[Chapter Size: 3600 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 299 AC.

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So then there was an explosion.

A light — even in broad daylight — stood out, surpassing even the Flaming Tree itself. It flared up suddenly, exploding with ferocious force within the fog.

An instant earlier, Jon had charged straight into the fog, seeing only frozen storm clouds, and finally reaching the heart of the storm before unleashing his explosion.

For a second, the fog opened up a space to a place where the storm did not exist, unlike everywhere else he had passed through. Jon then managed to see a group of White Walkers gathered at the center, where the storm simply did not exist.

Around them, the darkness remained dense, but there it was possible to see clearly — and those blue eyes stared back at him, seeming surprised to see him there.

Jon was also surprised to realize that, at the center, they were there looking comfortable. He had not managed to send a single bird to that location; all of them died before arriving, to the point that Jon had given up sending them, knowing it would only mean certain death for the animals.

For a second, Jon felt as if time had slowed to a crawl, while his eyes stared at the creature below. He looked around and counted at least twenty White Walkers mounted on horses, probably ten leagues in the same position.

And something caught his attention more than any other White Walker… It was the White Walker different from the others… He was there, staring at him, his eyes showing far greater power than his peers, and all of them were around him as if they were referencing him…

It was him… his main enemy, the Night King.

That was not a strange feeling to him. He had already felt that gaze upon himself every time he looked north, and also during many, many days of fighting. Now, for the first time, they were seeing each other directly.

Around them, the army of the dead was also gathered. Jon estimated there were at least another one hundred thousand creatures there, considering that he estimated he had already eliminated between four hundred and five hundred thousand dead, in addition to at least ten White Walkers. They did not usually enter battle directly; they always sent the wights. Despite having shown themselves more confident at the beginning and having paid for it, they ended up not sending any more after the second month, believing that Arctic would fall.

The one Jon identified as the Night King — due to the crown, the aura, and the central position — made a quick movement even in slow motion, preparing to attack Eragon. However, Jon had not come to face him yet. He only needed to reach that location. First, he needed to destroy the fog and weaken the White Walkers. The direct confrontation would come later.

Jon tightened his grip on the saddle support, and Eragon responded instantly. The dragon began to glow, while Jon invoked his power, channeling magic and mixing it with the strength of his familiar.

In the next moment, the glow intensified absurdly — and then the explosion finally happened.

The light was not merely intense; it was something different, a pure manifestation of power that spread throughout the fog. Even the White Walkers themselves were affected. The explosion emerged from within the storm, and from the outside everyone saw the glow burst forth, tearing through the darkness inside the fog, as the frozen clouds simply began to vanish.

In the next instant, Jon was already shining more than two kilometers away from where he had been just a moment earlier, due to Eragon’s speed with his glowing wings. Propelled by his extremely high velocity, it was the ability he had activated even before completely crossing the fog.

The revelation was seen by everyone. The light in the sky brightened the entire north, and there was no more storm chaos in the very next moment. At that moment, the people of the city and the army roared together, taken by hope and the certainty that they could defeat them.

“He did it. He did it.” Benjen could not stop smiling with a mix of admiration and satisfaction, as Jon’s plan worked.

“Is he okay? I can’t see him…”, Seryna murmured, searching for Jon in the air, but she could not see anything with him not flying so close to them. “Either he’s very far away… or he’s still in the middle of the enemy.” She was anxious about Jon’s condition.

The worries, however, did not last long. A dragon’s roar echoed far beyond, like a clear announcement, almost a message for everyone to prepare themselves. The army remained there for a few seconds, simply admiring it, while the last particles of the snowstorm began to fade into the air.

Arya broke into a wide smile upon seeing that. Seryna seemed even more satisfied, hearing the roar sound like a clear message that Jon was fine.

In the city, people celebrated. The snow had always been a torment for them; as safe as they were, seeing that wall of storm to the north for all those moons, whether through a window or upon reaching the surface, was a constant symbol of fear, a reminder that the enemy was always there.

Now, however, it had been destroyed, bringing the confidence that the army would be able to finish off the White Walkers that very day.

“He did it,” Daenerys began to laugh, along with the other queens, watching from a distance from one of the castle balconies, while the sky to the north finally appeared clear.

It was Jon’s message, clear to everyone.

