Jon swung Longclaw in a wide arc, his muscles screaming in protest, as yet another wight fell before him. Their bodies were piling up, but it was a futile effort; for every one he felled, two more seemed to emerge from the shadows, their glowing eyes unrelenting.
"Katrina!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. He risked a glance toward her last position but saw nothing—only the swarm of the dead pressing forward. His stomach twisted in fear.
She couldn't be gone. Not like this.
"Jon!" Her voice cut through the chaos, sharp and defiant. Relief surged through him as he spotted her on the far side of the hall. She was fighting like a woman possessed, a broken chair leg in one hand and a crude dagger in the other, her golden eyes blazing with fury. But even she couldn't hold out much longer; the wights were closing in.
Jon charged toward her, cutting down anything in his path. Ghost was a blur of white fur, tearing through the ranks of the dead with feral savagery. The direwolf was a force of nature, but even he couldn't hold them forever.
As Jon reached Katrina, he grabbed her arm and pulled her close. "We have to get out of here!"
"No arguments here," she panted, her face streaked with blood—some hers, some not.
"There's too many," Jon said, glancing around. "We can't fight them all."
Katrina's gaze darted to the crumbling beams overhead. Her lips twisted into a grim smile. "Then we don't."
Jon frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"This place is falling apart," she said, already moving toward one of the support beams. "Help me bring the roof down."
"You'll bury us with them!" Jon exclaimed, grabbing her arm to stop her.
She wrenched free, her eyes blazing. "We're dead either way, Snow! This way, at least, we take them with us."
Jon hesitated, his heart pounding. It was a suicide plan—one with no guarantee of success. But as he looked around at the endless tide of wights, he knew she was right. They weren't walking out of here alive unless they did something drastic.
"Fine," he said, his voice tight. "But we do it together."
Katrina nodded, and they moved as one, hacking at the nearest support beams. The wood was old and brittle, and it didn't take long for the first one to crack under the pressure. The hall groaned ominously, dust and debris raining down from above.
"Keep going!" Katrina yelled, her voice barely audible over the din.
The wights seemed to sense what was happening. They surged toward Jon and Katrina with renewed ferocity, their skeletal hands clawing and grasping. Ghost leapt to intercept them, his growls echoing in the cavernous space.
Another beam splintered, the roof sagging dangerously. The hall shook, and Jon stumbled, his knee slamming into the ground. Katrina was there in an instant, hauling him to his feet.
"Don't slow down now, Snow!" she barked, though there was a flicker of worry in her eyes.
The final beam was the largest, its base cracked but still standing. Jon and Katrina attacked it together, their weapons striking in unison. The wights were almost upon them, their rotting hands reaching for flesh and bone.
With a deafening crack, the beam gave way. The roof above them groaned, then collapsed with a thunderous roar. Wood, stone, and snow came crashing down, burying everything in its path.
Jon felt himself falling, the ground giving way beneath him. His world became a blur of darkness and noise, the air driven from his lungs as debris rained down. He reached blindly, instinctively, for Katrina, but his hands found nothing.
And then, silence.
Jon opened his eyes slowly, his vision swimming. Pain radiated through his body, but he was alive. The air was thick with dust, the faint light of dawn filtering through the shattered remains of the hall. He tried to move, but a heavy beam pinned his legs.
"Ghost," he croaked, his throat raw. A soft whine answered him, and he turned his head to see the direwolf limping toward him, his white fur streaked with blood but otherwise unharmed.
"Katrina…" Jon whispered, his heart clenching. "Katrina!"
A faint groan answered him, and his head snapped toward the sound. Through the rubble, he saw her—half-buried under a pile of debris, her dark braids tangled and her face pale. But she was alive.
Jon gritted his teeth and pushed at the beam trapping his legs. It refused to budge, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
"Snow…" Katrina's voice was weak, but her golden eyes flickered open. She looked at him and gave a faint, lopsided smile. "Still…alive, huh?"
"Stay with me," Jon said, his voice trembling as he strained against the beam. "I'll get us out of here."
Katrina let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Always…so stubborn."
"Don't talk," Jon ordered, his eyes blazing with determination. "Save your strength."
For once, she didn't argue. But as Jon worked to free them, the weight of the world—both the living and the dead—pressed down on him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that their fight was far from over.
Jon strained against the beam trapping his legs, his muscles trembling with the effort. The cold bit into his skin, his breaths visible in the frigid air. Ghost growled low in his throat, pacing around him, his crimson eyes darting toward the rubble where Katrina lay half-buried.
