Games of Thrones: The Heavenly Demon of North

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POV: Arthur Snow

Location: Wolfsblood Ridge – Midday

The frost had returned to the ridgeline, but the wind no longer bit. It hummed low over the cliffs, like the mountain was watching.

Arthur stood with arms folded, back to the cold, as his group gathered in the training hollow. They were sore. Marked. But sharper than they'd ever been.

A week had passed since Winterfell.

Rickard's words still pressed against Arthur's mind like a phantom weight: Chaos will come. Forge them now.

So he did.

———

"Qi gathered in stillness is potential," Arthur said, voice cutting across the midday hush. "But qi forced through the body under stress becomes form. You've reached the threshold."

He stepped forward, hand behind his back, eyes scanning the six.

"You want real strength? Then begin where real weapons are made—at the edge of pain."

He drew a short stave from the bundle beside him.

Vaeren blinked. "We're getting beaten with sticks now?"

Arthur answered by striking the post beside him.

The wood cracked—not from force, but from the ripple of internal qi laced into the blow.

"You'll each withstand ten strikes," he said. "Not to prove endurance—but to recognize the flow of qi where your muscles break."

———

Sarra stepped forward first.

She gritted her teeth, tied her belt tighter, and squared her stance.

Arthur moved like breath.

The first blow landed on her shoulder. She hissed, foot sliding slightly.

The second hit the opposite side.

The third landed near the ribs—and her qi faltered. She winced.

By the fifth strike, her vision swam.

By the seventh, she stumbled.

Arthur stopped. "You disperse qi too early. You're bracing before the blow lands."

Sarra spat blood. "Then hit harder."

He didn't.

"Return at dusk. Meditate before then."

———

Garron came next, bare chest exposed to the wind.

He braced.

Arthur struck.

Garron didn't flinch.

Two. Three. Four.

By six, the hammerer's chest was red with rising bruises.

At nine, Garron tensed early and shifted his weight—Arthur's strike slipped and landed harder than intended.

Garron collapsed to one knee.

"Too tense," Arthur said. "Your qi swells too shallow in the torso. You're armoring skin. Not flesh."

Garron cursed. "So I'm too strong now?"

Arthur said nothing. He simply helped him up.

———

Vaeren stepped forward, unbuttoning his jacket.

He said nothing, only inhaled slowly—his qi circulating from gut to heart.

Arthur saw it.

When the first strike landed, Vaeren's body rippled, like water shifting under silk.

The second strike rang dully.

The third drew blood—but no stagger.

After ten blows, he stood straighter than when he began.

Arthur nodded. "Good. Your method follows internal compression. It doesn't resist—it absorbs."

Vaeren winced, but smirked. "Finally. Something I'm not awful at."

———

Redna deflected attention, claiming an injured ankle. She trained on the side—circling the clearing, observing everything. Arthur said nothing. She was learning through motion. That was her nature.

Thom declined strikes entirely. He focused on breathwork with herbs, building qi in his hands. Arthur made a note to pressure him in other ways.

Lyanna didn't ask to be tested.

She simply stepped forward and raised her arm.

Arthur struck with no warning.

She didn't cry out.

After five blows, her breath faltered.

After seven, her qi surged forward rather than against.

At ten, she swayed—but did not fall.

Arthur caught her by the shoulder.

"You're close."

She shook her head. "Not enough."

Arthur's voice lowered. "Enough to live."

———

They rested after.

The wind had grown sharper by then, biting at exposed skin.

Arthur stood with his back to the tree line, watching them. Garron rubbing his ribs. Sarra meditating with a bloodied lip. Vaeren quietly feeling his bruises with a triumphant frown.

They were changing.

Not yet fast enough.

But becoming.

———

Footsteps approached from the ridge trail.

Arthur didn't turn.

Benjen Stark appeared, cloaked in gray, cheeks red from the climb.

"You said I could visit," he said, a little breathless.

Arthur gestured to the circle.

"You'll train lightly. Observation, not trial."

Benjen's eyes lit up.

He watched as Arthur guided Thom through refining qi flow into the forearm—a step crucial for stabilizing fine movements.

"You really teach them," Benjen said softly.

"I break what they think is strength," Arthur replied. "Then teach them what strength actually is."

Benjen crouched beside a stump, fingers digging into the bark.

"I want to learn that," he said, voice low. "Before I'm sent away."

Arthur stilled. "Sent where?"

Benjen's jaw tightened. "Father hasn't decided yet. But I won't stay at Winterfell forever."

Arthur studied him—the restless energy in his stance, the hunger in his eyes. This wasn't just a boy playing at swords. This was a Stark preparing for a future he couldn't yet see.

"You'll learn," Arthur said at last. "Before you go."

———

As the sun dipped, Arthur gathered them once more.

"You've taken hits. Learned to use breath to soften impact. Now we test the inverse."

They looked at each other.

Arthur unsheathed a dagger.

Held it between two fingers.

"This time, I attack your qi flow. Not your body."

He tapped the air gently—qi extended from the blade in a soft hum.

"This isn't to harm. It's to feel."

He stepped toward Thom, who looked understandably hesitant.

Arthur pressed the blade's edge lightly against Thom's wrist.

There was no cut.

But Thom shuddered.

"It burned," he said.

"That's qi rejection. Your body senses threat—and your qi retracts. You must learn to let it meet the pressure instead."

He went one by one.

Each reacted differently.

Vaeren's qi hardened—his body rejecting the edge entirely.

Lyanna's breath spiked, but she stabilized by the second tap.

Redna twitched—but didn't retreat.

Garron tensed, as expected. Sarra welcomed the edge, biting down on pain.

Arthur sheathed the blade.

"You're all close."

He knelt.

Drew a circle in the dirt.

"The next step—Meridian Opening—will hurt more than any blade."

They leaned in.

"There are twelve main channels. Opening the first will feel like a lung full of fire. But if you succeed, your qi won't just be still—it will move on its own. Breathe with you. Protect you."

Thom swallowed. "And if we fail?"

Arthur stood.

"Then your qi will collapse inward. And you'll choke on your own power."

A silence fell.

Only Benjen broke it.

"I want to try someday."

Arthur looked at him.

"You're not far."

He turned to the others, his voice low.

"Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we breach the gate."

Lyanna lifted her head, still shaking from the ordeal. "And if we're not ready?"

Arthur met her gaze.

"Then you die."

Silence settled like a blade between them.

No one argued.