Game of Thrones: A Dance of Ice and Fire

Just over a week had passed since Grisha's arrival, and his presence had transformed the camp.

Hunters who had once returned empty-handed now came back with an abundance of hares, foxes, and even some deer or caribou. As Grisha's hawk, Redwing, would soar overhead, its sharp eyes guided hunters to their goals. From this, words of his talents spread quickly. A feat Redwing had done was picking up a big deer and throwing it down the mountain for the hunters below, saving precious time and effort.

These feats caught the attention of Rakk, the now-old former leader of the wargs, who sought out Grisha one frosty morning. The scent of roasting meat mingled with the crisp bite of the air as Yoriichi and Ygritte sat nearby, their curiosity piqued as they watched the exchange.

Rakk stood near the fire, tapping a bone-handled stick against his palm. His face was weathered like ancient bark from a tree. He eyed Redwing, who sat perched on Grisha's shoulder, her sharp gaze fixed on him.

After a long pause, Rakk finally spoke, his voice old but steady, his presence flavouring his words of wisdom. "Your hawk. She finds prey better than any wolf we have. Young one, could you teach us your understanding?... Or even teach our wargs to work with birds like that?" His gaze moved from Redwing to Grisha, and he spoke with good intentions. "There's also talk you can override other wargs' bonds. That's got folks on edge. But if you share what you know, they may fear you less. Trust you more."

Grisha leaned casually against an upright log, he didn't immediately respond. Letting the silence stretch just enough to make Rakk shift uncomfortably before replying. "I'll teach what I can," he said evenly, his tone free of hostility. "Most of what I do isn't instinct. It's learned. Working with birds, wolves, or anything else is about coordination and communication, not domination." He paused, his gaze flicking briefly to Yoriichi, then back to Rakk. "As for overriding bonds, it's not something I make a habit of. And it's definitely not something I'll demonstrate to prove a point. No, your companions will be not controlled unless it's an emergency."

Rakk considered this, his expression caught between relief and lingering mistrust. "Fair enough," he said. Turning to Yoriichi "Lad, you have done this place a great service, your father would be proud." Then without another word, he turned and strode away, disappearing into the bustle of the camp.

Grisha let out a chuckle as he glanced at Yoriichi and Ygritte. "Always suspicion," he said, his smirk faint but unmistakable. "Can't say I blame them. If someone could pull the thoughts from my Redwing, I'd be wary too."

Ygritte snorted, leaning forward slightly. "Wary's putting it lightly. If I had a wolf and someone even hinted they could take control, I'd have an arrow nocked before they finished their sentence." Demonstrating holding an imaginary bow, nocking and then releasing in the air.

Grisha raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression of fear exaggerated. Even Redwing seemed to join in by cowering and covering her face with her wing.

Then a moment after acting, he smirked and said "And that's why I'm careful. I'm not looking to get an arrow in my back. Or my face."

Yoriichi, ever calm with a gentle smile, watched Grisha closely. "Trust will come with time. People fear what they don't understand. You're already proving your value by keeping the tribe's people fed. That will always count for something."

Grisha tilted his head, considering Yoriichi's words. "True enough," he said. Then, with amusement, he added, "Though I think Redwing deserves most of the credit. I follow her lead half the time."

Redwing ruffled her feathers, looking proud, even puffing her feathered chest arrogantly, Ygritte smirked. "Smart bird. Smarter than most folk I've met."

"Smarter than me, that's for sure," Grisha said lightly. But his expression grew more thoughtful as he glanced toward where Rakk had disappeared. "Still, suspicion doesn't go away overnight. You were right, Yoriichi, it's a fragile balance we're walking."

Yoriichi nodded, his eyes firm and voice steady. "But one worth walking. We've already come this far. Fear and trust, I believe they'll even out with time."

Grisha nodded, his smirk softening into something more serious. "Let's hope you're right. For all our sakes."

Despite the lighter mood, unease crept into the camp as the days got closer to the scheduled time. Refugees had begun arriving from farther north, ragged clothes and hollow eyes, their voices trembling with fear. They spoke of worsening blizzards, animals vanishing, and the unnatural silences. More disturbing still were the whispered tales of horrors in the snow of corpses that walked, glowing blue eyes in the darkness.

