[Chapter Size: 3900 Words.]

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Jon Snow POV

Somewhere beyond the Wall, 290 AC, After 2 years.

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In the stillness of dawn, beneath the tangle of ancient roots of the great weirwood, Jon Snow awoke. Despite the mere four hours of sleep, he felt surprisingly rejuvenated. The presence of the weirwood was like a balm, energizing him and restoring his strength with an efficiency that defied common understanding. He rose with innate tranquility and walked through a familiar path among the roots to a nook specially prepared for him.

There, in a chamber carved into the heart of the tree, a bathtub awaited him. Unlike conventional ones, this was filled with hot, bubbling lava, a sight that would terrify anyone, but for Jon, it was an invitation to unusual relaxation. Without hesitation, he undressed and plunged into the incandescent liquid, dispersing waves of lava around. The roots surrounding the bathtub had been magically treated to resist the extreme heat, ensuring a safe and serene environment.

As he relaxed, letting the heat envelop his body up to the neck, Jon felt a sudden interruption in his tranquility. A ball of lava hit his face, causing him to open his eyes. Before him, emerging from the lava, was a small creature of curious and enchanting appearance. It was a reptile as white as snow, with majestic wings that seemed immune to the scorching heat. Its eyes were like two small shining sapphire jewels, fixed on Jon with an almost human intensity.

This creature was no ordinary dragon; it was Eragon, Jon’s dragon son, hatched from a special egg given to him by Aemon. Eragon was a unique being, endowed with magical characteristics reflecting the deep connection between him and Jon.

Jon smiled at the little dragon, a smile that spoke of paternal love and an unbreakable bond. “So, you decided to join me for this morning’s bath?” Jon murmured, extending a hand to gently caress Eragon’s head. The little dragon responded with a soft noise, almost as if it was laughing at the surprise it had caused.

“And here I was wondering where you had gotten to,” Jon murmured with his same smile. This little guy had appeared two moons ago when Jon, in an act of deep connection and magic, managed to hatch the precious egg. And since then, this mischievous, intelligent, and curious little being had become a constant shadow at his side, following him wherever he went. The dragon indeed considered Jon its very own father.

Unlike the Targaryen dragons known in stories and legends, this one had four robust legs, and the unique ability to spit both ice and fire, a duality that reflected Jon’s own nature. The process of hatching the dragon did not involve a dark blood sacrifice that Jon saw in some ancient Valyrian visions; instead, Jon had channeled a large amount of his own life force, almost as if he was transferring a part of his soul to the creature. As a result, the dragon displayed vibrant green stripes on its snowy white scaly body, living symbols of the connection with nature and the magic that Jon mastered.

For Jon, this dragon was more than just a magical creature; it was his own son, an extension of himself, to whom he had given life and love. And, in return, the dragon saw him not just as a master but as a true father, a bond forged by the sharing of essences. Inspired by this unique connection, Jon had done something similar with Ghost, his loyal terrestrial mount. Through similar magical practices, he strengthened the wolf, which now shared a new and powerful energy, becoming an even more formidable and loyal creature, but he could only do this with a few animals. He can share his warg connection through thousands of creatures, but giving life force was something very different. In this world where the natural and supernatural intertwine, Jon and his creatures represented a new era to emerge.

Finally, he rose after 20 minutes of relaxing, donned a robe, lit a pipe he had invented, and smoked some strawberry-flavored herbs. He had created new cigars with the taste of various fruits they have in the forests, and it was a hit among his people. Jon smoked for a few moments before Eragon emerged from the bath and dried himself off to perch on his master’s shoulder.

Jon walked towards the exit of the colossal tree, his firm step echoing through the tunnel formed by intertwined roots. On his shoulder, the little white dragon, Eragon, observed the world with curiosity and fascination as always. They were an impressive 30 meters above the ground, a testament to the extraordinary growth of the tree which, when Jon arrived, measured only 25 meters in height and now stood majestically at 60 meters, growing every day using his magic on the roots. The tree was not just his dwelling; it was a sanctuary and a training center where Jon had spent countless hours honing his skills and powers.

Upon reaching the exit, Jon paused for a moment to contemplate the arctic view that stretched out below him through one of the holes in the middle of the tree trunk. The city had transformed drastically since his arrival and with the help of all involved, the place was nothing short of revolutionary. The meticulously planned and constructed sewer system stretched over a vast area of 100 km², an essential infrastructure reflecting the care and attention he dedicated to the well-being of his people. The intertwined roads connected every corner of the inhabited region with enough size for dwarves, humans, and giants to move about the city comfortably, while carefully channeled rivers throughout the city brought life and movement.

