The man's lifeless body lay still beside the hearth, his final words echoing in the small outpost like a ghostly whisper. Katrina paced the room, her golden eyes darting toward the door every few steps. Dream sat perched on the edge of the table, watching her with sharp green eyes, while Ghost lay near the doorway, his ears twitching at the faintest sound.
Jon knelt beside the body, his dark eyes scanning the man's frostbitten features. The fear etched into his face even in death sent a chill down Jon's spine.
"We can't stay here," Katrina said abruptly, her voice taut with urgency. "If he's right, if they're coming—"
"We don't know who 'they' are," Jon interrupted, standing and turning to face her. "Or if he was even in his right mind."
Katrina stopped pacing, her grip on her spear tightening. "You saw him, Jon. He wasn't delirious—he was terrified. And whatever terrified him enough to get him here didn't stop chasing him."
Jon frowned, his fingers tightening on Longclaw's hilt. "I know. But we can't run blind. If this is connected to your father's power, we need to understand it before we act."
Katrina's jaw clenched, but she didn't argue. "Then what do you suggest?"
"We start with him," Jon said, nodding toward the body. "Wherever he came from, whatever he was running from—it's a clue."
Katrina exhaled sharply, running a hand through her dark hair. "Fine. But we move quickly. If there's more out there, I don't want to be here when it finds us."
They buried the man in the frozen ground just outside the outpost, the task made grueling by the icy soil. As Jon shoveled the last mound of snow over the shallow grave, Katrina crouched beside it, her fingers brushing over the medallion they had found around the man's neck.
It was a simple piece of iron, crudely shaped into a spiral. The edges were rough, as though it had been forged hastily, but it carried a strange warmth in her hand, as if it had retained some of the man's life force.
"Do you recognize it?" Jon asked, standing beside her.
Katrina shook her head. "No. But it's old. Wildling, maybe."
Jon studied it for a moment. "If he was running from something, this might be why. It could be a marker, a charm… or a warning."
Katrina tucked the medallion into her pouch and stood, her expression set. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. Let's go."
The trail the man had left was faint, barely visible against the freshly fallen snow. Ghost led the way, his nose to the ground, while Dream darted ahead, her movements quick and precise. Jon and Katrina followed close behind, their weapons at the ready.
The forest was unnaturally quiet, the usual sounds of wildlife absent. Every step felt heavier, as though the air itself was pressing down on them. The further they walked, the more the sense of unease grew.
Katrina broke the silence. "I hate this."
Jon glanced at her. "What?"
"Not knowing," she said, her voice low. "I hate not knowing what we're walking into."
Jon nodded, his grip tightening on Longclaw. "You're not alone in that."
The trail led them to a small clearing, where the remains of a campsite lay scattered. A burnt-out firepit sat at the center, surrounded by broken crates and tattered furs. Ghost sniffed at the ground, growling softly as his crimson eyes darted around the clearing.
"This is where he came from," Jon said, scanning the area. "But it's been abandoned for days."
Katrina crouched beside the firepit, running her fingers through the ashes. "Not days. Hours. The fire's still warm."
Jon frowned, his eyes narrowing. "Then why did he leave?"
As if in answer, a distant howl echoed through the trees. It wasn't the mournful cry of a wolf—it was deeper, more guttural, and it made the hairs on the back of Jon's neck stand on end.
Katrina stood abruptly, her spear raised. "That's why."
Ghost growled louder, his body tense, while Dream darted back to Katrina's side, her fur bristling. The sound grew louder, closer, and Jon stepped in front of Katrina, Longclaw at the ready.
The first figure appeared at the edge of the clearing, its movements jerky and unnatural. It was a wight, its decayed body barely held together as it shambled forward. Behind it came more—five, ten, fifteen—emerging from the shadows like a tide of death.
"They were following him," Katrina said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
"And now they're following us," Jon replied grimly. "Get ready."
