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Eight thousand years of magic unraveled like a domino rattled by invisible hands, each block snapping with a sound that existed beyond hearing. The Wall didn't merely fall. It died.

"...." The Night King stood before the ancient barrier, arms raised not in triumph but in something closer to reverence.

This wasn't destruction. This was surgery, performed by a being who understood the Wall's construction better than any maester who'd ever studied it.

Because he was there when it was built. He could recall it even now, even though his consciousness had become crystalline, alien and focused. He remembers the pact. The price. The betrayal.

Ice called to ice across miles of frozen stone. The Wall's foundations, laid with spells older than the Andals, older than writing itself, began to resonate with a frequency that made birds fall dead from the sky twenty miles south. The magic wasn't breaking. It was being unmade, reversed like a song played backward until only silence remained.

When the first crack appeared, it glowed blue-white, beautiful as a lightning strike frozen in time. Then came the second. The third. A spider web of light racing up seven hundred feet of ice until the entire structure looked like stained glass moments before shattering.

The sound, when it came, drove men mad.

Not a crash or boom, but a note. A single, pure note that contained within it the death of an age. The Wall collapsed inward first, imploding as if reality itself rejected its absence, then exploded outward in chunks the size of castle towers. Every fragment carried traces of that ancient magic, glowing like fallen stars as they crashed to earth.

Through the gap they poured. They did not rush, they were not desperate.

They moved with the patience of winter itself, inevitable as nightfall. Wights in their hundreds of thousands, some so old their flesh had long since frozen to their bones, others fresh enough that you could still recognize the wildling furs they'd died in. Their eyes burned with that terrible blue light, not individually but as a collective, like looking at the ocean through a thousand broken mirrors.

Behind them walked the Others. The White Walkers. Beautiful in the way avalanches are beautiful, terrible in the way extinction is terrible. They rode dead horses whose breath didn't mist because they had no breath to give. Their armor seemed grown rather than forged, ice that had learned to hold an edge sharper than any steel.

"Hmm…" The Night King himself moved at the army's heart, and where he walked, the temperature dropped so severely that moisture in the air froze mid-fall. His presence created a perpetual snowfall that followed him like a personal storm.

Miles south, at Castle Black's ruins…

A single raven watched with eyes too intelligent for any natural bird. It cocked its head, observing the tide of death, then took wing toward Winterfell with a message no one would believe until too late.

****

"Mother, I'm scared."

Little Lyanna Stark pressed against Talisa's skirts, and for once, neither her mother nor her grandmother had a comfortable lie to offer. The air itself felt wrong, children could feel it. Even in the depths of Winterfell's halls, protected by stone and tradition, the cold seeped in like water through cracks.

"Hush, sweetling," Catelyn murmured, though her own heart hammered against her ribs. "Your father and uncle will protect us."

Above them, boots thundered across stone as soldiers took positions. The sound should have been reassuring. Instead, it reminded her of drums. War drums, or funeral drums. Sometimes there wasn't much difference.

The great hall had been transformed into a command center.

Maps covered every surface, marked with defensive positions that looked increasingly meaningless. How did you plan tactics against an enemy that didn't tire, didn't eat, didn't fear… and most importantly, didn't die?

"Just got report from the Warg. They're two hours out," Jon Snow announced, entering with frost still clinging to his black cloak. His face, always serious, had taken on a quality that made him look decades older. "Maybe less. They're not stopping for anything. Not rivers, not forests. They just walk through it all."

Robb studied the map with the intensity of a man trying to solve an impossible equation. "The dragons?"

"Nothing since this morning." Jon's jaw tightened. "Your Grace, we need to consider evacuation–"

"We're not abandoning Winterfell." The words came out harder than Robb intended. Softer, he added, "Where would we even go? Winterfell is our sanctuary. If Winterfell falls, then the North falls. There's nowhere that's safe."

A commotion outside made everyone freeze. Then came a sound that loosened shoulders and brought tentative smiles. The distinctive roar of a dragon, though different somehow. Deeper. More resonant.

They rushed to the courtyard just as Rhaegal passed overhead, his jade scales catching the dying light like emeralds the size of shields. Beautiful, terrible, and somehow still not the most impressive sight in the sky.

Because behind him came Drogon, and riding him...

"Seven hells," someone whispered. "Is that a woman or a goddess?"

Daenerys Targaryen no longer looked human. Her silver hair didn't just catch the light, it seemed to generate its own subtle luminescence. When she moved, it was with a fluidity that suggested her bones had been replaced with something more elegant. Even from the ground, they could see her violet eyes glowing with their own inner fire.

But then the sun disappeared entirely.

Not set. Disappeared. Blocked out by something impossible.

Viserion descended from above the clouds, and Catelyn's knees nearly buckled. The golden dragon had grown beyond all reason. Each wing could have sheltered the entire courtyard. Her scales, once merely golden, now held depths of color that shifted and moved like living metal. When she landed, carefully, delicately, the earth still shook.

The dragon lowered her massive massive head, and Viserys Targaryen slid down her neck with movements that belonged more to smoke than flesh.

He'd changed again compared to a few days ago. Not just taller or stronger, but more. He now wore a crown as if to make a final statement, and horns grew from his head to wrap around that crown. His presence hit the courtyard like a physical force, making lesser men step back involuntarily. When he smiled at the assembled lords, his teeth were definitely sharper than they'd been before.

