Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

The green wildfire along the distant horizon slowly dimmed and faded.

Arya Stark tilted her head back, gazing at the familiar constellations scattered across the night sky.

The most striking among them was the Ice Dragon. At its head shone a blue star, known as the Knight's Eye, pointing directly north. Following the Knight's Eye would lead one home.

But Arya couldn't go home yet. She had to head south, toward the tail of the Ice Dragon, the direction it pointed.

The wind and snow stung her face, biting to the bone.

Yet Arya's heart burned with a fierce fire.

Though a girl, Arya had always dreamed of becoming a hero.

Her greatest idol was the warrior-queen of the Rhoynar, Nymeria, who led her people across the Narrow Sea to Westeros.

She had named her direwolf after that queen, harboring a deep, secret hope that one day, she too could achieve great feats and become a legendary figure.

Now, it seemed such an opportunity had arrived.

No matter how much her mother protested, Arya had snuck away.

After all, it wasn't the first time she'd acted on her whims.

Nymeria suddenly halted, growling low in her throat.

Snapped out of her thoughts, Arya tensed, scanning their surroundings carefully. But after a moment, she saw no enemies—just a nearly buried village blanketed by snow.

On the western edge of the village stood a massive weirwood tree, its bare white branches stretching skyward. A face carved into its trunk wept bloody tears, its grim expression haunting under the faint starlight.

But Arya wasn't afraid.

To Northerners, weirwoods were sacred, embodiments of the Old Gods on earth. Fear wasn't something they associated with these ancient trees.

"Nymeria, what is it?" Arya whispered.

Before she could finish her question, a harsh, rasping caw broke the stillness.

"Caw, caw—caw—"

The temperature seemed to plummet even further, biting through Arya's unusual tolerance for cold.

A massive shadow emerged from behind the weirwood.

It was an enormous spider, larger than a mammoth, its crystalline body shimmering with an eerie blue glow.

On its back sat a figure, elegant yet otherworldly, encased in an icy mask. Two cold, star-like blue eyes stared at Arya from behind the mask.

"A White Walker," Arya muttered under her breath, gripping her sword and preparing for a fight.

But the figure didn't attack.

The White Walker opened its mouth, its voice like the cracking of ice. It seemed to be speaking, but Arya couldn't understand a word.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't trying to harm her.

Confused for a brief moment, Arya quickly snapped out of it.

A White Walker is a White Walker.

The destroyer of the North.

The enemy of all humankind.

She drew her slender blade, Needle, and shouted to her giant companion:

"Big Guy, attack! Kill it!"

The giant grumbled in response and charged forward with earth-shaking steps.

Boom!

Its massive fist slammed into the snowy ground, scattering shards of ice and rock.

But the ice spider was quick and agile, leaping aside effortlessly.

As the giant prepared to pursue, the snow erupted around it, and hundreds of wights clawed their way to the surface, howling as they charged.

Compared to the giant, the wights were like ants, but even ants could overwhelm an elephant in large enough numbers.

"Roar!!"

The giant let out a furious roar, hoping to scare them off.

But fear wasn't something wights knew. They swarmed toward the giant like sharks scenting blood.

No matter how many the giant stomped into the ground or swatted away, more kept coming, clawing and biting at its hairy feet.

Nymeria, overwhelmed by wights, leapt onto the giant's shoulders for safety, while the wights followed, only to be knocked off by the giant's swiping hands.

Arya watched the tide of wights grow and began to worry. Her gaze shifted to the White Walker on the ice spider, and an idea struck her.

"Big Guy!" she shouted. "Forget the wights—go for the one on the spider! Take it down!"

The giant roared again and turned its attention to the White Walker.

Boom!

Its fists crashed into the ground near the weirwood, sending a wave of snow and ice rippling outward.

But the ice spider darted out of reach, its movements eerily graceful.

The spider let out a shrill, piercing cry.

Arya clapped her hands over her ears, but the sound seemed to cut straight through her, leaving her nauseated.

She felt a strong urge to vomit, but tried her best to hold it back.

