The Horn of Winter.
That legendary Horn of Joramun.
Once blown, it could wake sleeping giants—even collapse the Wall.
The bait Bloodraven threw—like a venomous snake, trying to slither into Lynn's deepest cracks.
He wanted to trade this apocalyptic artifact for Lynn's loyalty.
Or rather—Lynn's submission.
"Bring me the Horn of Winter, and I'll give you all my legacy."
That aged voice carried seduction.
Facing Brynden's proposal, Lynn's face showed no expression.
He simply stared quietly at the three-eyed raven on the ground.
"An interesting proposal."
Lynn's voice—flat. Impossible to read.
The raven tilted its head.
Blood-red eye gleaming with certainty.
Seemingly waiting for Lynn's response.
"But, Lord Brynden Rivers."
Lynn enunciated each syllable of that name.
"Oh, wait."
Lynn—as if remembering something—added another line.
"Perhaps you're no longer Brynden at all."
The aged voice in his consciousness—froze for an instant.
The three-eyed raven on the ground—its blood-red eye flickered with barely perceptible ripples.
"You seem to have many misconceptions about me."
Bloodraven's voice returned, carrying ancient dignity as if offended.
"I'm helping you, Lynn."
"Helping me?"
Lynn laughed.
The sound—jarring in the silent room.
Winter's three little heads startled, lifting in unison, gazing at Lynn in confusion.
"Are you helping me, or helping yourself?"
Lynn stepped forward, looking down at the raven from above.
Lynn's shadow completely engulfed it.
"Your so-called legacy isn't a gift at all."
"It's a carefully designed devouring."
Bloodraven froze.
The raven's body—even its feather tips—seemed to solidify in the air.
The voice in Lynn's consciousness completely vanished.
Deathly silence.
"You select so-called heirs. Whether the Children of the Forest a thousand years ago, Brynden Rivers centuries ago, or Brandon Stark you're eyeing now."
"They're drowned by your vast ocean of memories. Eventually, they all become you."
Lynn's voice—like a blade—precisely cut through Bloodraven's seemingly sacred disguise, exposing the rotted truth beneath.
"Their self-awareness. Their emotions. Everything about them—washed away completely by your millennia of memories."
"In the end, they lose themselves in that ocean of memory."
"The one who receives the legacy thinks your memories are his own."
"Your will becomes his will."
"That way, even if your flesh rots, your unique Greenseer memories will dominate the new host."
"They're no longer themselves."
"They just become the next you."
"The next... Three-Eyed Raven."
With each sentence Lynn spoke, the raven's body trembled imperceptibly.
Its three eyes stared hard at Lynn—no longer containing mockery or temptation.
Only undisguised shock.
How could he know?
This secret—the core essence of Greenseer inheritance.
The insurmountable boundary between Greenseers and mortals.
So-called Greenseers—from birth until now—have only ever been one person!
When the body ages, select the next successor as pretext—occupy a young body, continue life.
Brynden was his choice.
Now Brynden's old. He's set his sights on Brandon Stark.
But Lynn's appearance saved Brandon, completely disrupting his plans.
So he turned to Lynn—this more promising "variable."
The Greenseer—completely shocked.
How could this soul not belonging to this world perceive all this?
He'd schemed for millennia without a single error!
"Future Brandon Stark—he's your next chosen host, isn't he?"
Lynn's voice turned abruptly cold, carrying judgment.
"A gifted child. A pure soul. What a perfect vessel."
"Your so-called guidance—just leading him step by step into your woven cage."
"You'll make him witness the first Night King's birth. Make him lose himself in the past."
"When the Children of the Forest's dagger pierces his chest—he can never return. Only become the Night King's shell."
"And you can seize the chance to invade his body. Gain rebirth."
"The Children of the Forest just need a weapon against the First Men. A puppet without self-thought!"
"And you, great Greenseer."
"You sealed those poor souls you selected into the Night King's body. They possess your memories—they ARE another you."
"That's why the Night King can perceive everything!"
"You're the culprit behind all this tragedy!"
"You sit high above, stealing this entire continent's history. Toying with everyone's fate."
"Whether the Night King wins or loses—as long as you survive, you keep these memories. Live forever in this world. Never become the loser!"
"Am I right, Greenseer?"
Lynn paused, lips curling into an icy arc.
"Or should I use your other title?"
"Night King?"
Lynn's words—like thunderbolts from the ninth heaven—exploded in Bloodraven's millennia-old consciousness!
His face—formed of feathers and beak—showed an almost human expression of horror.
He looked at Lynn with utter disbelief.
This man not only saw through his present.
Even the game he laid for the future—crystal clear!
Unprecedented crisis engulfed him.
For the first time, he felt things slipping from his control.
This variable called Lynn—already threatening his existence.
"You..."
After a long pause, that aged voice finally returned to Lynn's mind—carrying uncontrollable hoarseness.
"...What ARE you?"
"Me?"
Lynn withdrew his gaze, slowly sitting back on the bed.
He extended his hand, gently stroking Winter's middle head's cold scales.
The amber eyes closed contentedly, throat releasing satisfied purrs.
"Just someone who wants to survive."
Lynn's voice calmed.
"I have zero interest in becoming an old monster trapped in tree roots, surviving on sap and memories."
"Night King, put away your self-righteous tricks."
"Cast wide nets. Catch many fish. Select the best. What a fine game."
"Too bad you chose the wrong opponent."
Lynn's gaze returned to the raven—cold and sharp.
"From today on, stop bothering me."
"Otherwise, I don't mind visiting the weirwood before you find your next victim—and burning your old bones to ash."
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