The wind howled through the broken towers of Raventhorn, a mournful sound that sang through the cracks like a dirge for the dead. Ned Stark stood atop the eastern battlements beside Lord Roderic, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the blackened stone.
Beneath them, the remains of the once-proud fortress sprawled like a gutted beast. Barracks shattered. Courtyards drowned in ash and half-melted snow. Siege towers lay rotting where they'd collapsed, consumed from within by rot and frost. Corpses were piled high beyond the gatehouse, hastily burned in uneven pyres that smoked even now.
"There were twelve thousand souls here," Roderic said softly. "Farmers, guards, children… all under my protection."
Ned said nothing.
"And they came… not as men. Not as beasts. But as emptiness, wrapped in the bodies of our own kin. They didn't storm the walls with ladders or siege—no. They melted through them. Ice and shadow. I saw one walk through a burning wall as if it were mist. The flames didn't touch him. He reached through my captain's chest, and…" He stopped, his voice cracking.
"You survived," Ned finally said.
"Barely." Roderic turned to him. "Don't lie to your men again, boy. You said you brought hope. But what rides behind you is meat for a slaughter. This war isn't against flesh and steel. It's against the void."
Later that night, in the keep's shattered war room, Ned convened his captains.
A faded map of the North had been unrolled across a warped table, weighted down with daggers and cracked goblets. Lord Eldric loomed over it, his brow furrowed. Ser Halwin stood beside him, one eye twitching as he traced the path north of Raventhorn.
"They came from the Everfrost," Halwin said. "That much is clear. And if they move like mist, we can't trust walls to stop them. We need fire. Magicks. Anything sacred."
"We have no time to summon priests," Eldric snapped. "They'll be feeding ravens before they finish chanting."
"We could ride west," Ser Kael offered. "Take the mountain roads, cut around the dead and strike their source."
"And leave the South undefended?" Joryn asked. "The people of Eldrath barely sleep. If we fail here, the capital will fall next."
"They're already falling," said a soft voice.
All turned. It was Maera, priestess of the Ember Temple, her robes soot-stained from the road. She had ridden in just after dusk, arriving in silence, with half her face veiled in crimson cloth.
"The gods no longer sleep," she said, stepping forward. "But their voices have turned to ash. Something stirs beneath the veil. The old fire weakens, and the cold grows bold."
Ned narrowed his eyes. "Speak plainly, priestess."
Maera reached into her satchel and placed a vial on the table. The liquid inside was thick and black, sloshing with a strange shimmer. "This was found in the wound of a dead soldier who walked again. Not blood. Not rot. This is void essence. A poison from beyond our realm. It corrupts both flesh and flame. There is only one force left in this world that can undo it."
"What?" Eldric asked.
"Ash."
The war council splintered after that. Arguments broke out—about retreat, about sacrifice, about whether the gods still listened or if they, too, had turned to dust.
Ned remained silent through it all. Then, when the chamber cleared, he stared down at the vial alone.
Ash.
The sacred fire that had birthed their kingdom. The fire that had burned in his father's veins. The fire he felt in the hilt of Ashbringer.
Was that all he had left to stand on? Ash and prophecy?
As if in answer, the sword whispered.
It was no voice he could name. Not words. But a sense—like the warmth of a mother's hand in winter, or the pull of the tide before a storm. A knowing.
He is watching.
The thought froze his spine.
Odin.
The Ashfather. The first flame.
Did the old god truly see him now—or was it something older?
The next morning, Ned called his men to arms.
They assembled in the half-ruined courtyard, five thousand strong, their breath steaming in the air. Many bore fresh scars. Others clutched talismans and prayers. The fog had receded, but the skies remained thick with crows.
"Men of the realm!" Ned called, his voice echoing against black stone. "We stand at the edge of the world. Behind us lies the realm of kings and kin. Before us lies the shadow that would devour both. I cannot promise survival. I cannot promise glory. But I promise meaning. We fight so the children of this world may still speak the name of light. We fight so that something of our flame endures."
He drew Ashbringer. The sword flared to life with a dull, pulsing glow—soft at first, then burning bright enough to cast long shadows across every soldier's face.
They cheered—not with drunken joy, but with grim resolve.
They buried the dead. Burned the ones that twitched.
They found strange symbols carved into flesh—runes of the Old Dark, written in languages not seen since the Cataclysm. One man, half-consumed by frostbite, whispered something in an alien tongue before cutting his own throat with a shard of bone.
By evening, the first true decision had to be made.
Do they hold Raventhorn… or press north?
Lord Eldric argued for fortification. Ser Halwin wanted to ride fast and strike before the enemy regrouped.
But Maera spoke a different truth: "They will not rest. Not now. The shadow will not wait for our courage. If we stand still, we will rot in place like the rest."
Ned nodded. "Then we march."
That night, Ned sat alone in the ruined chapel of the Ashfather.
It had once held sacred flame—eternal, unquenchable. But now, the basin was dark. Cold. A black feather lay atop the altar.
He dropped to one knee.
"I am not my father," he whispered. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know if the gods still listen. But if you are out there… give me strength. Not to lead. Not to win. Just to endure."
The feather flared suddenly with golden fire.
It consumed itself in seconds—and when the flame vanished, in its place sat a ring of ash, unbroken.
Ned closed his eyes, wrapped the ash around his fingers, and stood.
At dawn, they marched north.
The fog returned before noon.
And this time… it came with voices.