Yoriichi had raised his concerns with the chiefs. "We should leave now," he had said. The longer we wait, the greater the risk." But the chiefs, reassured by the growing food stores and the promise of arriving allies, dismissed his warnings.

"A few more days won't change anything," one had said. "We've held this ground for years. We can hold it a little longer. We fear those ghouls as much as you do, but they are far away, those that came claimed it would be long after we left that they would even come this way."

Frustration simmered beneath Yoriichi's calm demeanour, but he did not press further. He knew he could not change their thinking, especially since the illusionary dream was about to become a reality.

Yet each night, as Yoriichi stared into the flickering flames of the campfire, unease gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was drawing near.

Days passed and finally, the last day of the two weeks had arrived.

That morning, as the camp buzzed with the sounds of preparation for the expected allies, Yoriichi sat silently by the fire, his usual calm demeanour weighed down by an unfamiliar stillness. His gaze was distant, fixed on the faint outline of the dark horizon where a massive snowstorm churned like a slow-moving beast. The faint frown creasing his brow was enough to draw attention.

Grisha perched casually on a frost-covered log nearby, Redwing huddled against his shoulder for warmth, her feathers puffed up. He studied Yoriichi with quiet curiosity before finally breaking the silence. "You seem troubled," he said, his voice low but steady, "We're well-fed, morale's high and the allies should arrive soon. We're set to leave tomorrow. So tell me, what could possibly be bringing our optimistic friend down?"

Yoriichi didn't look away from the horizon, his hands loosely resting on his knees. "The rumours," he said softly after a long pause. "Tribes fleeing south. The tales of walking corpses. I can't shake the feeling that something is coming for us. And it's close."

Grisha tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "You think there's truth to those stories? Corpses walking in the snow?"

Yoriichi's hands tightened ever so slightly. "I don't want to believe them," he admitted, his voice steady but low. "But after hearing your story about the Children of the Forest, I can't ignore the possibility. I warned the chiefs. I told them we should leave as soon as we could, but they dismissed it. They think we have time." His tone carried the weight of suppressed urgency, but his words were impactful.

Grisha leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his usual smirk absent. "And you think they're wrong."

"I feel it," Yoriichi said firmly, his gaze still fixed on the storm. "The wind… the cold… it feels heavier. Like something's in it. Moving with it."

For once, Grisha didn't make any funny remarks. He stared at the fire, the flames flickering as though cowed by the storm's looming presence. "If you're right, Yoriichi, we'll need every edge we can get." He glanced at Redwing, the hawk now quietly preening herself with the warmth. "I'll keep her flying as long as possible. She might see something the rest of us can't."

Yoriichi turned to Grisha, gratitude softening his expression. "Thank you."

The sound of boots crunching in the snow broke their focus as Ygritte appeared, striding toward them with her bow slung over her back and an arrow spinning idly between her fingers. The arrowhead, black as night, gleamed faintly in the firelight. She slowed as she approached, her sharp gaze flicking between the two.

"What are you two brooding about now?" Ygritte asked, settling down beside Yoriichi and casting a sideways glance at the horizon. "Storm's a bad one, I'll give you that. Feels like winter itself's angry."

Grisha leaned back, his arms folding across his chest. "We were talking about the refugees, Yoriichi's gut feelings, and walking corpses," he said with deliberate nonchalance, though his words carried a bite of truth.

Ygritte snorted softly. "Always something with you two. Can't let a girl wake up without hearing doom and gloom." She raised the arrow in her hand, twisting it in the dim light. "Maybe I'll need this sooner than I thought."

Grisha tilted his head, brow raised. "What's that?"

"Special arrow," Ygritte replied, holding it up like a prized relic. "Found it in some old chest. Looks pretty and feels sharp enough to cut the wind itself." She grinned, spinning it deftly. "Saving it for someone I really want to kill."

Yoriichi blinked, glancing at the arrow briefly before looking back at Ygritte. "It looks strange."

Ygritte shrugged. "Maybe it's cursed. Or maybe it's a lucky charm. Either way, it's mine. When the time comes, I'll put it right between someone's eyes." She laughed, playful but fierce. "A ceremonial arrow for a proper kill."

