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They stared at the sky. Silent. As if voicing some ancient horror.
Lynn's heart sank. Buried memories from the original owner surged up—bone-deep cold, suffocating silence, indescribable evil from the dawn of time.
White Walkers.
No. Wights. Wildlings killed by White Walkers, turned into the undead.
The guards sensed something wrong.
"My Lord, these corpses... they're strange." A young guard's voice trembled. "Their eyes... I've never seen blue that terrifying."
Another guard gripped his sword. Torren crouched, reaching with his scabbard to prod a body.
"Don't touch it!" Lynn's shout froze him.
Torren jerked back. Everyone stared at Lynn, confused.
Lynn's face was grim. He stared at the corpses.
"My Lord, what's wrong?" Torren asked carefully.
Lynn didn't answer. He slowly drew his sword.
"Everyone, back away. Stay clear of the bodies."
The guards obeyed, retreating but encircling Lynn and the corpses warily.
Lynn inhaled deeply, forcing calm. These proto-wights are still just corpses. But under the right conditions, they'll wake. And the only way to stop them is fire.
"Torren." His voice steadied. "Bring torches. Burn this place. Burn the bodies. Leave nothing. Not even ash."
Torren, bewildered, obeyed immediately.
Soon, dozens of torches blazed. Flames were hurled into the ruins. Dry hides and wood ignited instantly. Fire spread with terrifying speed.
The charred corpses crackled in the inferno, belching black smoke. A nauseating stench filled the air. Guards covered their noses, faces twisted in disgust.
Lynn stood motionless, watching the blaze. Flames danced in his eyes.
Only when the bodies were ash did he look away.
"My Lord, what... were those things?" Torren finally asked.
Lynn was silent. Some things can't be hidden. And these are my most loyal men.
"They're what I told Lord Stark about at Winterfell." His voice was low. "Wights."
The word plunged the valley into deathly silence. Only flames crackled.
Shock and terror painted the guards' faces.
White Walkers? Monsters from bedtime stories? Legends driven back to the Lands of Always Winter millennia ago by the heroes of the Age of Heroes? How... how are they back?
"My Lord, you... you're serious?" A guard's voice shook.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Lynn's gaze swept each face. "Something woke beyond the Wall. Winter is coming."
The words carried chilling inevitability.
The guards exchanged glances, faces drained of color. They were Northmen. They knew the weight of Winter is coming better than anyone. It wasn't just a motto. It was an ancient warning.
"What... what do we do now?" Torren's voice held confusion.
"We go back." Lynn's answer was firm. "Send a scout ahead. Tell Lord Commander Mormont everything we saw. Tell Maester Aemon."
Lynn's gaze turned north. In the endless dark, countless ice-blue eyes seemed to watch.
The column set out for Castle Black at dawn. The mood was oppressive. No one spoke. Every soldier wore the weight of survival. The shadow of the White Walkers pressed down, suffocating.
Midway, the forward scout galloped back.
"My Lord!" His face was strange. "Ahead... there's something."
"More wildlings?" Torren tensed.
"No. A battlefield. Brutal. But... strange."
When Lynn arrived, he understood.
A snowfield stained red with blood. Dead warhorses, guts spilled. Broken weapons. Shattered armor. Scattered everywhere. The air reeked of blood.
A recent, savage fight.
But strange. No human corpses. Only long drag marks in the snow, leading deep into the forest.
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