"Lord Stark," he said to Robb, and there was amusement in those impossible violet eyes. "I hear you've been having pest problems."

"Your Grace," Robb replied, and the relief in his voice was palpable. "The dead are–"

"About Seventy-three minutes away, actually." Viserys tilted his head as if listening to something only he could hear. "Walking in the stupid straight line, as corpses tend to do. No tactical thought, no flanking maneuvers. Just forward momentum and overwhelming numbers. Relax your preparations. If we fail, all your struggles will be meaningless anyway. Just watch."

Daenerys landed Drogon nearby, the black dragon still massive despite being dwarfed by Viserion. She moved across the courtyard with steps that didn't quite touch the ground, joining her brother with casual grace.

"Sister," Viserys greeted her warmly. "How was Essos?"

That suggested they hadn't met up before coming here, and rather encountered each other in the air. Jon and Robb exchanged glances.

"Boring without you burning things," she replied, then her expression grew serious. "I felt it when the Wall fell. Like something fundamental breaking. The magic there…"

"Is older than anything else in this world," Viserys finished. "Well, almost anything." His eyes found Jon Snow in the crowd. "Lord Commander. Or is it King Beyond the Wall now? Your titles multiply faster than rabbits."

Jon stepped forward, jaw set. "Your Grace, as I said a few days ago as well… With respect, this isn't the time for–"

"You're right." Viserys's expression shifted, all amusement vanishing. "Dany, remember what I told you about the Night King?"

"That he's not actually evil, just following a purpose we don't understand?"

Every northerner in earshot turned to stare. Viserys laughed at their expressions.

"What? You thought this was good versus evil? How disappointingly simple that would be." He stretched, joints popping with sounds like breaking ice. "The Night King is older than your histories, older than your religions. He has a purpose, a mission, and from his perspective, we're the invaders. We're the cancer that needs to be cut out."

"That's insane," Greatjon Umber growled.

"Is it? He was created to defeat humanity's enemies, I recall. The only problem is, his creators never gave him an off switch. Now he sees humanity itself as the enemy." Viserys smiled, and it held too many teeth. "Fortunately, I don't particularly care about his perspective. I care about winning. And you're lucky I'm on your side."

He turned to Catelyn, and his expression softened fractionally. "Lady Stark, why did you climb up? You should take the children below. What comes next won't be suitable for young eyes."

"What comes next?" she asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Viserys looked north, where the horizon had grown dark with unnatural storm clouds. "The largest barbecue in recorded history. Though I doubt anyone will want to eat what we're cooking."

A horn blow shattered the evening air. Then another. Then a third, long and mournful.

Three blasts. The signal that hadn't been used in thousands of years.

The dead had arrived.

They weren't close, but Viserys' eyes could see far, far from here. He brought out his wings and flapped upwards. From the air, he could see. They crested a hill far north of Winterfell like a wave of bone and frozen flesh, flowing down toward the castle with terrible purpose. It might take days or hours for them to come here, nobody could tell given their numbers. To his eyes, individual forms were visible.

Some walked, some crawled, some dragged themselves forward on shattered limbs. All shared those burning blue eyes.

"I see them," he landed back.

"How many?" Robb asked, voice hollow.

"Currently? About three hundred thousand," Viserys replied casually. "Though that number will grow if we let them reach populated areas."

"Three hundred..." Robb couldn't finish.

"Brother," Daenerys said softly. "Should we?"

****

Three dragons occupied the sky, flapping toward the direction of the wall. As if in response to their presence, the temperature plummeted. Not gradually, but instantly.

It was like stepping from summer into deepest winter. Ice began forming on stone, on steel, on skin. Men's breath came out in clouds so thick they could barely see.

Then, through the army of the dead, he came.

The Night King rode a dead horse that moved with impossible grace, its bones visible through patches of frozen flesh. His armor caught what little light remained and threw it back twisted, wrong. When he raised his hand, the entire army stopped as one.

His eyes traveled up to the dragons. The silence that followed was worse than any scream.

"Magnificent," Viserys murmured from above Viserion, and everyone turned to stare at him, including Viserion. "What? He is. The level of control, the perfect synchronization. It's artistry."

"They're gross monsters," Viserion snarled, sounding far comprehensible compared to her younger days.

"She's right," Dany agreed, always taking her niece's side.

"Well, celebrate. I'm a monster as well." Viserys's grin held nothing human. "The difference is, I'm your monster."

The Night King tilted his head as if he could hear him from that distance, those alien blue eyes finding Viserys across the distance. For a moment, two immortal wills tested each other, pressing against the boundaries of reality itself. One young, one old.

Then the Night King smiled.

It was the most terrifying thing anyone had ever seen. Because it was recognition. Not of an enemy, but of an equal.

"Oh wow," Viserys muttered, and for the first time since arriving, he sounded genuinely surprised. "He's aware. Not just following programming but actually thinking. I thought I'd be fighting against a robot..."

"What's a robot?" Viserion asked.

He laughed in an odd tone, the sound carrying across the frozen air. "Doesn't matter. Ah, this might actually get serious… Sister, I think there's a slim chance I'm too arrogant and we die here."

"...What?" Daenerys looked stunned. Her brother was saying that?

"Well, too late to regret." He patted Viserion. "My dear, Viserion."

"Don't call me that. What is it?"

"Burn them all."

Flames spilled from the heavens, as if the sun itself had penetrated the winter sky.

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