[Chapter Size: 3600 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 298 AC.

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The northern gate opened with the characteristic sound of chains grinding and tightening against each other, with some giants turning the levers, their strength lifting the heavy iron gate upward.

In front of the opening gate, a group of men mounted on basilisks waited. All of them were surrounded by eldenmetal armor, along with the animals themselves protecting them.

“Kreeee-raak! Trriiiik! Rááá-rrrik-rrrik!” The reptiles emitted lizard-like trilling sounds, restless, while their riders prepared, fitting their helmets onto their heads.

The gate finally opened completely.

“Well, it’s up to you now. Do this damn job and come back alive and in one piece! I don’t want to see any of you being eaten by that storm!”, said a dwarf with a hammer on his shoulder beside the open gate to the 20 men on the basilisks, looking at the group with pride for the high-risk mission they were about to undertake.

They only nodded, finishing placing the last of their helmets. They were all heavily protected, armed with arrows, bows, spears, and swords, the main item being a shovel to dig through the snow where they needed to reach.

Some crystals hanging from the saddle illuminated the path ahead, shining in the midst of that darkness.

“We leave on my signal! Remember: there are five points to the north to open the trapdoors. You all know what to do, we will divide into groups of four. You already know your teams and where you must go! On my signal!”, shouted the leader of the squad on this mission.

The basilisks, restless, began emitting more sharp cries.

“Go!”, he exclaimed, and quickly the animals began to run, their long legs propelling their bodies forward. They passed through the gate and advanced northward. Even in the near-total darkness, lit only by the crystal lanterns they had brought, they could still see the enormous storm front a few kilometers ahead.

They had to be quick before the enemy attacked. The basilisks moved swaying their bodies, leaving a line trail in the snow under their feet while the group of 20 divided into 5 groups of 4 riders.

Meanwhile, in Artica, the animals began to circle the entire kingdom, coming out from the southern forests. It was not only for defense, but also to serve as Jon’s eyes. He would be the central point of the kingdom; he would see everything in real time on any front and would give orders through the animals themselves, by means of signals that all commanders had been trained to recognize as the signs of the king and the one to whom all must have absolute obedience, the one who would lead them to victory.

Quickly, the animals took their positions, forming linear formations around the walls, cities, and other points.

In the royal castle, families were being guided inside the banquet hall, while the queens accompanied the children and guards, joining the others who were already there, while dozens of royal guards continued positioning themselves there to protect everyone.

The enormous door began to close at that moment, with the place being illuminated by the crystals.

The children seemed a bit restless, while Loki tried to appear the most firm among them, with the royal guards paying attention to him and the others without them noticing, with a smile on their faces.

If things truly went bad, they would be the future of Arctic, their mission was to ensure they survived, the lineage of Jon had to continue through those royal children. Even though they had faith in their king, fighting out there in the darkness, they also had to think of the future. That was what Jon had taught them almost 10 years ago.

They were savages, members of tribes who knew only survival, each with their own history, living their adolescence or childhood before living in Arctic and integrating into the royal guard, handpicked by the king many years ago. And now, they had become responsible enough to understand the values of being a royal guard.

And the power of the lineage needed to be guaranteed if the Arctican king were to fall. Jon had always made that clear in their training. Since he liked to think of all scenarios, not only for this era, but for future generations of Arctic, considering situations in which the king might die fighting for the kingdom.

At the same time, wings beat powerfully in the sky. The black dragon, Vezofēdrur, advanced alongside the white dragon. Jon was, this time, mounted on Vezofēdrur, moving through the city beside Eragon.

Behind them, several smaller dragons followed, entering the city and taking position at the highest points.

Jon guided the group directly to the Great Sacred Tree. More than a dozen small dragons landed among its branches and some on platforms within the city, while Jon maintained mental control over all of them.

Then, he continued north, passing by men running from one side to another, positioning themselves, organizing ranks, adjusting armor, responding to orders. Lanterns lit the field, with lights moving back and forth to their positions, nervous that the first battle was about to begin.

Jon angled Vezofēdrur downward and Eragon followed. The dragons’ landing was heavy, but expected. Jon had seen the royal carriage with guards gathering his wives and family inside the great command tent.

They were there with Arya and Benjen, preparing for battle, while the royal guards remained firm, taking care of both protection and their roles in the battle to come.