Grisha chuckled dryly. "I'll be sure not to get on your bad side, then."

Yoriichi managed a faint smile, but it was fleeting. "We may need more than luck soon," he murmured, his voice so soft that Ygritte paused mid-spin of the arrow to glance at him.

"You're worrying too much again," she said, leaning toward him slightly, her tone gentler now. "Whatever's coming, if it's coming, we'll deal with it. You always find a way."

Yoriichi's expression didn't change, though her words cut through some of his tension. "I just hope my feelings are wrong."

Ygritte let the arrow rest across her lap, her gaze lingering on him. "And if they're not, we'll fight." Her voice was steady, her tone edged with determination. "Whatever comes at us, Yori, we'll face it. Together."

Grisha watched the two of them with quiet interest, his usual sharp wit tempered by the tension in the air. "I'll hold you to that," he added, glancing between them. "And don't worry, I'll make sure Yoriichi doesn't carry it all alone. For all his wisdom, he's still too stubborn for his own good."

Ygritte grinned faintly, nudging Yoriichi with her elbow. "Hear that? You've got me and the skinchanger watching your back. You'll be fine."

Yoriichi allowed himself another small smile. The warmth of their presence chipped away the weight in his chest, even if it didn't dispel it completely.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the camp glowed from the torchlight. Seven thousand new wildlings had come. The children played within the flickers of the shadows, spear wives told stories to each other, and hunters and others gathered to talk about their greatest achievements.

In the grand council tent, the leaders of the united tribes gathered, their voices rising and falling in conversation and laughter. Long tables were covered with roasted meats, soups, and flagons of mead. The warm, spiced aroma filled the space, a welcome reprieve from the harsh, bitter cold outside.

Odin stood at the center, towering over most with his commanding presence. His voice boomed above the noise, calling for attention. "To my son, Yori, who believed we could stand together and live without tearing each other apart!" He raised his cup high, and the room erupted into cheers.

"To Yori" Tormund bellowed, smacking his hand against the table for emphasis. "The quietest lad I've ever known, and somehow, he's got us all following his same dream!"

Brusha, the spearwife leader, chuckled and lifted her drink. "A miracle indeed! I thought this idea of unity was madness, Odin. But your boy's shown us there's strength in it."

Ginral of the Ice-Runners laughed heartily his voice loud and booming. "To madness that works!" he toasted, raising his cup.

Marrel of the Tall-Trees, the most stoic of the chieftains, nodded with quiet respect toward Yoriichi, his approval clear in his steady gaze.

Yoriichi sat opposite his brothers, his expression calm as ever, though a faint blush touched his cheeks. He wasn't used to such attention and wasn't sure he liked it. Tormund, ever the louder of the two older siblings,

"Come on, little brother!" Tormund teased. "Take a bow or something. Let everyone see the great Yoriichi Giantsbane in all his glory!"

Kormunn, more reserved but no less proud, smiled faintly. "Ignore him, Yoriichi. But know this... we're proud of you. We'll keep these people safe. You need to keep leading them forward."

Ygritte leaned against Yoriichi's shoulder, her fiery red hair brushing his arm. She exhaled softly, letting herself relax for the first time in what felt like years. "I never thought I'd see the day," she murmured, her voice filled with wonder. "So many tribes together without swords drawn. It's like… like we're more than Free Folk. Like we're people."

"We are people," Yoriichi replied gently. "We've always been. We just forgot how to act like it."

Just as Yoriichi was about to continue speaking in this warm moment, his gaze shifted to a young spearwife approaching their table. Her steps were deliberate, her eyes fixed on him, and her coy smile hinted at intentions far beyond a simple greeting. She wasn't subtle, and her approach drew attention. Before she could speak, Ygritte's entire demeanour changed.

She straightened, moving to block the spearwife's path like a shield. Her fiery red hair seemed to burn brighter under the torchlight, and her eyes narrowed with an intensity that froze the other woman in her tracks.

"Oi," Ygritte snapped, her voice sharp and cutting through the chatter like a blade. "He's busy."

The spearwife blinked, momentarily stunned. But she quickly recovered, her tone defensive as she replied, "I'm just-"

"Just leaving." Ygritte is giving her no chance.

"I'm just here to speak to him," she said with a little anger in her tone.