The wights surged forward, their guttural moans filling the clearing. Jon and Katrina moved in perfect sync, their weapons cutting through the dead with brutal efficiency. Ghost leapt into the fray, his jaws snapping at limbs and throats, while Dream darted between the chaos, her claws flashing.
Despite their skill, the wights kept coming, their numbers seemingly endless. Katrina's breaths came in sharp gasps as she drove her spear through another wight, her golden eyes blazing. "They're not stopping!"
"They never do," Jon said, swinging Longclaw in a wide arc and cleaving two wights in half. "We need to fall back!"
The two of them began to retreat, their movements careful and calculated. Ghost and Dream stayed close, their attacks unrelenting as they carved a path through the dead.
As they broke through the line of wights, Katrina felt a familiar pull in her chest—a faint but unmistakable tug that sent a shiver down her spine. She froze, her spear faltering in her grip.
"Katrina!" Jon shouted, grabbing her arm. "Move!"
But Katrina's eyes were fixed on the edge of the clearing, where a shadowed figure stood watching them. It wasn't her father—she knew that instinctively—but its presence was familiar, its power undeniable.
"It's starting again," she whispered.
Jon didn't hesitate. He pulled her along, his voice sharp. "Then we finish this before it grows."
As they fled into the forest, the wights continued their pursuit, but the shadow remained behind, its glowing eyes fixed on Katrina. It didn't move, but its presence lingered, a reminder that the fight was far from over.
The fire and the shadow had awakened once more. And this time, the stakes would be higher than ever.
The cold wind whipped through the trees, carrying with it the sound of guttural moans and the rhythmic crunch of snow beneath relentless feet. Jon and Katrina pushed forward, their breaths visible in the freezing air as they ran through the dense forest. Behind them, the wights gave chase, their decayed forms illuminated faintly by the pale moonlight.
"We can't outrun them forever!" Katrina called, her voice strained as she clutched her spear.
"I know!" Jon replied, glancing over his shoulder at the advancing horde. His mind raced, searching for a plan, any plan, to deal with the seemingly endless dead.
Ghost and Dream darted around them, their movements quick and precise. Ghost snarled, lunging at a wight that had drawn too close, while Dream leapt from the trees, her claws tearing into another's face.
"There!" Jon pointed ahead, where a narrow ravine cut through the forest. The drop was steep, but it was their best chance. "We can bottleneck them!"
Katrina didn't hesitate. She followed Jon toward the ravine, her boots skidding slightly on the icy ground. As they reached the edge, she peered down. The rocky slope was treacherous, but survivable. The wights wouldn't navigate it as easily.
"Go!" Jon urged, gesturing for her to climb down first.
Katrina nodded, gripping her spear tightly as she began her descent. The rocks shifted beneath her, and her heart pounded as the sound of the wights grew closer. Jon followed close behind, his eyes scanning the treeline for any signs of the shadowed figure she had seen.
"Hold on!" Katrina called as she reached the bottom, steadying herself and spinning to face the ravine. The wights had reached the edge now, their movements clumsy as they began to spill over the cliff in a wave of rotting limbs.
Jon dropped beside her, Longclaw already drawn. "This is where we make our stand."
The two of them fell into a defensive formation, their backs against the rocky wall of the ravine. Ghost lunged at the first wight to reach the ground, his jaws snapping through its neck, while Dream weaved between the chaos, darting in and out of reach.
Jon's Valyrian steel cleaved through the dead with ease, but the sheer number of enemies was overwhelming. Katrina's spear worked tirelessly, each thrust finding its mark, but her arms began to burn with the effort.
"They just keep coming!" she shouted, her golden eyes flicking to Jon.
"We have to hold!" Jon replied, his voice grim. "We can't let them overwhelm us!"
As the wights pressed closer, Katrina felt it again—that pull in her chest, faint but undeniable. It wasn't just a sensation; it was a warning. She gritted her teeth, thrusting her spear through another wight as she glanced up the ravine.
And then she saw it.