“We’ll stay here.”, Jon murmured, ignoring the looks toward him since he arrived while Eragon stared at him, waiting for some request or order.

“Calm down, not yet.”, Jon said calmly, while his eyes fixed on the enormous cloud forming, even in the darkness.

Jon saw Ghost approaching and, although he eyed him, he remained silent, as always. He only nodded to him, still mounted on Vezofēdrur, who growled lightly, preventing the wolf from getting too close. Vezofēdrur did not like Ghost, and Jon had to ask the wolf to stay away.

Eragon had become better company, while the wolf went to him, even with his 6 meters in length, he was a flea compared to the body of the white dragon. It was somewhat hilarious that Ghost remembered the dragon’s face, while the dragon did not seem to like it, but also did not seem to dislike it. He simply stayed silent, receiving the wolf’s tongue on his tough skin.

Arya, who was in the command tent, heard the sound of the dragons and ran outside after feeling the impact of the two dragons landing. She noticed that Jon did not dismount from his dragon.

Arya had her own questions, while Val, beside her, stretched his young neck out of the tent to see Jon as well, Seryna only smiled still looking at her husband’s strategy on the table. Lancelot was already ready to send more members of the royal guard to escort the king, but Jon remained atop the dragon.

“He won’t come down,” Lancelot said in a calm tone. He knew his king well enough to understand that when Jon did not dismount the dragon, it was because he was planning something — and that soon he would fly again.

“Anyway.” Ducken broke the silence, while his eyes went to the fearsome mid-sized wolf, lying in a corner of the tent. “…we’ve already sent our men to the north,” he informed the wolf, since he hoped Jon would hear him at that moment, knowing he could be inside the wolf’s head.

When the fearsome wolf nodded, Ducken nodded in satisfaction.

“We’re preparing this formation. If we fail at this, we’ll have a rather large fight here,” Ducken murmured.

“Perhaps if they spread out, it will be a problem, having so many kilometers to defend… But, if they concentrate only on the north, we can defeat them easily,” Arya commented, joining the large map/model of the region.

“Well, I don’t care, as long as I can kill a few ice bastards,” Tormund, who appeared there, said excitedly. Thor rolled his eyes at hearing the Giantsbane.

“Shut that mouth, you fool. We’re trying to focus here,” Thor replied.

“Anyway, as our king said,” Lancelot intervened, glancing at the wolf for a brief moment, “everything will depend on how things unfold in the next few hours. This will be the moment that will define how our war against the dead will be.”

Meanwhile, on the dragons standing on the ground, Jon blinked after hearing his men in the tent, diverting his attention from the meeting, while the others only reinforced already defined points. His attention was turned to the north, where, even intrusively, he began to enter the mind of one of the basilisks.

Jon had developed the ability that, even if the animal had a warg master, he could intrude on that connection and take control for himself — not that he did it often, but sometimes he did it just to observe what the animal saw.

Now, he wanted the eyes of the basilisks to see the situation to the north, for he had felt something coming from that direction.

The basilisks ran quickly through the snow, crossing the uneven terrain, unsuitable for any horse. Although they hated the snow, the animals moved well: they had been trained for more than a year on that kind of ground. Jon had also modified them, giving them resistance to the cold. They were not a species meant for that climate, but their future offspring would be perfect to advance through the north, as they had mobility for all types of terrain; even on boulders they could climb easily, and in terrain full of holes they balanced themselves much better. They only needed to develop resistance and a bit of better skin to walk in the snow, which Jon ensured by altering the animal’s genetics, but that would truly manifest in the future litters.

In any case, they were reaching the locations marked by the flags that indicated the trapdoors with the entrance to the tunnels where the wildfire was.

It was at that moment that the riders felt something coming from the north: a massive dark cloud seemed to stand out from the storm ahead.

Jon’s eyes, upon Vezofēdrur, shone — that could only mean one thing: the first wave of the White Walkers’ attack had begun.

Jon looked serious as Vezofēdrur spread his wings.

“Let’s go! Fly on my signal!”, he ordered in High Valyrian. “Soves!” The dragon’s eyes glowed before he beat his wings and surged forward, emitting a growl. Eragon advanced shortly behind the black dragon.

“The dragons are heading north!”, Seryna said, looking at the sky outside the tent, narrowing her eyes as she saw the dragons advancing north. They looked like shadows moving while all the people of Arctic watched, curious about what the king intended with that.

