Katrina was dreaming again.
Or maybe it wasn't a dream. Maybe it was something else entirely—something between worlds, something neither living nor dead. She floated in the darkness, weightless and lost, but she wasn't alone.
The fire inside her still burned, though it flickered weakly now, struggling against the pull of something deep and cold. She could hear whispers in the void, voices she recognized but couldn't place. Some were familiar, others distant, like echoes of memories she had forgotten.
And then, just as she felt herself slipping further into the abyss, she saw him.
Her father.
His shadowed form materialized before her, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness like dying embers. He looked as he always had—imposing, unreadable, his presence suffocating.
"Katrina," he murmured, his voice carrying through the void like a cold wind. "You fought well."
Katrina gritted her teeth, her hands curling into fists. "I killed you."
Her father smirked, his gaze sharp and knowing. "Did you?"
The shadows around him twisted, reforming, reshaping, as if refusing to be extinguished.
"You cannot destroy what is part of you," he said, stepping closer. "You and I… we are bound together. The fire and the shadow, always destined to meet."
Katrina took a step back, shaking her head. "No. You don't control me. You never did."
Her father tilted his head, amused. "Then why are you here?"
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Why was she here?
She had won. She had burned him away. She felt it. She had fought with everything inside her, poured every ounce of her fire into the darkness, and yet… he was still here.
The flickering flames inside her wavered again, and she realized with a jolt of fear that she could barely feel them.
"You're fading," her father observed, his voice almost pitying. "The fire weakens without fuel. Without control."
"I don't need you," Katrina growled, forcing herself to stand tall. "I never needed you."
Her father's expression darkened. "Then wake up, my little flame. Prove it."
The void trembled, the shadows recoiling, and for a brief moment, Katrina felt something shift—like a tether snapping free.
Then the darkness swallowed her whole.
Jon was exhausted.
He had barely slept since bringing Katrina to Winterfell, and even when he closed his eyes, all he saw was her falling, her fire fading, her body limp in his arms.
She hadn't woken up. Not once.
Bran had been right—she was fighting something inside herself, something neither steel nor fire could touch. Jon had seen men survive wounds that should have killed them, and he had seen others fade away from wounds no one could see. He refused to let her be one of the latter.
He sat beside her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. She looked peaceful, but he knew better. Whatever battle she was fighting inside her mind, she was alone in it. And Jon hated that.
Sansa had come to check on him earlier, urging him to sleep, to rest, but he couldn't. Not when there was even the smallest chance that she might wake up.
"Come back to me," he murmured, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face.
Ghost let out a soft whine from his spot near the door, as if echoing his sentiment.
Jon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I know, Ghost. I know."
He had to believe she would wake up. He had to.
Because if she didn't… he didn't know what he would do.
The fire inside her flared.
Katrina gasped, her body lurching as she was yanked out of the darkness and back into herself.
The first thing she heard was Jon's voice—low, familiar, and filled with something raw.
The first thing she saw was him, his dark eyes wide with shock and relief as she struggled to breathe.
And the first thing she felt was the warmth of his hand in hers.
"Jon…" she rasped, her throat dry, her body aching.
Jon let out a breath he had been holding, his grip tightening on her hand. "You're back."
Katrina blinked, disoriented. "I—"
Before she could say anything else, Jon leaned forward and kissed her.
It was desperate, relieved, and full of all the words he hadn't been able to say while she was gone. She melted into it, letting the fire inside her flicker back to life.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't do that again."
Katrina let out a breathless laugh, her golden eyes searching his. "I'll try."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, she truly believed she could.