The shadowed figure from the clearing had appeared at the edge of the ravine, its glowing eyes fixed on her. It didn't move, but its presence was suffocating, the air growing colder with each passing second.
"Jon," Katrina said, her voice trembling. "It's here."
Jon followed her gaze, his jaw tightening as he saw the figure. "Is it him?"
Katrina shook her head, her grip on her spear tightening. "No. But it's connected to him. I can feel it."
The shadow raised an arm, and the wights froze, their bodies twitching as if caught in an invisible current. Then, as one, they turned toward Katrina, their hollow eyes glowing with an unnatural light.
"They're focusing on me," Katrina whispered.
"Good," Jon said, stepping in front of her. "That gives me a chance to deal with them."
"No," Katrina said, grabbing his arm. "This isn't about fighting them. It's about fighting it."
Before Jon could argue, Katrina stepped forward, her golden eyes blazing. She could feel the fire within her stirring, its warmth building in her chest. It was dangerous, unpredictable, but she had no choice.
The shadow tilted its head, as if watching her curiously. The wights didn't move, their bodies frozen in place as Katrina took another step forward.
"Katrina, stop!" Jon shouted, his voice filled with worry. "You don't have to do this!"
"Yes, I do," she said, her voice steady. She turned back to Jon, her gaze softening. "I can feel it, Jon. This thing—it's tied to me. If I don't face it now, it'll just keep coming."
Jon hesitated, his hand tightening on Longclaw. "Then I'm staying with you."
Katrina nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
She turned back to the shadow, her grip on her spear tightening. "You want me?" she called, her voice echoing in the ravine. "Come and get me!"
The shadow didn't respond. Instead, it dissolved into smoke, swirling down the ravine toward her. The fire in Katrina's chest flared in response, and she braced herself, ready to unleash its power.
As the smoke surrounded her, the fire erupted, illuminating the ravine in a blinding light. The wights screeched, their forms disintegrating as the flames consumed them. The shadow recoiled, its form flickering, but it didn't retreat.
Jon watched in awe as Katrina stood at the center of the inferno, her golden eyes blazing like suns. But even as the fire pushed the shadow back, he could see the strain on her face, the toll it was taking on her.
"Katrina!" he shouted, stepping forward. "Enough!"
She didn't respond, her focus locked on the shadow. The flames grew brighter, hotter, until the very air seemed to shimmer with heat. The shadow let out a deafening roar, its form breaking apart as it vanished into the night.
The fire died as quickly as it had erupted, leaving the ravine in silence. Katrina collapsed to her knees, her body trembling, as Jon rushed to her side.
"Katrina," he said, his voice urgent. "Are you all right?"
She looked up at him, her face pale but her golden eyes steady. "It's gone. For now."
Jon helped her to her feet, his arm around her for support. "We need to get out of here before more show up."
Katrina nodded, leaning on him as they began to climb out of the ravine. Ghost and Dream followed close behind, their movements cautious but vigilant.
As they reached the top, Katrina glanced back at the ravine, her expression troubled. "That wasn't the end," she said softly.
Jon met her gaze, his voice firm. "No. But it was a start."
They turned and walked into the forest, the shadows lingering behind them like a distant memory. The fight was far from over, but together, they would face whatever came next.
The air in the abandoned cottage they'd stumbled upon was stale, the walls lined with frost from the relentless cold outside. Jon had managed to get a fire going in the small hearth, but the warmth it offered was faint, barely pushing back the chill.
Katrina lay on a makeshift bed, her skin pale and clammy. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and her golden eyes, usually so fierce and bright, were closed tightly as she muttered incoherently under her breath.
Jon sat beside her, his dark eyes filled with worry as he soaked a cloth in a small bowl of snowmelt warmed by the fire. He wrung it out carefully and pressed it to her forehead, brushing strands of her dark hair away from her face.
"Katrina," he said softly, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. "Can you hear me?"
She didn't respond. Her body twitched, her breath hitching as if caught in a nightmare. Dream lay curled at her side, watching her intently, while Ghost stood by the door, his crimson eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the windows.