Lyanna jumped with joy. Loki watched with admiration, as did Jaehaerys and Brandon. Each of the wives had a different reaction: some laughed and celebrated, others merely smiled in satisfaction, while some still seemed quite worried.

Bran, Rickon, and Cassandra were also together, watching from that distance.

“Look at this, my son,” Val said, touching her own belly. She already knew the child’s sex; it was a boy. “Your mother could have fought at the beginning of the war, but it is your father who will finish it,” she said, turning her gaze back to the north.

Ducken, realizing that everyone was still in silence, began to act now that the opportunity had arisen, and he could not disappoint his king.

“Prepare yourselves, everyone! Launch the wildfire!” Ducken shouted to the commanders.

The giants quickly began issuing orders, while the men were already arming the most modern scorpion catapults, equipped with pulleys, created during the war. Barrels of wildfire were positioned swiftly.

Eagles also cut through the sky, gathered at an elevated point, with attentive, shining eyes, watching the enemy.

“They are at least two kilometers from the gate. There are corpses everywhere, but no wights raised closer than those in the main group. The center of the army of the dead is at that distance!” the eagles transmitted the information through the eyes of the wargs, which was passed directly to command.

“Aim at that distance,” Ducken exclaimed.

The giants began to position the enormous catapults and, as soon as they were aimed, they fired.

The sound of the cords snapping like whips echoed through the air, as the barrels of wildfire flew through the skies, beginning to descend with force from a great distance. The fuses were already burning, reinforced with a material that did not burn too quickly, yet was still difficult to extinguish.

Jon circled through the sky, watching everything unfold from a distance, while also hearing the distant roars of his dragons, who wanted to take part in the battle. He watched through Ghost’s eyes within the army and also saw the barrels fall into the midst of the army of the dead — many at the same time, easily reaching hundreds of barrels plummeting from the sky.

“Well, it’s about to begin. This is going to be quite a show,” Jon smiled in satisfaction.

The dead began to be crushed into the ground as the barrels fell upon them. Some barrels exploded into liquid in all directions upon hitting the ground, rolling and extinguishing the burning fuse, while some buried themselves in the earth but continued burning. Jon did not worry about wasting those that would not explode with their fuse and spread the blue liquid, because the explosions of the others would cause chain ignitions.

Jon began to see through Eragon, expanding his vision and focusing on the center of the army of the dead. The White Walkers were visibly surprised by what was happening; they seemed not to even have time to process everything unfolding after the sudden destruction of the fog.

Then, the impact began.

A blinding light appeared first and quickly joined with the others. Even the barrels that were still burning were caught by the explosions, starting a chain reaction. And then, the entire area began to explode, devastating the dead.

Jon watched the entire initial impact with satisfaction, while issuing an order through an eagle positioned within the army. It roared in response, with the general already understanding the signal, as he knew exactly where it came from.

“Open the gate!” Ducken shouted.

For the first time since the war began, the army would finally cross the gates of Arctic and move outside the kingdom. The first men went out to check whether there were still undead in the area, among the countless corpses on the ground near the walls, and then the gate began to open after confirmation.

Giants began turning the enormous winches, producing a deep sound, almost like that of a rusted gate, despite it being completely frozen on the northern side. The ice cracked, and the gates began to open. The army prepared itself, advancing in organized ranks, but at a rapid pace.

“Prepare the positions! Quickly!” Ducken ordered.

The first ranks of men began to move out, advancing cautiously, piercing the dead along the way with spears, checking that none were still active to surprise them.

Some of the dead still tried to attack the Arcticans before being run through by blades, but that tactic no longer worked. One by one, they were destroyed.

Jon then advanced southward, toward the army, and the catapults began to cease fire for a moment, allowing the new barrels of wildfire to reach the ground without exploding in midair, struck by the previous flames. They were launched farther, striking even deeper into the center of the enemy army.

Another series of explosions arose with the impact, echoing throughout the region.

Jon prepared Eragon and advanced once more, unwilling to stay out of it. The Night King watched everything with an expressionless face, but at the same time his eyes seemed to tremble. There were questions in his mind as he saw his army being destroyed more and more, watching the Kingdom of Men finally begin to advance.

How had the fog gone away? What had happened there?

How had his army, made up of more than half a million creatures accumulated over thousands of years, been simply decimated in less than a year?

How had humans grown so strong? How had they acquired so much magic, rivaling his own, to the point of being able to destroy his storm?

