teeth out."
She turns toward the village.
"Come on, then. If you're wanderin' the forest tonight, you'll end up dead or frozen or both."
Aeryon takes one last glance at the darkened trees.
Nothing moves.
No pale eyes.
No small figure.
Only the whisper of snow drifting from branches.
He follows Tressa back toward the huts.
As they walk, she mutters:
"Whatever's followin' you… it's not meant for the likes of us."
Aeryon's eyes narrow.
"What do you mean?"
She stops, turns, and looks up at him.
"I mean," she says quietly, "it's lookin' at you. Not us. And if it wanted to tear your throat out, it would've already."
Aeryon says nothing.
She taps her cane against the snow.
"Best get sleep," she says. "You leave at sunrise."
He nods.
Tressa shuffles back toward her hut.
Aeryon watches her go, then looks once more at the treeline.
The UI flickers faintly.
[UNKNOWN ENTITY BEHAVIOR: OBSERVATIONAL]
[NO IMMEDIATE THREAT]
[PATTERN: UNFAMILIAR]
He dismisses the menu and turns toward the village.
Snow crunches behind him, step for step, as he walks—
but when he glances back,
there's no one there.
Only empty prints in the snow that vanish as wind sweeps the ground clean.
The sky is still the color of wet charcoal when Aeryon wakes.
Not because he slept—
because he stopped trying to.
The longhouse is quiet around him. Most of the villagers breathe softly in their bedrolls, curled under furs. Bram snores like a dying ox. Someone mutters in their sleep. The embers in the hearth glow faintly, casting long shadows across the floor.
Aeryon rises soundlessly, rolling up the loaned bedroll and placing it neatly against the wall. No need to draw attention to himself with hasty movements or noise.
The UI flickers once in the dark:
[DEPARTURE: 53 MINUTES UNTIL SUNRISE]
He dismisses it at once and moves toward the door. His breath clouds in the cold air as he steps outside.
The village is silent.
Frost clings to the rooftops. Snow crunches lightly beneath his boots. The sky has begun to pale along the eastern edge, but only barely.
Aeryon pulls his cloak tighter and heads for Tressa's hut to retrieve his satchel.
The door creaks softly as he enters.
Tressa is awake.
Of course she is.
She sits cross-legged near her tiny firepit, tossing herbs into a clay pot. They snap and crackle, releasing a sharp, minty smell.
"Morning," she says without turning around.
"It's barely morning," Aeryon replies.
"Morning starts when the old bones say it does."
She flicks a glance over her shoulder.
"And mine have been complaining since before the moon set."
Aeryon steps inside, taking his satchel from the hook near the door.
Tressa watches him through narrowed eyes.
"You slept poorly."
"You watched me sleep?"
"No," she snorts. "You're just too alert for a man who got enough rest."
Aeryon tightens the strap on the satchel.
"Something was in the woods again last night," he says quietly.
Tressa doesn't flinch.
"I know."
She stirs the pot.
"It watched you go. Watched you walk back. Watched you stand outside like you were waitin' for a lover to open her window."
"That's not—"
"Relax, boy. If you had a lover, she'd be complainin' about your personality long before your habits."
Aeryon stares.
Tressa smirks.
"Take some courage with you," she says, pushing a small leather pouch across the floor. "Herbs. For fear."
"I'm not afraid."
"You will be," she says simply. "Everyone is, eventually."
Aeryon kneels, picks up the pouch, and tucks it into his satchel.
As he stands, Tressa grips his wrist with surprising strength.
"Whatever watches you," she murmurs, "isn't done."
Aeryon meets her eyes, and for a moment, the hut feels too small.
Tressa releases him.
"Now get out," she grumbles. "You stink up a room with all your brooding."
Aeryon leaves before she can say anything else.
Outside, the wind picks up. Snow whirls around the houses in tiny spirals. Dawn is still a suggestion on the horizon.
Aeryon walks toward the stables.
As he approaches, he sees Rodrik already saddling two horses, breath steaming in the icy air. His expression is as grim as ever, but his movements are efficient—practiced, disciplined.
Rodrik looks up as Aeryon reaches him.
"You're early," Rodrik says.
"Couldn't sleep."
Rodrik grunts.
"Then you'll fit in well with the men of Winterfell."
He gestures toward a dark bay horse.
"This one's yours. She's steady, not easily spooked. Named her Quiet."
Aeryon strokes the horse's neck. She snorts softly.
"She doesn't seem quiet."
"She only gets loud when she dislikes someone."
Rodrik pauses.
"She likes you."
Aeryon isn't sure if that's good or bad.
Bram arrives a moment later, carrying a sack of travel food.
"Provisions," he says, handing it to Rodrik. "Bread, dried meat, cheese. Enough for a week if you stretch it."
Rodrik ties it behind his saddle.
"You'll be in charge of cooking," Bram says to Aeryon.
Rodrik gives Bram a look.
Bram shrugs. "Someone has to. Rodrik burns everything."
"I do not."
"You set porridge on fire."
"It was an accident."
"It was porridge."
Aeryon fights the urge to smile.
Rodrik clears his throat loudly.
"We're leavin'."
Bram steps back, offering Aeryon a small nod. "Safe travels, stranger."
Aeryon mounts Quiet. Rodrik mounts his own horse.
The village begins to stir behind them—smoke rising, doors opening, voices yawning into the cold.
But before Rodrik can give the signal to move—
Aeryon's UI flares.
Bright.
Urgent.
[OBSERVER: EXTREMELY CLOSE]
[BEHIND YOU]
Aeryon's pulse spikes—but his body stays relaxed, posture unchanged, hands steady on the reins.