"Katrina," Jon called, his voice rough. "Stay awake. Keep talking."
Her soft laugh drifted through the dust and debris, weaker now but still laced with that stubborn defiance he'd come to recognize. "What… do you want me to say? Another clever insult?"
"Whatever keeps you conscious," Jon said, gritting his teeth as he pushed harder against the beam. "I'm not letting you die here."
"Bold of you… to assume it's up to you," she murmured. Her voice wavered, and Jon's heart clenched.
"Don't," he snapped, his frustration boiling over. "You don't get to quit now. Not after all this."
Her laugh came again, faint but real. "Why, Snow… Didn't know you cared."
"I care," Jon admitted, his voice low and fierce. "Now shut up and let me focus."
With a final push, the beam shifted, freeing his legs. Pain flared through him as he scrambled to his feet, but he didn't stop to assess the damage. He stumbled toward Katrina, Ghost following close behind.
The sight of her hit him like a blade to the chest. Blood streaked her face, and her golden eyes fluttered open and closed, her breath shallow. Debris pinned her shoulders and legs, and her broken spear lay a few feet away.
Jon dropped to his knees beside her. "I've got you," he said, his voice shaking as he began pulling at the rubble. "Stay with me, Katrina."
She smirked faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "You… always this bossy?"
"Yes," Jon said firmly. "Now stop talking."
He worked as fast as he could, his hands numb and bleeding from the jagged edges of the wood and stone. Each piece he removed revealed more of her battered form, and his stomach twisted at the sight of the deep gash along her side.
"You're going to be fine," Jon said, his voice more a command than a reassurance.
Katrina winced as he lifted the last piece of rubble off her legs. "Liar."
"Prove me wrong," he shot back, slipping an arm under her shoulders to help her sit up. She hissed in pain, her hand clutching her side.
Jon tore a strip from his cloak and pressed it to the wound, his hands trembling. She flinched but didn't pull away.
"You've done this before," she said, her voice faint.
"Too many times," Jon replied grimly.
Ghost let out a sharp bark, his ears swiveling toward the collapsed hall entrance. Jon tensed, his eyes narrowing as he followed the direwolf's gaze. Through the haze of dust and snow, he saw movement—shambling figures, glowing eyes.
The wights.
"They're not done with us," Katrina muttered, her voice tinged with dark humor.
Jon stood, Longclaw gleaming in his hand. "Can you stand?"
Katrina gritted her teeth, gripping his arm as he pulled her to her feet. She swayed but stayed upright, her golden eyes fierce despite her injuries.
"I've had worse," she said, though Jon didn't believe her for a second.
"Stay behind me," he said, his voice firm. "Ghost will cover you."
"You think I'm letting you fight them alone?" Katrina scoffed, leaning on him for support but refusing to back down.
Jon didn't argue. There wasn't time. The wights were closing in, their guttural groans echoing through the ruined hall. Ghost lunged first, tearing into the nearest creature with savage precision. Jon followed, Longclaw slicing through the air, its Valyrian steel cutting through the undead like butter.
Beside him, Katrina fought with every ounce of strength she had left. She'd fashioned a weapon from a jagged piece of wood, her movements slower but no less determined. They worked in tandem, covering each other, their breaths visible in the freezing air.
But the wights kept coming.
"There's too many," Katrina panted, her voice strained.
Jon's mind raced, searching for a way out. The hall was a death trap, the remaining walls teetering dangerously under the weight of the snow and debris. Then his eyes landed on the far side of the room, where a faint light filtered through a narrow opening in the rubble.
"There," he said, pointing. "It's a way out."
Katrina glanced at the opening, then at the approaching wights. "We won't make it."
"We will," Jon said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the opening. "Go. I'll hold them off."
"Not a chance," she snapped, her golden eyes blazing. "We fight together, or not at all."
Jon clenched his jaw but didn't argue. Together, they pushed toward the opening, cutting through the wights with everything they had left. Ghost stayed at their side, his snarls a constant reminder that they weren't alone.
When they finally reached the opening, Katrina turned to Jon, her face pale but defiant. "Go," she said, shoving him toward it. "I'll cover you."
Jon hesitated, his heart hammering in his chest. He hated leaving her, even for a second. But he nodded, slipping through the gap and turning back to help her. She followed, her movements sluggish but determined.
As they emerged into the freezing dawn, the wights' groans fading behind them, Jon collapsed to his knees, his breath fogging the air. Katrina sank down beside him, her body trembling.