Then the wolf that was in the tent simply stood up, growling and howling. Soon the local alarms began to sound — that meant only one thing.

“Air attack!”, Ducken growled. “Prepare the weapons and the machines!!”

“The White Walkers are launching the first attack!”, shouted other men upon hearing the general, and the others began to act urgently.

In an instant, orders were given throughout the city. More wolves began to howl across the kingdom; the commanders, trained for this operation and prepared with Jon before this day, began shouting commands.

That was the signal: everyone quickly looked to the sky. Archers and soldiers shouted to one another as they ran to the positions where the arrows had been left set out around the city.

The enemy would come from the sky before the storm, and the goal was clear — weaken them, surely.

Even the people who remained in their homes began closing windows and doors, leaving no gap for any winged creature with blue eyes to harm anyone.

In the northern sky, already outside Arctic.

Jon continued advancing through the airspace; he was no longer far from the men atop the basilisks, who ran through the snow, worriedly looking upward.

The growl of the dragons was heard by the men, making them look up to the sky, indicating that the king was there so that they could all focus on their objective.

Jon pressed forward firmly.

Now he could also hear the beating of countless wings approaching, coming closer and closer, even though it was not possible to see them with the naked eye because of the darkness.

His eyes were not made to see in that, so he switched to seeing through the sight of his dragons. They were not the eyes of a nocturnal animal, but far better than human eyes when it came to seeing long distances and in the sky — they were sharper and more detailed. Vezofēdrur had only one eye, but he was less proficient at seeing in the dark than Eragon, who possessed a superior ocular ability compared to other dragons: he could detect greater distances, see details, and have a brief understanding of what unfolded in the dark.

Then, Jon managed to distinguish, through the darkness, the cloud of birds advancing at full speed. There were tens of thousands of them — far more than when they had tried to attack before, the last time he approached the storm to check the enemy’s advance.

His eyes narrowed. He leaned forward over the dragon’s back and fitted a piece of glass as a visor over his helmet, which he placed with ease.

Beyond the usual protections, he made sure to attach the special glass that perfectly adjusted to the eye openings of the armor for even more protection, like an impenetrable wall — a piece designed specifically to fit that helm.

Eragon was growling beside the black dragon; they seemed very focused and, at the same time, filled with a restrained anger: the monsters there were the enemies of his home, enemies to be destroyed to protect Arctic.

Jon and the dragons had already passed the Arctican basilisks at that moment, while the men looked up at the sky, attentive to the beating of the dragons’ wings. Jon distinguished the thousands of aerial movements, understanding the direction of the attack.

“Not yet…” It was not time to act. He only listened to the sound of the masses of birds approaching, continuing to assess and wait, checking through Eragon’s eyes what the best moment to attack would be. Then, a smaller formation appeared ahead and, finally, they struck against the dragons.

They appeared like dark clouds trying to throw themselves upon him; there were birds easy to see, white in color, but most were as black as the night, nearly indistinguishable.

Jon remained still as the first waves of birds attacked with sharp screams. Many of that first airborne group passed by them in a furious rush, but many others clung to them, trying to attack him, as well as the bodies of the dragons.

Jon simply gave a mental command. The dragon snorted and spat a small burst of fire ahead, burning the birds that came toward him. The flames cast forward also returned toward the dragons due to their speed, making their heads wreathe in fire, while they burned any of the creatures that approached their faces and the most fragile areas of the dragons — their eyes — incinerating them before they could cause damage.

Eragon and Vezofēdrur acted in the same way: while other groups of birds infested their wings and legs — which didn’t matter much, as the small creatures could not harm the tough skin of a dragon — the only fatal area was the beasts’ eyes, now protected by their own fire.

“We’re almost there,” Jon murmured, as another wave of birds, even larger, appeared, drawing ever closer.

Then, the moment came.

“Now! DRACARYS!!!!” shouted Jon, even though he could have given a mental command — his voice carried the order as if it echoed directly through the bonds. He roared with fury, and the dragons immediately opened their mouths, spewing fire upon the cloud of birds that was approaching.

Green flames and red flames exploded in the air like two beacons against the dark cloud. Both the men mounted on basilisks in the region below them and the army in the north of the kingdom could see the blaze. Even the city saw, from afar, the glow cutting through the darkness and dispersing the evil cloud that covered the skies that night.

