Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

The Wall loomed high in the pale moonlight, a frozen giant that separated the Wildlings from the realm of men. Beneath its shadow, Mance Rayder stood at the forefront of his people, surrounded by his most trusted leaders. They had gathered here, not as invaders, but as survivors. The looming threat of the Others had driven them to seek refuge beyond the Wall.

But Mance knew the decision ahead of him was delicate. The Night's Watch had yet to respond to their plea, and time was running out. The Free Folk needed passage south, not just for a better life, but for survival. If the Watch refused them, there was no telling what would happen, but Mance was not willing to risk his people's lives on a hope.

Tormund, standing beside him, shot an irritated glance toward the Wall. "They've had enough time to consider," he grumbled. "Why don't they just let us through?"

Mance's voice was calm, but firm. "Patience, Tormund. The Watch must deliberate. They know the stakes as well as we do."

Ygritte, ever observant, narrowed her eyes at the shadowy figures atop the Wall. "I don't trust them. They'll never let us pass."

"We'll see," Mance said, his mind already turning over their options. He wasn't a man given to hope, but he understood the importance of showing strength—and showing the truth. They needed proof, something the Watch couldn't ignore. That's when he turned to Clark.

"I have a plan," Mance said quietly, speaking only to Tormund, Ygritte, and the other leaders nearby. "The Watch won't listen to words, and we don't have time for them to reconsider. We need to send them proof—something they can't ignore."

Tormund raised an eyebrow. "Proof? What do you mean?"

Mance's gaze hardened, his voice lowering. "A Wight. If anyone can get one through to the Wall unnoticed, it's Clark."

---

Clark's POV

Clark had been wandering the Wildling camp, keeping to the shadows. He was still a stranger in this land, and though Tormund and Ygritte had grown to trust him, there was always an undercurrent of suspicion from others. His powers had made things complicated—both a gift and a burden. And now, Mance was asking him to undertake a mission that would put him directly in the path of the Night's Watch.

He had already come to terms with the fact that the Free Folk weren't the only ones who needed saving. The threat of the Others was real, and if Mance was to be believed, it was only a matter of time before they reached the Wall. So when Mance approached him with a plan, Clark didn't hesitate. He knew that sometimes, doing the right thing meant stepping into the unknown.

"You'll need to catch a Wight," Mance had told him. "Bring it to the Wall. They won't believe us. But they'll believe you."

Clark nodded, understanding the gravity of the task. If he was going to make it to the Wall with proof of the threat, he needed to act quickly. And so, he had slipped away under the cover of night, heading into the wilderness beyond the Wall, where the Others were rumored to roam.

The cold air bit at his skin as he soared above the snowy expanse, searching for any sign of the undead creatures. His enhanced hearing was sharp, every whisper of the wind, every crack of the ice underfoot, sending shivers through his body. He could hear the distant, hollow moans of the Wights before he even saw them.

It wasn't long before he spotted them—a group of Wights, moving slowly across the tundra, their movements jerky and unnatural. Clark landed quietly, his boots barely making a sound on the frozen earth. He took a moment to steady himself, then dove into the fray.

The battle was quick. Clark's strength was unmatched, and it took little time before the Wights were incapacitated. He used his heat vision to melt the ice that froze their bodies, ensuring they wouldn't rise again. He had no choice but to take one with him—a decaying corpse, stripped of life but still dangerous.

Clark hoisted the Wight onto his shoulders and made his way back toward the Wall, flying low to avoid detection. He couldn't risk being spotted by the Watch just yet. The Wight, though dead, still radiated a coldness that felt unnatural, and Clark's own body shivered under its touch. But he couldn't stop now—not when so much was at stake.

---

The night was still when Clark finally arrived at Castle Black. He landed far from the main gate, hidden in the shadows, making sure no one saw him approach. The Watch had no idea he was coming, and Mance's plan hinged on keeping his presence a secret—at least until the moment was right.

Clark crept through the darkness, the Wight heavy in his arms, until he reached the wall where the guards had stationed themselves. He peered around, taking note of the sentries on high alert. They were watching the horizon, no doubt anticipating some sign of trouble. Clark took a deep breath and stepped forward, his movements deliberate and careful.

The moment his foot touched the ground, the sentries' eyes snapped to him. The unmistakable figure of Clark Kent, standing tall and silent in the night.

"Who goes there?" one of the guards called out, his voice thick with suspicion. "State your business."

"I'm here with proof," Clark replied, his voice calm but steady. "I need to speak with Lord Commander Mormont."

The guards exchanged wary glances, clearly unsure how to handle this stranger who had appeared so suddenly. "What proof?" another asked, his hand inching toward his sword.

Clark gestured toward the Wight slung across his back. "This."

The moment the body came into view, the guards froze, their faces pale with disbelief. They had heard the stories—the tales of the Others, of the dead rising—but no one had ever truly believed them. Not until now.

One of the guards called down to the gate, and within moments, the heavy door groaned open, revealing the dark figures of several members of the Night's Watch. Among them was Lord Commander Mormont, who stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"You're the one who brought this here?" Mormont's voice was low and measured.

"Yes," Clark said simply, his eyes locked on the Lord Commander. "And I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to show you that the threat is real. The Others are coming. This Wight is just the beginning."

Mormont glanced at the Wight, then back at Clark, his mind working quickly to process what he was seeing. This wasn't a tale or a rumor. This was proof, undeniable and terrifying.

"Get him inside," Mormont barked. "We'll hear him out."

---

Inside Castle Black, the tension was palpable. Clark, standing in front of Mormont and the other officers of the Night's Watch, felt the weight of their scrutiny. They had no reason to trust him, no reason to believe that he wasn't part of some larger conspiracy. But with the Wight before them, there could be no denying that the threat was real.

"The Watch hasn't rejected Mance Rayder's proposal yet," Mormont said, his tone grim as he looked at Clark. "But I'll be damned if we open the gates without understanding what we're dealing with."

Clark nodded. "I know. The Free Folk are afraid, just like you are. But the threat of the Others is real, and it's growing stronger by the day. If you don't act now, you may find that your Wall isn't enough to hold them back."

The room fell silent as Mormont stared at the Wight, and for the first time, the true magnitude of the danger beyond the Wall was clear to him.

"We'll discuss this further," Mormont finally said, turning to his officers. "But for now, Clark Kent, you've given us something to think about."

---

As the night wore on, Clark felt the weight of the decision ahead of him pressing down on him. He had done what he could. Now, it was up to the Night's Watch to decide whether they would heed his warning—or ignore it at their peril.