In Artica, the population of 30,000 inhabitants lived scattered over a small portion of the immense expanse of lands that Jon had transformed. The green area stretching as far as the eye could see was just a fraction of what the kingdom would become. These inhabitants, a diverse mix of humans and other magical creatures, enjoyed life in an environment that Jon had meticulously cultivated and nurtured.

Comparing himself to Mance Rayder, the legendary King-Beyond-the-Wall who had gathered 40,000 free folks in nine years, Jon felt a deep pride in his own accomplishments. In just two years, he had attracted 19,000 humans from the free people, a testament to his charismatic leadership and the promise of a better and safer home. But Jon had offered much more than a refuge; he had created a sanctuary where the relentless snow and cold of the north gave way to lush green fields and dense forests, where wildlife flourished in harmony with the inhabitants.

The heart of this transformation was the great weirwood, which now stood majestically at 60 meters tall. Its presence was more than symbolic; it was a source of magic and life. The roots of the weirwood spread for miles, intertwining with the very essence of the land. As they expanded, a miraculous transformation occurred: the frozen and barren soil gave way to fertile and welcoming land. Where there was once only snow and ice, there were now verdant fields and lush forests.

The magical influence of the weirwood not only expelled the cold but also nourished the land, allowing vegetation to grow and thrive in a place that once seemed impossible. Jon watched with satisfaction as the roots of the weirwood touched and transformed every inch of the soil, bringing life and color to a world that was once dominated by the relentless white of snow.

In Artica, life was a reflection of Jon’s dream and vision. The inhabitants, a diverse mix of humans, dwarves, giants, and other magical creatures, enjoyed a standard of living that was the envy of many kingdoms. The houses, built with advanced techniques and quality materials, were comfortable and well insulated, ensuring warmth during cold periods. Each residence was equipped with a robust fireplace, where the fire constantly crackled, providing not only warmth but also a central point for the family to gather and share stories.

The rooms were spacious and cozy, with comfortable beds and furniture made by dwarf artisans, known for their unparalleled skill. Food was plentiful, thanks to advanced agricultural techniques and fertile fields Jon had created. People had access to a variety of foods, ensuring a rich and nutritious diet. Tasty cigars and various drinks like beer, rum, and vodka were produced locally, offering a touch of luxury and pleasure in everyday life.

Beyond the living conditions, the military power of Artica was a force to be reckoned with. The army, composed of 12,000 soldiers, was a mix of brave human warriors, imposing giants, and strategic dwarves. They were trained in advanced combat tactics and strict discipline by Ducken, ensuring they were ready for any challenge. A significant portion of these soldiers was equipped with armors made of eldenMetal, a metal alloy of incredible strength and lightness, forged by the best dwarf masters with Jon’s help.

In Artica’s arsenal were not only weapons to kill men but also 200,000 dragon glass arrows. These weapons were the primary line of defense against the undead. With these arrows, the archers of Artica could effectively face White Walkers and their hordes, protecting the kingdom from supernatural threats.

During the two years following the founding of Artica, the peace and prosperity Jon had brought to the land were occasionally marred by waves of violence and fear. Groups of free people, drawn by the wealth and stability of Artica but reluctant to submit to the order and laws of the new kingdom, launched sporadic attacks in an attempt to loot and destabilize. These skirmishes were a chaotic mix of courage and desperation, where the free folks, armed with nothing more than rustic weapons and a fierce desire for freedom, clashed against the well-organized defenses of Artica.

In one such battle, under the misty light of a frosty dawn, Jon led his troops to repel a particularly violent attack. The war cries and the sound of steel against steel echoed through the cold air as the soldiers of Artica, clad in their eldenMetal armors and armed with dragon glass arrows, faced the desperate fury of the invaders. Despite the ferocity of the free folks, the discipline and training of Jon’s soldiers by Ducken and himself prevailed, and the attackers were repelled one after the other, leaving behind only the sadness and lament for those who sought a better life through force.

It was during a night of a full moon, while the stars twinkled indifferently to the human drama below, that Jon first encountered a White Walker. The battle against a horde of the undead was a whirlwind of terror and chaos. The warriors of Artica fought bravely, but the relentless tide of the dead seemed endless. Then, from the midst of the shadows moving with terrible grace and silence, emerged the pale and sinister figure of a White Walker.

Jon would never forget the first time his eyes met those of the Walker. There was an alien intelligence and an icy disdain in that gaze. The creature moved with supernatural confidence, commanding the dead with minimal gestures. Jon, feeling a mix of fear and determination, ordered a barrage of dragon glass arrows. The first volley hit the Walker, who, to Jon’s shock, did not immediately fall but instead slowly turned its head to face him, an almost curious expression on its fleshless face.