The giant, also enraged by the sound, uprooted the weirwood in a single motion and swung it like a massive club.

Smash, smash, smash!

The tree's trunk sent wights flying like ragdolls, scattering them into the snow.

Armed with the weirwood, the giant swung again at the spider.

But suddenly, it stumbled, nearly falling.

"Careful, Big Guy!" Arya cried, clutching the giant's hair to keep from falling herself.

Looking down, she saw the giant's foot tangled in something.

The ice spider had crept closer, releasing another shrill cry as it sprayed a translucent thread from its mouth, binding the giant's hand.

Webbing?

In the faint starlight, Arya could make out the shimmering thread stretching between the spider and the giant.

The giant roared in fury and yanked hard on the web. The spider was pulled into the air, shrieking in distress.

Crash!

Caught in the giant's massive hand, the spider was crushed with a sickening squelch, its blue ichor splattering everywhere.

The White Walker tumbled to the ground and fled.

"Don't let it escape!" Arya yelled, urging the giant to chase after it.

The giant broke free of the webbing on its foot and lumbered after the White Walker, ignoring the wights still clinging to it.

As they pursued, Arya realized they were heading west, not south.

She hesitated for a moment but decided to keep going.

She wasn't letting this White Walker get away.

The wind and snow grew fiercer, blinding and suffocating.

Arya caught a whiff of something foul—a stench of decay and death that made her gag.

"Slow down, Big Guy," she whispered, sensing danger.

Nymeria whimpered at her feet, ears flat with fear.

Ahead, a broken tower loomed out of the snow.

As they drew closer, Arya saw a familiar sigil carved into the stone: two crossed battle-axes beneath a black crown.

It was the crest of House Dustin, the lords of Barrowton.

Arya wasn't surprised.

They were in the Barrowlands, a region dotted with ancient burial mounds and claimed by House Dustin.

But then she froze.

What she saw next made her blood run cold.

An army of wights stretched across the horizon, lined up in perfect formation, their numbers endless.

Among them, there are White Walkers riding skeleton horses, White Walkers riding direwolves, White Walkers sitting on mammoths, and a very small number of White Walkers are sitting on ice spiders.

It's the ice spider that was just killed by the giant.

This was no stray patrol.

This was the army of the dead.

Although Arya was impulsive and naughty, she was not stupid. Seeing this, she dared not continue chasing. She tugged at the giant's hair, her voice trembling:

"Run, Big Guy! Run!"

The giant turned and fled, its heavy strides shaking the earth.

The giant ran far ahead before Arya dared to glance back. Seeing only a swarm of wights chasing after them and no White Walkers in sight, she finally let out a relieved breath.

But her relief was short-lived. Suddenly, she felt the giant stumble beneath her, and it lurched forward uncontrollably.

Thud!

The giant crashed to the ground, yet even as it fell, it instinctively shielded Arya and Nymeria with its massive arms. They tumbled through the snow, rolling several times before finally coming to a stop.

Dazed and dizzy, Arya shook her head to steady her vision. When she looked up, she saw three ice spiders accompanied by a horde of wights surrounding them.

The spiders shrieked in unison, their piercing cries cutting through the freezing air. From their mandibles, translucent silken threads shot outward, gleaming faintly under the dim light.

The giant was in trouble now. Both its arms and one leg were quickly ensnared by the spider's threads. No matter how it struggled, the combined strength of the three spiders kept it stretched out in a helpless, spread-eagle position.

Realizing the dire situation, Arya drew her sword, Needle, and leapt to the giant's aid. She aimed at the nearest strand of webbing, slashing with all her strength.

But when her blade struck, she found that the silk-like strands were incredibly tough. Instead of slicing through them, the force of the impact sent her reeling backward. She landed unceremoniously on the snow, her sword clattering out of her hand.

The giant roared in frustration, its muscles straining as it fought to break free. But the ice spiders moved deftly, crisscrossing the snow in a dance of deadly precision, spraying even more webbing to bind the giant tighter and tighter.