"Speak from over there," Ygritte shot back, waving her hand dismissively. "You've got no business here."

The spearwife's expression hardened, her gaze flicking between Ygritte and Yoriichi. "Why don't you let him decide that?" she said, her voice louder now, drawing the attention of nearby tables. Her boldness only seemed to irritate Ygritte further.

Yoriichi expression was dazed. Before he could respond, Ygritte stepped closer to the spearwife, her stance brimming with challenge.

"He doesn't need to decide anything," Ygritte said, her tone cold and firm. "I've already told you, he's busy. Now...Fuck off." showing all her wildness, as if she was a large red wolf, protecting her cubs.

The spearwife's eyes burned with rage. "You think you can just speak for him? What are you, his keeper?"

Ygritte's hand drifted toward her bow, the gesture enough to make a few people nearby shuffle uncomfortably. "I'll be whatever I need to be to keep vultures like you away," she said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone. "You don't want to test me."

The tension was thick now, and the spearwife, clearly not one to back down, took a step forward. "I've fought bigger women than you, redhead. You think I'm afraid of your bark?"

Nearby, Tormund let out a booming laugh, slapping the table. "Looks like someone's about to lose their teeth! Kormunn, should we start placing bets?"

Kormunn, ever the steady presence, shook his head but couldn't hide his amused grin. "Tormund, don't encourage them."

"Encourage?" Tormund retorted, his eyes twinkling. "This is the best show of the night!"

Ygritte ignored them, her focus locked on the spearwife. "I don't bark, girl. I bite. And if you take another step, you'll find out just how sharp my teeth can be."

The spearwife glanced at Yoriichi again, her voice turning sharper, "Do you need this hen clucking for you? Speak up, Giantsbane. Or do you always let others fight your battles?" she attempted to instigate his pride.

Yoriichi finally rose, his calm presence cutting through the escalating tension. His soft voice carried more authority than any shout. "Enough," he said, looking between the two women. His face remained calm, his expression unreadable. Only Ygritte seemed to notice some annoyance, which only seemed to anger her more towards this spearwife.

"She started it," the spearwife said defensively, crossing her arms.

"And I'll end it," Ygritte shot back, her hand twitching near her weapon. "Leave. Now."

The spearwife hesitated, glaring at Ygritte with unspoken fury. For a moment, it looked like she might throw a punch. But the weight of Yoriichi's gaze and the growing crowd of onlookers finally made her step back. "Fine," she muttered, turning sharply on her heel. "But you can't guard him forever, little hen."

As the spearwife stalked away, Ygritte took a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. She turned to Yoriichi, who was crossing his arms. "Was that really necessary?" he asked, his tone caught between amusement and exasperation.

"Yes," Ygritte said without hesitation, her fiery eyes daring him to argue. "You're too polite to tell them no, so I'll do it for you."

Yoriichi tilted his head, studying her. "And what harm would there have been in letting her speak?"

Ygritte narrowed her eyes. "You think she just wanted to talk? You're smarter than that, Yori. She didn't come here to exchange pleasantries. She wanted to sink her claws into you."

Yoriichi sighed softly. "I think you might be exaggerating."

"Exaggerating?" Ygritte snapped, jabbing a finger against his chest. "You don't see the way they look at you. Half the women in this camp are ready to claw each other's eyes out for a chance to sit where I'm sitting."

Tormund, who had thoroughly enjoyed the show, leaned over and grinned. "And you're going to fight them all, Ygritte? You can't keep every girl in camp away forever."

"Watch me," Ygritte said fiercely, shooting him a glare. "I'm not letting any of them near him."

Kormunn chuckled, his tone lighter. "She's not wrong, Yoriichi. You wouldn't even notice if someone was trying to get your attention. You're too focused on everything else."

"Exactly!" Ygritte said triumphantly, leaning back against Yoriichi's shoulder with a self-satisfied smirk. "You don't need their attention anyway. You've got mine."

Yoriichi glanced at her, a small smile playing on his lips. "I don't need attention. I just need peace."

"Well, I'll make sure you get that too," Ygritte replied, her voice softening, her temper fading "Someone has to protect you from all the chaos."

Grisha, leaning casually against a post near the edge of the tent, smirked faintly. "You've got quite the guardian, Yoriichi. You can consider yourself fortunate."