Jon leaned closer, his hand brushing hers. "You've got to fight this. I'm not losing you, not now."
Inside her mind, Katrina was no longer in the cold, broken North. Instead, she found herself standing in a room she hadn't seen in years—a warm, firelit chamber filled with the soft hum of voices. The walls were made of wood, intricately carved with images of flames and shadowy figures.
She was a child again, no older than six or seven. Her small hands clutched a carved wooden toy, her golden eyes wide as she watched the man standing before her.
Her father.
He was tall, imposing, with dark hair that framed his sharp features. His golden eyes, so much like her own, were filled with an intensity that made her both love and fear him. He knelt before her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"You're special, Katrina," he said, his voice deep and commanding. "The fire in you is a gift. Our gift."
She looked up at him, her small face unsure. "It hurts sometimes."
"It will," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "But pain is part of power. And you, my little flame, are meant for greatness."
The scene shifted, the room darkening. The carvings on the walls seemed to twist and move, the figures in the wood becoming shadows that stretched toward her. Katrina felt herself trembling, even as her father's hand remained steady on her shoulder.
"Don't be afraid," he said, his voice echoing now, deeper and more resonant. "You are the fire, Katrina. The world will bow to you."
"No," Katrina whispered, her childlike voice trembling. "I don't want it."
Her father's grip tightened, his golden eyes burning brighter. "It's not about what you want. It's about destiny. You cannot escape it."
The shadows enveloped her, and the warmth of the fire turned to searing heat. She cried out, the flames consuming everything around her as her father's face twisted into something monstrous.
"Katrina!" Jon's voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.
She jolted awake, her body drenched in sweat. Her golden eyes darted around the room, wild and unfocused, before they landed on Jon. He was leaning over her, his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
"It's all right," he said, his voice softer now. "You're safe. You're here with me."
Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she clutched at his tunic. "I… I saw him."
Jon frowned, his hands still holding her steady. "Your father?"
Katrina nodded, her eyes brimming with tears she refused to let fall. "It was a memory, but it wasn't. He was… he was twisting it. Showing me things. Things I don't want to remember."
Jon sat on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing over her hair in a rare gesture of comfort. "You're not there anymore. Whatever he did to you, whatever he tried to make you believe, it doesn't define you."
Katrina let out a shaky laugh, though it was devoid of humor. "Doesn't it? He put this fire in me. He made me into this."
Jon leaned closer, his dark eyes intense. "You're not him, Katrina. You've proven that time and time again. You use that fire to protect people, to fight against the things he stood for. That's what defines you."
She looked at him, her golden eyes searching his face for something—reassurance, maybe, or strength. "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not," Jon admitted. "But you're not alone. You never have to face this alone."
Katrina's breathing slowed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She leaned back against the bed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how much more of this I can take, Jon."
"You're stronger than you think," he said, his hand still resting on hers. "And I'm not going anywhere."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Katrina allowed herself to believe him. She closed her eyes, the exhaustion overtaking her once more, but this time, the darkness wasn't as overwhelming.
Jon stayed by her side, watching over her as the fire crackled softly in the hearth. The vision she had described lingered in his mind, a reminder that the shadow of her father's influence wasn't gone—it was merely waiting for its moment to strike.
And when it did, Jon knew they'd have to be ready.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the small, weathered room. Katrina sat propped up in bed, her color slowly returning, though the lingering exhaustion was evident in her face. She clutched a blanket around her shoulders as Jon sat beside her, a bowl of steaming soup in his hands.
"You don't have to feed me, you know," she muttered, though her voice was tinged with humor.
"You can barely sit up without falling over," Jon replied, his tone dry. He dipped the wooden spoon into the soup and held it out to her. "So yes, I do."
Katrina rolled her eyes but allowed him to feed her. The broth was warm and rich, its savory aroma filling the room. "Not bad," she admitted after swallowing a mouthful. "You're getting better at this whole caretaker thing."