Green flames continued pouring from Vezofēdrur, who advanced against them. The dragon himself was bathed in the fire, as was Jon, but he endured without feeling the pain of burning — protected by his Valyrian steel armor, just as the fire could not harm him.

His gaze turned to the other side, and through the flames he saw Eragon spewing pure red fire as well, burning any winged creature with blue eyes that tried to grasp his wings.

“One more, Vezofēdrur! Dracarys!” Jon shouted again.

The dragon obeyed, spewing an even greater continuous torrent of flames, moving his head from side to side. The fire shot through the sky like uncontrollable waves. The creatures could barely touch the fire before they began to fall in flames, as if they had been plunged into oil. This was the advantage against the undead: they were much easier to set ablaze.

Quickly, the creatures began to fall like ashes through the sky. More and more of them burned above, while Vezofēdrur’s flames roared, illuminating everything. The black dragon was much larger than the white one, and his sea of green fire dominated the air.

Jon turned his body, steering the dragon to the side, still spewing flames. Eragon followed right behind, ceasing to advance toward the storm front. Jon knew he could not get too close to it — that would be far too dangerous.

“We have to give them cover now,” Jon murmured, seeing his men finally reaching the designated points. In the distance, some birds advanced toward them, while most were heading toward the city. His main concern was with the men responsible for opening the trapdoors.

The four basilisks arrived at the marked location, and their riders quickly dismounted, checking the ground marked by the flag indicating the site. They grabbed the shovels they had brought and began clearing the snow that had piled up over the last day.

Their eyes returned to the sky, watching the dragons’ flames illuminating the battle above.

“Come on, we have to be quick!” one of them ordered.

“They’re coming…” murmured another, nervously.

“Put the eye protections on!”, the leader shouted. They adjusted the special visor, protecting the only opening of the armor: the eyes.

“Daggers in hand! Remember: we must finish this!”, the commander warned.

But the birds were already upon them, trying to tear their armor with claws and beaks.

“Get off me, you cursed creature!”, they exclaimed as they wielded their daggers, stabbing each bird that attacked them. The birds’ screeches were muffled by the blades tipped with dragonglass, killing them instantly.

But more birds arrived at that moment, and a thunderous sound echoed through the sky. Green and red flames burned the air above them, illuminating the darkness. The heat and light made the men duck, protecting themselves as they continued to fight.

“Quick! We have little time!”, one of them shouted.

The wooden trapdoor finally appeared beneath the cleared snow. They grabbed the chains already positioned there and began to pull, forcing the heavy door open and revealing the tunnels filled with wildfire.

“We’ve opened it! We have to go!”, one of the men announced.

More birds attacked them, clinging to them. They moved their arms from side to side, stabbing everything that came close. A scream echoed as one of them fell to his knees: his visor had shattered after countless impacts, and a bird pierced one of his eyes. His comrade drove the birds away, killing them, while pulling the companion crying in pain upward and taking him to his basilisk.

“Quick! Take him!”, someone shouted.

The basilisks were also being attacked, roaring while the riders removed the birds clinging to their bodies. As soon as they could, they mounted and advanced south again.

In the sky, Jon and Vezofēdrur turned, spewing more flames and tearing the darkness with waves of fire. He saw men being left behind, being dragged by swarms of birds. There would be losses — it was inevitable. They could not open the tunnels earlier, for the snow that constantly fell outside the kingdom would have flooded everything and ruined the plan. It could only be done at the exact moment.

Some basilisks were brought down during the retreat, dying along with their riders, while the rest desperately tried to run back to the gate, which remained open to receive them.

Jon felt sorrow — but remained firm. He looked to the sky toward Arctic, where thousands of birds were still approaching.

“Go… you can make it,” he murmured, ordering Eragon to separate from him to divide and better protect the retreating groups. The dragon spewed red fire in all directions, opening gaps in the swarm. Vezofēdrur did the same with his green flames.

At the northern gate, soldiers watched the scene ahead with tension. Archers prepared for the incoming aerial attack.

The green and red flames continued to illuminate the sky, carving flashes into the cold darkness.

They knew who was up there. Their king.

He had promised to be the first sword to cut down an undead or a White Walker.

And now, he was above the clouds — fighting, protecting, burning — clearing a path so that his people would have a chance.

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