"You're insane," she muttered, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Jon glanced at her, his dark eyes softening. "You're one to talk."
For a moment, they just sat there, the weight of their survival settling over them. The ruins of the hall stood behind them, a testament to the battle they'd just barely escaped. But the fight wasn't over. It never was.
"Where to now, Snow?" Katrina asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jon looked out at the endless expanse of snow and sky, the cold biting at his skin. "Wherever the fight takes us."
Katrina chuckled softly, leaning back against the snow. "You're not bad for a crow."
Jon allowed himself a faint smile, his resolve hardening. They'd survived this. They'd survive the next.
The wind howled through the open expanse as Jon and Katrina leaned against a snow-covered boulder, catching their breath. The sun was a faint, cold glow on the horizon, offering little warmth but a reminder that they were still alive. Ghost lay a few feet away, his ears twitching as he scanned the barren landscape.
Jon tightened the strip of cloth he'd tied around Katrina's side to slow the bleeding. She winced but didn't complain, her golden eyes focused on the horizon.
"We need to find shelter," Jon said, breaking the silence. "You need rest."
"I'll rest when I'm dead," Katrina muttered, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. She glanced at him and added with a faint smirk, "Don't start lecturing me, Snow. I know what you're about to say."
"Good," Jon said, his tone clipped. "Saves me the trouble."
Before Katrina could retort, Ghost let out a soft, curious huff. Jon turned to see the direwolf standing stiffly, his nose pointed toward a patch of snow-covered bushes. The hair along his spine stood on end, but he didn't growl—a sign of interest rather than hostility.
"What is it, boy?" Jon asked, rising to his feet. He approached cautiously, his hand on Longclaw's hilt.
As he drew closer, something small and dark darted out from the bushes, moving with surprising agility across the snow. Jon froze, his brow furrowing as he realized what it was: a skinny black cat.
The creature stopped a few paces away, its emerald-green eyes locking onto his. It was strikingly out of place in the frozen wilderness, its sleek fur unmarred by frost, its movements almost unnervingly graceful. Ghost tilted his head, his body tense but non-threatening.
"A cat?" Katrina's voice was incredulous. She stood slowly, her arms crossed as she stared at the animal. "Out here?"
The cat meowed softly, its voice high-pitched and plaintive. It took a tentative step forward, its gaze shifting between Jon and Katrina.
"Careful," Jon warned, though he wasn't sure why. The cat didn't seem dangerous—just lost, maybe.
But Katrina didn't listen. She crouched down, extending a hand toward the animal. "Come here, little one," she murmured, her voice softer than Jon had ever heard it.
The cat hesitated, then padded closer, its tail flicking behind it. It sniffed Katrina's outstretched hand, then rubbed its head against her fingers, purring loudly.
Katrina's expression softened, and for a moment, the usual fire in her golden eyes gave way to something gentler, almost wistful. She stroked the cat's sleek fur, her fingers lingering as if she couldn't quite believe it was real.
"I had a cat like this once," she said quietly, her gaze distant. "When I was little. Back when… back when things were simpler."
Jon watched her, the raw emotion in her voice tugging at something deep inside him. "What happened to it?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
Katrina's hand stilled on the cat's back. "She died. Like everything else." Her tone was flat, but her expression betrayed her pain.
The cat nuzzled her hand again, purring louder, as if sensing her grief. Katrina let out a soft, bitter laugh. "This one looks just like her. Same black fur, same green eyes."
She glanced at Jon, her smirk returning but lacking its usual edge. "Guess I'll have to keep her. Can't leave her out here to freeze."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "You're keeping a cat?"
"Why not?" Katrina said, her tone defensive. "She survived out here, same as us. She deserves a chance."
Jon didn't argue. Instead, he watched as Katrina scooped the cat into her arms, cradling it against her chest. The animal seemed perfectly content, curling into her warmth.
"What are you going to name her?" Jon asked after a moment.
Katrina looked down at the cat, her fingers brushing over its sleek fur. "Dream," she said softly. "That was my old cat's name."
"Dream," Jon repeated, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. "Why that name?"
Katrina hesitated, then shrugged, her voice quiet. "Because sometimes… it's the only thing that keeps you going."
Jon didn't respond, but he understood. In a world as harsh as theirs, dreams were often all anyone had left.
As they set off again, Katrina carried Dream in her arms, the small cat a fragile but defiant reminder of the life they still had to fight for. And as Jon walked beside her, Ghost at his side, he found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, they weren't so different after all.