Jon smirked faintly. "I've had plenty of practice."
"Lucky me," Katrina quipped, though her smile faded slightly as her thoughts drifted. The vision from the night before still lingered in the back of her mind, her father's words echoing like a ghost.
Jon noticed the change in her expression but didn't press her. Instead, he focused on feeding her, each spoonful a small reassurance that she was still here, still fighting.
Their moment of quiet was interrupted by a sound from outside—a faint crunch of snow, deliberate and measured. Ghost immediately perked up, his crimson eyes fixed on the door as he let out a low growl. Dream hissed softly from her perch near the hearth, her fur bristling.
Jon set the bowl aside and reached for Longclaw, his body tense. "Stay here," he said, rising to his feet.
Katrina, despite her weakened state, grabbed her spear and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Like hell I'm staying here."
"Katrina," Jon said sharply, his dark eyes narrowing. "You're in no condition—"
"I'm not useless, Snow," she interrupted, her voice firm. She pushed herself to her feet, though she swayed slightly. "Whatever's out there, I'm facing it with you."
Jon sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. Together, they moved toward the door, Ghost and Dream flanking them. Jon opened the door slowly, the cold wind rushing in as they peered into the snowy expanse beyond.
A figure stood just beyond the clearing, partially obscured by the swirling snow. As it stepped closer, Jon tightened his grip on Longclaw, ready for a fight. But as the figure emerged from the shadows, Katrina froze.
He was young, no more than twenty, with dark hair that framed his sharp features. His golden eyes were unmistakable, gleaming like twin flames in the pale light. The resemblance was striking—so much so that Jon cast a quick glance at Katrina, whose face had gone pale.
The boy stopped a few feet away, his breath visible in the cold air. His gaze locked on Katrina, a mixture of shock and awe in his expression.
"Katrina," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "Katrina Littlefoot? The fire woman?"
Katrina gripped her spear tighter, her golden eyes narrowing. "Who's asking?"
The boy hesitated, his gaze darting to Jon before returning to her. "My name is Reynolds," he said, his voice soft. "And I… I thought you were dead."
Katrina's grip on her spear faltered. "What?"
Reynolds stepped closer, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "You're Katrina. You have to be. The golden eyes, the fire… It's you."
Jon moved slightly in front of Katrina, his voice cold and measured. "Start talking. Who are you?"
Reynolds swallowed hard, his breath hitching. "I'm… I'm your brother. Your half brother."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Katrina stared at him, her expression unreadable. "That's impossible."
"It's not," Reynolds said quickly. "Our father—he told me about you. He said you died when you were a child, but… you're here. You're alive."
Katrina took a shaky step forward, her golden eyes searching his face. "How do I know you're not lying?"
Reynolds reached into his coat and pulled out a small object—a carved wooden toy, worn and weathered with age. He held it out to her, his hand trembling. "You gave me this. When I was little."
Katrina's breath caught as she recognized the toy. It was a simple figure of a wolf, its edges smoothed from years of handling. Her hands shook as she took it from him, her mind racing.
"I remember this," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But how—"
"Our father lied," Reynolds interrupted, his voice bitter. "He told me you were gone, that the fire inside you had consumed you. But I never believed him. I searched for years… and now I've found you."
Katrina looked up at him, her golden eyes filled with a storm of emotions—anger, confusion, disbelief. "Why now? Why show up after all this time?"
"Because things are happening," Reynolds said, his expression darkening. "Things our father set in motion before he died. And if we don't stop them, the fire and the shadow… they'll consume everything."
Katrina's knees threatened to buckle, but Jon was there, steadying her with a hand on her arm. "What do you mean?" Jon asked, his voice sharp.
Reynolds looked between them, his gaze lingering on Katrina. "It's not over. Our father's power… his plans… they're still alive. And they're looking for her."
Katrina tightened her grip on the wolf figure, her voice trembling. "Why me?"
Reynolds took a deep breath. "Because you're the fire, Katrina. And the fire is the key."