Ygritte's fiery gaze snapped toward him, her tone sharp. The fading temper now erupted again "And you Grisha, should keep your nose out of things that don't concern you."

Grisha raised his hands again in a mock surrender, his grin unbothered. "Fair enough. But credit where it's due, it's not every day you see someone protect their leader with such… enthusiasm." he even threw a mischievous wink.

Ygritte crossed her arms, her glare unwavering. "He doesn't need protection from me or anyone else. I'm just making sure no one wastes his time."

Grisha chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Duly noted. You're doing an excellent job."

Ygritte huffed, her cheeks flushing slightly as she settled back into her seat. "Damn right. Someone's got to."

Yoriichi shook his head lightly, his smile soft and genuine. "Thank you, Ygritte. For watching out for me."

She glanced at him, her green eyes warm but still fierce. "Always," she said quietly.

A burst of commotion erupted drawing attention as Frida entered the tent, immediately softening the room. She carried a tray of roasted hare, placing it down on the table with a warm smile. "I thought you might be too busy saving the Free Folk to eat," she teased, her voice light and melodic.

She reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Yoriichi's face. "My Yoriichi," she said softly. "You've grown into everything I hoped for and more." tears appear in the corner of this strong woman.

Odin reached for her hand, his rough fingers curling around hers with surprising gentleness. "That's your doing," he said. "He gets your patience, heart, and strength from you."

Frida laughed lightly. "You give yourself too little credit, Odin." She turned to the room, her voice rising slightly. "Do you all know why we named him Yoriichi?"

A few murmurs rippled through the group. Even Tormund quieted, curious despite himself. Frida's gaze softened her expression far away. "When I carried him, I dreamed of warmth, a bright sun that melted the snow and drove away the darkness. And when he was born, the second sun came, It was as if the gods were welcoming him. His name means The Fated One or Sun God."

Brusha raised her cup, nodding solemnly. "A fitting name for the one who's brought us all together."

Odin smiled proudly, his voice carrying over the murmurs of agreement. "Aye, fitting indeed. Fate brought us all here tonight."

The tent erupted into cheers once more. Tormund, never one to miss a moment, raised his cup high. "To Yoriichi, the sun of the Free Folk!"

As the celebration continued, Yoriichi allowed himself to relax slightly. For once, the weight of leadership didn't feel quite so heavy. Around him, the Free Folk laughed, drank, and shared stories of past glories and future hopes. Even Grisha, usually reserved, lingered near the entrance with a faint smile on his lips.

The air was thick with joy, the fires burning bright against the encroaching cold. Yet, somewhere deep within, Yoriichi couldn't shake a faint unease a shadow on the edge of his mind. He felt the shadows around him were telling him something, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on his brothers' laughter, the warmth of Ygritte beside him, and the quiet pride in his father's eyes.

Yoriichi was just a kid ten years old, even if he was smarter and stronger than usual, he still felt happiness as a kid for the first time here. He wished this time could last forever. His thoughts turning: 'When we make it Beyond the Wall, let's host a party daily as a family.'

Time seemed to stop at this moment, this picture of harmony etched into Yoriichis brain.

Suddenly, Redwing swooped into the tent, her enormous wings stirring the firelight as she landed near Grisha. The hawk shook off the snow and ruffled her feathers, looking almost irritated as she hopped closer to the fire.

Grisha frowned as he stroked her head. "She doesn't like it out there. The storm's too thick. Even she can't see through it."

"She's smart," Yoriichi murmured, his gaze drifting toward the tent flap. "The snow's heavier than usual."

"It's just bad weather," one of the hunters nearby scoffed. "We've had worse."

"Maybe," Yoriichi replied quietly.

The sound of the horn still echoed faintly through the cold night, lingering like a warning no one fully grasped yet. Wildlings poured from their tents, murmuring in confusion and curiosity as chieftains gathered their cloaks and weapons. The warm laughter and celebration were extinguished as quickly as a flame caught in a storm.

Yoriichi followed close behind Odin, his wooden sword strapped to his waist, his brow furrowed as unease gnawed at him.

"It must be the Thenns," Kormunn said confidently, fastening his fur cloak as he walked beside Odin. "Late to the feast as always. They'll want to make an entrance, show off their numbers."