Arya swung her blade wildly, hacking at the webs, but her efforts were in vain. She could only watch in despair as the giant was slowly cocooned, wrapped up like an enormous, helpless bundle.

"No!" Arya cried, her voice cracking with desperation.

Despite the overwhelming sadness swelling in her chest, she felt no fear. Instead, she gritted her teeth, gripped Needle tightly, and charged toward the encroaching White Walkers.

"Come on!" she shouted. "I'm not afraid of you!"

In response, one of the spiders launched a sticky thread that hit Arya squarely, tangling her in an instant. Her sword slipped from her grasp as she fell backward into the snow, writhing like a fish pulled from water.

One of the White Walkers dismounted gracefully from its spider and approached her with slow, deliberate steps.

"My father will avenge me!" Arya shouted, her voice trembling with both anger and fear. "Sam will burn you all to ash! My friends will destroy every last one of you!"

She braced herself for the killing blow, but to her surprise, the White Walker didn't strike. Instead, it grabbed her by the tangled threads and lifted her effortlessly.

Before Arya could react, she was slung onto the ice spider's back as the Walker remounted. The spider turned west and began to crawl away, carrying its new captive.

Bound tightly in the unyielding webbing, Arya could only squirm in frustration. Every attempt to free herself was futile, and her weapons were gone.

Her giant companion was captured. Nymeria's fate was unknown.

Arya felt tears of frustration well up in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Why did I do this? she thought bitterly. I should've listened to Mother…

Her thoughts spiraled, but the ice spider continued westward, unrelenting.

Finally, they reached the Barrowlands, the ancient grave mounds of the First Men. Arya once again saw the massive army of wights, their ranks stretching as far as the eye could see.

Among them were White Walkers, standing out like commanding generals amid a sea of mindless soldiers. Mounted on skeletal horses, giant wolves, mammoths, and more of the dreaded ice spiders, they radiated an aura of cold menace.

All eyes turned toward Arya as she was carried into their midst.

Their glowing blue gazes unsettled her. There was something strange in their stares—something she couldn't quite place.

Are they going to kill me? Eat me?

Or will they turn me into one of their brainless wights?

Arya shuddered at the thought. If she were to become a wight, she would rather die first.

But her fate was no longer in her hands.

The ice spider pushed through the sea of wights, moving steadily westward.

The wind and snow grew fiercer, and the temperature plummeted. Even Arya, who was naturally resilient to the cold, began to tremble uncontrollably.

Finally, they came to a halt.

Arya was yanked from the spider's back and dropped to the ground.

She squirmed, twisting her neck to see her surroundings.

A ring of massive ice spiders encircled a strange, elevated platform.

Atop the platform was… nothing.

Nothing but a column of pure blackness.

It wasn't a shadow, nor was it simply dark—it was as if the very essence of light had been erased from that space, leaving only an absolute void.

What… is that?

Arya stared, confusion and unease mingling in her chest.

At the forefront of the platform stood a towering figure clad entirely in crystalline ice armor. Only a pair of piercing blue eyes shone beneath his frost-covered crown.

He exuded an air of majesty and mystery.

This must be the King of the White Walkers, Arya thought.

The Night King.

For reasons she couldn't explain, the sight of him filled her with a faint, inexplicable sense of familiarity.

"Hey!" Arya called out boldly, despite her situation. "What are you going to do with me?"

The Night King didn't respond.

Before he could, a loud, resonant cry echoed from above.

Arya turned her head sharply, her eyes widening.

A massive white dragon soared through the stormy sky, its wings cutting through the blizzard like knives.

Behind it, two more dragons emerged—one black and one green.

"Ha!" Arya shouted, her voice filled with sudden hope. "You're done! His Majesty Caesar and his dragons have found you! Surrender while you can, or they'll burn you all to ashes!"

The Night King didn't react to Arya's taunts. His icy gaze remained fixed on the white dragon as it descended, growing larger and larger in the sky.

And then, a voice rang out, strong and commanding, from the dragon's back:

"Night King! I've finally found you!"

(End of Chapter)