He slowly, casually, turns his head.
The treeline is distant.
Empty.
Still.
But near the closest hut—
half-hidden behind a wooden rain barrel—
a small shape watches him.
Barely the height of a child.
Pale eyes glowing faintly.
Breath misting in soft, shallow puffs.
Not human.
Not animal.
Something in-between, caught in the space where myth and cold reality overlap.
Its gaze is locked on him.
Only him.
Aeryon's expression does not change.
Rodrik notices nothing.
"Let's ride," Rodrik says, tugging his reins.
Aeryon nods once—
and the creature blinks.
When its eyes open again—
it's gone.
No footprints.
No sound.
No movement.
Just empty snow.
Aeryon faces forward.
The UI fades.
They begin riding south, Birchwatch shrinking behind them.
But Aeryon knows—
even without looking back—
that whatever watched him
is still watching.
Dawn hasn't warmed the world yet.
The sky glows faintly, a pale strip of gold on the horizon, but the air is still sharp enough to bite exposed skin. Horses' breaths billow in white plumes that drift and fade behind them as Aeryon and Rodrik ride south.
Quiet's hooves crunch steadily through the snow, leaving deep impressions behind.
Rodrik keeps a steady pace, one eye on the trees, the other on the winding trail ahead.
"Storm held off," he mutters. "Makes for an easier start."
Aeryon nods.
The cold doesn't bother him much—not with his enhanced stats—but he keeps his shoulders hunched naturally to blend in.
Aeryon scans the treeline every few minutes, subtle and unhurried.
The UI flickers.
[OBSERVER: FAR]
[MOVING SOUTH PARALLEL TO YOUR ROUTE]
His fingers tighten slightly on the reins.
Rodrik glances over.
"You see somethin'?"
"Just… listening to the woods."
Rodrik exhales through his nose.
"North'll make a man paranoid if he stays long enough."
Aeryon says nothing.
Because he's not paranoid.
The watcher is real.
The Kingsroad stretches ahead, a rough line of packed earth dusted with snow, flanked by towering pine and birch. Sunlight filters through the branches, scattering pale beams across the ground.
After an hour of riding, Rodrik slows his horse near a fallen tree.
"We stop here," he says. "Let the horses rest their legs."
Aeryon dismounts, boots crunching as he hits the ground. Quiet shakes her mane, snow scattering off her like droplets of light.
Rodrik kneels near the tree trunk, brushing snow aside to reveal fresh claw marks.
"Hm."
"What is it?" Aeryon asks.
"Bear, most like. A big one. Passed through a day ago."
Rodrik stands, brushing his hands off on his cloak. "Nothing to fear if we keep our pace."
Aeryon opens his mouth to respond—
But the UI lights red for a fraction of a second.
[OBSERVER: CLOSE]
[10 METERS — RIGHT TREELINE]
Aeryon pivots his gaze casually toward the right.
Nothing.
Rodrik pulls a strip of dried meat from his pouch, chewing thoughtfully.
Aeryon steps away from him, as if stretching his legs, and moves closer to the trees—slow, cautious, unthreatening.
His breath fogs the air.
The forest stares back.
And then—
Something shifts behind a clump of frost-covered brush.
Small.
Quick.
Silent.
Aeryon doesn't react sharply.
He steps closer.
A faint rustle.
A flicker of pale.
He sees them.
Eyes.
Two round, moon-bright eyes peering at him through the branches. Less hidden this time. Less afraid.
The creature crouches low, one small hand pressed into the snow. Its skin is too pale for any normal child, almost the color of birch bark. Strands of thin, frost-touched hair fall over its face.
Aeryon lowers his voice.
"I can see you."
The child tilts its head—slowly—studying him with a predator's stillness and a child's curiosity.
It doesn't move.
Aeryon takes a step closer.
The creature shifts back—but not far. It doesn't flee. Just… makes room, as though testing how close he'll come.
Rodrik calls from behind:
"Stranger!"
Aeryon doesn't turn.
"Yeah?"
"You get lost in the trees, I'm leavin' without you."
Aeryon glances back toward Rodrik—
And in that fraction of distraction—
The creature moves.
Not away.
Not deeper into the forest.
But up.
It climbs the tree nearest it in a blur of motion—
silent, fluid, unnatural—
bare fingers gripping bark without slipping.
In seconds, it's perched on a branch, crouched like a pale bird of prey, staring down at him.
Aeryon's pulse steadies.
The creature's eyes blink once.
And he feels it—
Not sight.
Not sound.
Something brushing against the edges of his mind.
A whisper of intent.
A flicker of searching.
Not words.
Not thought.
Just… curiosity.
Then the child's pupils dilate sharply—
as if seeing something inside him it did not expect.
Aeryon's stomach drops.
It's sensing the system.
It feels the wrongness.
The creature jerks back, grip tightening on the branch. Its breath quickens—small puffs of white air.
Aeryon whispers, tone steady:
"I'm not here to hurt you."
The child's nostrils flare.
Its head tilts again.
And then—
It does something new.
It opens its mouth—
just slightly—
as if trying to form a sound.
Nothing comes out.
But the attempt alone is enough to make the hair on Aeryon's neck rise.
Rodrik's voice cuts through the moment:
"Stranger! We're movin' on!"
Aeryon looks back.
And when he looks at the branch again—
The creature is gone.
As if it melted into the tree.
The UI fades with a final message:
[OBSERVER: STILL PRESENT]
[FOLLOWING]
Aeryon turns toward Rodrik, mounting Quiet once more.
As they continue south, he feels eyes on him from the high branches.
Not hostile.
But focused.
The greenseer child follows.
And it's learning.