Tormund grunted, his usual bravado intact despite the biting cold. "Hah! If it's them, we'll greet them with food and drink. If it's a fight they want, they'll leave with bruised arses instead of full bellies." He slapped Yoriichi's back with a grin, trying to break the tension. "You're brooding again, little brother. Lighten up we might have new allies by morning."

Yoriichi didn't smile. His steps were steady, but his gaze fixed straight ahead, the distant figures barely visible through the snowstorm. He couldn't shake the feeling clawing at his chest. "It's not them," he said quietly, so quiet it almost disappeared into the howling wind.

"What was that, lad?" Odin glanced at him over his shoulder, brow raising.

Yoriichi swallowed hard, his voice clearer now. "It's not the Thenns. We need to leave."

"Leave?" Kormunn scoffed, his breath misting in the frozen air. "You sound like one of those half-mad refugees coming down from the deep north. Yoriichi, you're letting your dreams of danger run wild."

"It's not my imagination," Yoriichi said firmly. "I don't see their breath."

That stopped Odin mid-stride. "What?"

Yoriichi turned to his father, his voice tight, controlled. "I don't see their breath. They're not breathing."

The words settled uneasily over the group. Odin looked between his son and the dark shapes marching toward the camp. Snow whipped through the air, obscuring everything past a few meters. Still, Odin's instincts flared at the conviction in Yoriichi's tone. He raised a hand, signalling the group to slow their steps.

The others, chieftains, hunters, and spearwives began to exchange uncertain glances.

"Maybe it's just the storm," Tormund offered, though his voice was less certain now. "Bad weather plays tricks on the eyes."

"No," Yoriichi insisted, his grip on his wooden sword tightening. "We have to go back. Now."

"Hold!" Odin commanded sharply, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "No one move."

The entire group stood frozen at the edge of the camp, the flickering torches barely illuminating their surroundings. The storm howled louder now, as though protesting their presence. In the distance, the shapes grew larger, closer, shadows shifting, steps too steady, too synchronized.

"What kind of game are they playing?" Kormunn muttered.

"It's not a game," Yoriichi whispered, almost to himself. His Transparent World activated, and what he saw or rather, didn't see sent a chill deeper than the cold ever could. Nothing. No breath, no beating hearts, no signs of life. Only empty husks moving forward with purpose.

Ginral of the Ice Runners was already impatient, he pushed forward with his torch held high. "Enough of this nonsense! If they're Thenns, they'll hear me!" He marched into the snow ahead of the group, his voice carrying over the storm. "Oi! You Thenns! Step out! If it's a fight you're after, you'll get one, but we've the numbers now so don't be fools!"

The group waited, breath held, watching. The howling wind and snow slapping against them, add a more eerly dread.

The figures halted. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, save for the storm screaming overhead. And then one stepped forward.

The flickering light of Ginral's torch caught it. The figure moved unnaturally, each step slow and deliberate, as though the wind couldn't touch it. And when it came into view, the torchlight revealed what no one was prepared to see.

Its skin was pale as death, stretched tight over its bones, and frost glistened across its cracked face like veins of ice. Its eyes were a cold unnatural blue that burned through the blizzard with a bright glow. Wearing an ancient black armour. In its hand, it clutched a blade of ice itself.

The wildlings stepped back as the torchlight illuminated more behind it, as dozens, hundreds or even thousands of them, pale and silent marched closely behind.

"What in the gods' name…" Kormunn whispered, his voice nearly lost.

Ginral froze. His torch trembled in his grip as he stared into the leader's glowing blue eyes, his breath catching in his throat. "What… are you?"

The figure tilted its head, almost mockingly. And then smiled.

Before anyone could react, it moved. In an instant like a blur, it crossed the distance, its ice-encrusted blade plunging into Ginral's chest. Blood sprayed across the snow, steaming as it hit the ground.

Ginral let out a strangled gasp, his torch falling from his grip, snuffed out in the snow. As he crumpled like a ragdoll.

The line of wildlings erupted into screams and shouts as chaos exploded around them.

"Back! Get back!" Odin roared, raising his axe.