He had made mistakes. Mistakes that had cost him thousands of years of planning, waiting for the right moment to attack, when the Kingdoms of Men would be at their weakest.

He had foreseen all of this thousands of years ago. He knew the day would come when he would finally conquer Westeros, and then the world would merely be a consequence. He thought he would do what he had failed to do eight thousand years ago.

Now, however, instead of finding the Kingdom of Men south of the Wall weakened, he was faced with an anomaly that had begun to emerge twelve years ago. Since then, he had started losing his own White Walkers in the south. He knew he should have destroyed that fortress built by humans as soon as he realized they were growing stronger. To cross the Wall, he would need the dragons — and they learned moments later that those humans living behind those walls possessed them.

There were also his creators there; he could feel them, that Child of the Forest who had transformed him into what he is… He remembered how he felt hatred for them when he was human, his desire being to kill them all.

However, nothing was happening according to his plans. The fog that was supposed to give him the advantage did not enter the kingdom. The darkness with which he covered the world did not work in that realm.

The army he had formed over thousands of years was being destroyed… No matter how many times he attacked, they lost soldiers, and the humans did not seem exhausted. Their powers were far beyond those of humans eight thousand years ago.

The sound of beating wings made the Night King turn immediately. He looked at the white dragon, covered in armor, advancing directly toward him.

This time, he was fast. He grabbed the spear and aimed at the white dragon, hoping to kill it.

He threw it with superhuman strength.

Jon did not need to think twice. He made Eragon act in a swift movement, tilting his wings inward and spinning in the air without falling, dodging the first spear before reaching the White Walkers within his range. Then he unleashed the white flames — the same ones that had already destroyed Walkers before.

The Night King was hit head-on, at the exact point where it was expected to be fatal. He felt at least eight White Walkers around him being destroyed, while others managed to escape.

He looked back and, amid the white flames, another spear flew toward them, coming from within the chaos of white fire. Jon tilted Eragon to the side, but even so the spear struck the Valyrian steel, scraping against it and deflecting, still without piercing, protecting the lower part of the dragon’s belly, just beneath the wing.

“So he wasn’t destroyed,” Jon murmured, stating the obvious as he watched the spear ricochet and fall at a distance.

After that, amid the white flames, a space began to open as they dissipated. There stood the Night King, still intact, staring at the dragon from afar.

Seeing this, Jon acted as he could, with Eragon spewing icy flames over the green flames, clearing the path so that the Arctican army could advance afterward.

Jon cleared part of the path and advanced toward Arctic.

He passed through the first line, formed by Ducken, who was organizing the army, and continued forward. Before looking back up at the sky, Jon sent a mental order to Vezofēdrur, and the dragon began to descend along with him, approaching where the stockpiles that accumulated the wildfire were located, ready to be launched by the catapults.

Eragon landed heavily, making the ground tremble. “Quick, set up the nets!” Jon ordered.

The soldiers acted swiftly, following the king’s command, arranging the nets and immediately moving away. Eragon was the first to approach, grabbing the load with his hind claws. Vezofēdrur did the same, taking another large quantity of nets filled with wildfire.

They rose into the sky. Both dragons climbed together, carrying tons of wildfire northward. Jon began to gain more and more altitude, moving out of the spears’ range, while the other dragon stayed right behind him.

The Night King stared at him the entire time, and certainly did not seem even slightly pleased at seeing the dragons flying with that enormous load held by their claws.

At thousands of meters in the air, the dragons began to release the nets. They tore them apart with their own claws using the other leg, and the barrels immediately began to fall toward the ground.

Jon sent a mental command to Vezofēdrur, who pulled away from the area after that. Then Jon dove downward, advancing even farther north. Upon reaching a low altitude, he turned Eragon once more to the south, causing the wings to glow.

He activated his super-speed ability and launched forward at full force.

Without the fog, Jon completely dominated the skies. The dead no longer had enough flying creatures to slow him down, much less try to fight him. The sky was clear, and he felt the speed increase rapidly as Eragon surged forward.

Jon concentrated magic in his hand, forming a fireball. When he got close enough, amid the chaos, he aimed and fired directly at the center, where there was a large concentration of wildfire that had fallen from the barrels he had dropped around the other twelve White Walkers, the Night King, and a massive layer of the dead.