It was a hard and prolonged battle, but eventually, the White Walker and its horde were defeated, thanks to the courage of Artica’s soldiers and the power of the magical weapons Jon had provided. However, the expression of the White Walker, that mix of curiosity and disdain, remained etched in Jon’s mind. He knew that this battle was just a prelude to what was to come and that the need to build the wall and strengthen Artica’s defenses was more urgent than ever.

After reflecting on the battles faced and the challenges to come, Jon left his observation post in the heights of the gigantic tree. Descending the natural path formed by robust roots, he passed through the grove where seedlings of new weirwoods were being carefully cultivated, symbols of the growth and prosperous future of Artica. As he entered the city, Jon was greeted with warm salutations from his people. Walking through the streets, he observed the expressions of contentment and security on the faces of those who called Artica home. He was more than their king; he was the architect of a new era of prosperity and safety, committed to building a lasting legacy.

Jon had transformed Artica from a cold and inhospitable land into a vast, verdant sanctuary. Hundreds of square kilometers of land once covered in snow now blossomed with life, attracting tribes seeking to share the fruits of its fertile lands. While the initial plan to establish Artica as a safe and prosperous refuge had been achieved, Jon knew it was just the beginning. He was now focused on strengthening the culture and identity of his nation.

For the next year, Jon had ambitious plans that would expand the reach and influence of Artica. He intended to build a robust fleet, not only for defense but also to explore and establish trade routes. The naval canal, a monumental endeavor, would be excavated from the ocean to the east for dozens or even hundreds of kilometers to allow direct entry into the kingdom’s capital, symbolizing Artica’s opening to the world and securing a vital trade route.

Moreover, Jon envisioned constructing a bank, an institution that would not only manage Artica’s growing wealth but also encourage the prosperity of its citizens and ensure fair prices for future Artican citizenship investors. He planned to distribute initial income to stimulate the creation of local businesses, fostering a strong and self-sustainable internal economy. Over time, this bank would not only compete with the powerful Iron Bank of Braavos but also ensure Artica’s financial independence from the rest of the world.

Another notable addition to the horizon of Artica would be a colossal statue, a symbol of the God of War, larger and more imposing than the Titan of Braavos. This statue would not just be an architectural marvel but also a symbol of the power, determination, and indomitable spirit of the people of Artica, being built at the entrance of the future canal to the kingdom.

As Jon planned trips to Dorne and Essos to establish alliances and open Artica to global trade, he was aware of the need to maintain the essence and values of his kingdom. Artica would continue to be an independent place, free from the ties of external organizations, a kingdom built from scratch with its own laws, traditions, and culture.

Although many outside of Artica were still unaware of its existence, those who discovered this place rarely wished to leave. Jon was determined to preserve peace and order, dealing with those who brought barbaric customs or refused to follow Artica’s laws with a firm but fair hand.

Walking through Artica that morning, Jon felt confident and ready for future challenges. He knew that with each step taken, each plan devised, and each dream realized, he was writing the history of Artica, a story of a kingdom that would defy time, adversities and rise as a beacon of hope, strength, and independence in the true North.

“Good morning, King Jon!” exclaimed a blacksmith, wiping his hands on a dirty apron as he bowed slightly in a sign of respect.

“Look, it’s the young king!” whispered two women, exchanging glances of admiration as Jon passed by them, offering them a friendly nod and a smile.

“Look at the child blessed by the gods! King Jon!” shouted a group of children playing nearby. They ran up to him, their faces lit with excitement. Jon stopped, laughing as he briefly talked with them, asking about their adventures and reminding them to study hard and help their families.

“King Jon!” called an elder from an ancient tribe of the free people, leaning on a staff. “Your actions have brought peace and hope to our hearts in this magical place. May the gods continue to bless you.” Jon approached the elder, expressing his gratitude and assuring him that he would work tirelessly to protect and improve the lives of everyone in Artica.

As Jon continued his way, he noticed a group of Children of the Forest observing him from a respectful distance. Approaching with a gentle gesture and a welcoming smile, Jon greeted them in their language, expressing gratitude for the harmony and help they had brought to Artica.

“KING JONNN!” Jon heard a giant passing through the streets as he greeted him.

With Eragon, the small white dragon, still resting on Jon’s shoulder, his curious eyes watched and absorbed the world around him. Each movement, each shadow, each gesture of the citizens of Artica was a lesson for him, a window into the complexity and beauty of the kingdom Jon was building.