Yoriichi stepped forward, his wooden sword unsheathed, his calm exterior a fragile mask over the fear crawling through him. He stared at the pale figure, the lieutenant, he realized and activated Transparent World again. But still nothing. He saw nothing. It wasn't alive, not in any way he could understand.

Where he would normally see muscles and breathflow, was now non-existent, it was just a cold unnatural blue, a frozen corpse.

"What are they?" Tormund said, his voice raw, backing up beside Yoriichi.

"They're dead," Yoriichi whispered, his voice soft yet carrying over the chaos. He looked into the lieutenant's glowing blue eyes, unflinching, though every instinct screamed to run.

The undead stepped forward, weapons glinting, their eyes locked onto the camp.

And then, all at once, they began to charge.

"Hold the line!" Odin bellowed, his voice thundering against the howling storm.

The first line of the dead crashed into the Free Folk warriors, weapons clanging and screams tearing through the night. Bodies fell into the snow, some alive, some no longer, as the once-celebratory camp descended into chaos.

The wildlings holding the line were thousands, but so were the undead that couldn't be killed. They could only step back slowly and block the retreat for the woman and children.

Yoriichi watched it unfold as though time itself had slowed. Fear gnawed at him, coiling somewhere deep in his chest, but there was something else too, something stronger. His resolve.

He tightened his grip on his wooden sword, his knuckles white from the force. He was only a child, barely ten, but he would stand. He had to stand.

For every warrior that fell, two more dead seemed to rise. Odin's voice roared above the chaos, demanding a retreat, but it was swallowed by the storm and screams.

And there, in the midst of it all, the lieutenant stood still. Watching.

Its eyes burned like twin frozen suns, locked on Yoriichi alone. The chaos around it didn't seem to matter. The snowstorm shrieked and whirled, but the creature's stare cut through it all, unwavering and unrelenting.

'Why?' Yoriichi's thoughts were frozen with this one word.

Yoriichi's breath misted heavily in the air as he met its gaze. The lieutenant tilted its head slightly, almost curious, its icy smile lingering like a silent promise. And in that moment, Yoriichi knew, this thing was here for him.

Uncertainty crashed through him. 'Why him? Why now? Was this tied to what Frida had told him long ago the story of his name?' a choice made with meaning beyond what any of them could know? Memories of her voice echoed faintly in his mind, blending with the screams and the wind.

"Yoriichi, your name was of a tale, The Fated One or the Sun God, you were born with a vision to press back the darkness and bring warmth to our people."

A chill deeper than the cold of the storm sank into his bones, but he shoved it aside. Now wasn't the time for questions. The lieutenant had chosen him as its target, and he could feel it like a weight pressing on his chest.

"Yoriichi!" Tormund's voice rang out, pulling him halfway back to the moment. Tormund was fighting alongside Kormunn, the two of them holding back a wave of the dead, their movements desperate yet steady. "Run, you fool! Get back to the others!"

But Yoriichi wasn't listening anymore. His world had narrowed to the lieutenant its blue eyes, its deathly calm, its silent challenge. The sounds of the battle dimmed to a low hum, and the screams and shouts slowly dissipated under the pounding of his heartbeat.

Resolve hardened in his chest. He couldn't run. He wouldn't run.

The lieutenant stepped forward then, its icy blade dragging through the snow, leaving a trail of frost in its wake. It moved slowly, deliberately, as if daring Yoriichi to come.

Yoriichi's breath hitched, his pulse pounding in his ears. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to get away from this unnatural horror. And yet, his feet moved forward. One step. Then another.

His wooden sword felt heavier in his hand, its grip slick with sweat. It was just wood ordinary in every way except for the care Frida had put into it. But Yoriichi believed in it. In himself. In his promise to protect everyone, the Tribe, His mom, and His dad. His brothers Tormund and Kormunn... Ygritte and Grisha... The memories together, everything entwined into this moment. His gaze was focused and strong.

The lieutenant noticed this fighting resolve and for once in his long journey, his blue eyes flared brighter, its smile widening as though amused by Yoriichi's defiance.

Yoriichi exhaled once, steadying himself. And then he rushed forward, the storm howling around him, his small figure a lone spark of light against the overwhelming dark.

The lieutenant raised its blade to meet him.

And then the night swallowed them both.