The Night King already had a spear prepared, but Eragon was far too fast in that state. He could not even keep up. The only thing he could see was the dragon flying rapidly and a fireball falling from the sky left behind, striking the blue liquid near them.

In the next instant, explosions began to erupt, one after another. More than forty or fifty barrels of explosive liquid detonated in sequence. That entire area roared in flames, the fire rose into the sky, and everything that was there was destroyed. Not even the White Walkers managed to survive those explosions.

Even so, Jon could still feel that the Night King remained. He had not been destroyed.

Jon realized that Eragon was beginning to tire. It would not be good to continue — not after having gathered so much strength to destroy the fog. Even the dragon was exhausted.

“Let’s recover a bit of energy. I’m going down,” Jon murmured.

He moved toward the army gathered in front of the gate. The entire area was almost without trees, after the destruction caused by the wildfire in the first impact ten moons ago, burying and deforming the terrain far more than anyone remembered.

Jon landed and quickly dismounted Eragon, while the dragon took flight back inside Arctic. Ghost ran up to him, and Jon mounted his wolf in a single leap, without the animal slowing its pace. Then he advanced immediately toward the army.

They were fast and extremely disciplined. About twenty minutes after the fog was destroyed, the entire army had already crossed the gate, marching with hurried and rhythmic steps. Outside, they quickly organized themselves into formation.

Jon moved to the front, raising his sword Blackfyre. With everyone attentive, he trotted along the group and pointed ahead.

“Do you see that…?” he shouted, pointing north.

Wildfire was still burning on all sides, while the black dragon remained in the air, roaring like a furious beast. The White Walkers seemed to be in terrible condition, and the Night King was without his previous twenty guards. It was not yet known how many White Walkers still remained.

“…Well, I can see it! I see our enemy now weakened. There is no more fog to stop us from reaching him. There is no more darkness. What I see now is the sun shining in the middle of this day, bearing witness to what is about to happen. And that is why I invite all of you to go with me there and destroy them. Help me reach their leader and strike him down.”

“Of the one hundred thousand dead that initially existed, after the destruction of the fog, only seventy thousand are still standing. We are twice their number. So I ask you: what do we have to fear? I want you to follow me until we destroy their leader!” Jon roared.

Ghost answered with a furious howl, echoing across the field, as the men struck their shields, ready.

“ARCTIC, WHAT ARE WE?”

“WE ARE NORTHERNERS!!”

“ARCTIC, WHAT ARE WE?”

“WE ARE DESCENDANTS OF THE FIRST MEN!!”

“ARCTIC, WHAT ARE WE?”

“WE ARE THE MOST POWERFUL PEOPLE!!”

“ARCTIC, WHAT DO WE FEAR?”

“WE FEAR NOTHING, EXCEPT THE WRATH OF OUR GODS!!”

“ARCTIC, WHAT STANDS BEFORE US IS WHAT REMAINS OF OUR WAR WITH THE WHITE WALKERS, WHAT WILL WE DO TO THEM?”

“WE WILL NOT FLEE! WE WILL KILL THEM, WE WILL EXTERMINATE THEM, THEY WILL BE DESTROYED!!”

In the next instant, he began to march. They were still about two kilometers from the center of the army of the dead, but they advanced quickly; they would reach it in less than ten minutes. Ghost took the first powerful step and began to march.

Soon, everyone followed behind. They marched with almost no use of horses, as the animals would not be very useful in that battle. The archers, however, were present in great numbers among the ranks, preparing their bows with one hand, with dragonglass arrows ready to be fired.

Jon was on the front line, alongside Ghost. Arya followed him, riding Nymeria, also protected by Valyrian steel armor that Jon had made for her. Seryna joined them, mounted on the giant bear she always used, also wearing armor.

None of them spoke. Everyone maintained only a determined gaze as they followed Jon. The army came right behind, as did Mance, Ducken, Benjen, Brynden, and the other leaders, advancing at the front.

Their objective was just ahead.

The drums of Arctic began to beat, loud enough for all to hear. The heavy rhythm, accompanied by the giants within the city, raised the army’s morale even higher.

While Eragon rested, Vezofēdrur and the other dragons flew over the walls, filling the air with their roars.

The dead reacted at that moment. Thousands of them began to run directly toward the Arctican army, advancing in an equally rhythmic manner toward the clash.

‘It’s time to destroy them once and for all!’ Jon thought, as the first wave of dead drew near.

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