As Jon walked through the streets, the population greeted him with a genuine respect that went beyond any formality. Raised as a bastard, Jon never valued rigid conventions, finding greater meaning in sincere recognition and mutual respect. This attitude was reflected in his governance, where he preferred to be remembered as a just and compassionate leader rather than a distant and untouchable monarch.

His title of King was often invoked, but Jon knew that for his people, those who despised the forced submission of the southern kingdoms, his actions and character were worth more than any crown. He vividly remembered the day he addressed his citizens, a moment that became a milestone in the culture of Artica and solidified his relationship with them.

A year ago, the main square of Artica, a vast open space surrounded by robust stone and wood constructions, was filled with citizens gathered together. Humans, Giants, Dwarves, and Children of the Forest, each with their unique characteristics, but all sharing a sense of community and expectation. The ground was covered in green foliage, a reminder of Jon’s dominion over nature and his power to transform the once frozen land into a fertile refuge.

The flags of Artica, bearing symbols of giant wolves, mammoths, and green trees, fluttered in the wind, while the sounds of conversation and laughter filled the air. Children ran between the legs of adults, their laughter echoing like music, while the giants watched with a gentle smile, their eyes shining with a calm light.

But at the center was the symbol that represented the nation, the main flag of Artica was a powerful emblem, representing not just the nation, but also the essence of its people and the vision of its leader. With a background as pure white as the snow that once dominated the landscape, in the center of this white expanse stood a blue ice flake, each line and curve drawn with meticulous precision.

The blue of the ice flake was not a common hue; it was a deep and vibrant blue that reminded one of the clear winter sky just after dawn. This blue symbolized life and persistence, the ability of Artica and its people to thrive amid the cold and adversity.

Meanwhile, in the crowd, the dwarves, known for their hard work and skill in the forge, conversed animatedly in groups, sharing stories and jokes while sharpening their tools or adjusting their armors. Beside them, the Children of the Forest, mysterious and serene, observed everything with wise and ancient eyes, their presence adding a touch of magic and mystery to the scene.

The center of the square was empty, creating a natural space for Jon to address his people. The anticipation was palpable; everyone knew that when Jon spoke, his words were not just empty promises but firm commitments that would shape the future of them all.

As Jon approached, standing beneath the main flag, the crowd naturally fell silent, their attention turning towards him with reverent respect. His figure, though young, emanated an authority and confidence that transcended his age. When he began to speak, his voice resonated clear and powerful, reaching every corner of the square, every heart, and every mind.

He spoke of how this recent nation that was born from a so-called tribe to what he was seeing today, his plans and future works, and what the people could expect from this kingdom. In the end, Jon gave his final statement amidst the enthusiasm of all.

“My people,” Jon had proclaimed with a voice that carried the strength of his conviction, “our nation called Artica is growing and will grow much more. We are just over twenty thousand now, but our spirit is immense. Humans, Giants, Dwarves, and Children of the Forest, we ride horses and giant wolves, walk with shadow cats, bears, and mammoths. We will grow to be millions in the future. Perhaps I will no longer be here, and neither will you, but our values and our spirit will live on. The people of the true north are resilient and strong, surviving thousands of years of harsh winters. We are so steadfast in our spirit that we bow to no one, not even the king of Artica. For me, just your respect and loyalty are enough!”

Jon’s words resonated deeply with those who listened. The free folks, accustomed to a life of struggles and uncertainties, found in him a source of inspiration and pride. They, who knew well the harshness of the north and the inherent independence of their people, saw in Jon not just a king but one of their own, someone who understood and shared their deepest convictions.

The Giants, normally so reserved, nodded in approval, a glimmer of hope in their eyes. The Dwarves, known for their skepticism, couldn’t hide a smile of respect and agreement.

As he mentioned that the people of Artica bow to no one, not even to their king, a murmur of approval arose from the crowd. Jon had touched on a fundamental point of their culture, a trait of independence and strength that ran deeply in their veins. The free folks, especially, felt a renewed pride; their traditions and values were not only recognized but also elevated and celebrated.

A feeling of unity began to form among the crowd, a palpable sensation that they were all together in this journey, not as subjects of a king but as companions and collaborators of a common future. They looked at each other, now not just as neighbors but as members of a great Artican family, each with an essential role to play in building this new world.

When Jon finished speaking, a moment of absolute silence hung in the air, as if everyone was absorbing and reflecting on the weight and significance of his words. Then, almost as a single entity, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Shouts of “Long live King Jon!” and “Long live Artica!” echoed through the square, while many raised their arms in salute and others wiped away tears of emotion.

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