The forest seemed darker, the trees closer, their gnarled branches stretching like skeletal fingers toward the group as they moved. Every snap of a twig and rustle of leaves set everyone on edge. The old woman's warning clung to the air, heavy and oppressive, like the first breath before a storm.
Katrina walked beside Jon, her spear clutched tightly in her hand. She hadn't spoken much since the encounter at the altar, and Jon could see the strain in her golden eyes. Dream trotted beside her, unusually quiet, while Ghost ranged ahead, his ears swiveling toward every sound.
Thane and the other Wildlings trailed behind, their muttered conversations barely audible. Despite their uneasy truce, Jon could feel their distrust simmering like an ember waiting to ignite.
"We should stop soon," Jon said quietly, glancing at Katrina. "The group needs rest."
Katrina shook her head, her voice firm. "If we stop, they'll catch up."
"They?" Jon asked, his dark eyes narrowing.
She hesitated, her gaze scanning the shadows around them. "The shadows. The dead. My father's reach is longer than you think."
Jon didn't argue. He knew she was right, but exhaustion was taking its toll on the group. Even Ghost seemed slower, his movements more cautious.
A distant howl pierced the silence, low and mournful. The group froze, their breath visible in the cold air. Ghost growled low in his throat, his hackles rising.
"That's not one of ours," Thane muttered, his grip tightening on his axe.
"Wolves?" one of the younger Wildlings asked, his voice trembling.
"Not wolves," Katrina said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Wights."
Jon's stomach clenched as he turned to face the group. "Form a perimeter. Keep the fire between you and them."
Thane sneered. "You think a fire's going to stop them?"
"It's better than nothing," Jon shot back, his voice cold. "Unless you have a better idea?"
Thane didn't respond, but he moved to the edge of the clearing, his axe ready. The others followed, their weapons drawn, forming a loose circle around the fire.
Jon turned to Katrina. "How close do you think they are?"
"Too close," she said, her golden eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the trees. "They're not just hunting us. They're driving us toward something."
"What?" Jon asked.
"I don't know," Katrina admitted, her voice tense. "But it's not good."
The howls grew louder, closer, joined by the sound of shuffling feet and guttural moans. The shadows between the trees shifted, and Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened.
"They're here," he said, his voice steady.
The first wight emerged from the darkness, its decayed form barely resembling the man it once was. Its hollow eyes glowed faintly, and its mouth twisted into a grotesque snarl. Behind it came more—ten, twenty, too many to count.
"Hold your ground!" Jon shouted, raising Longclaw.
The wights surged forward, their movements jerky but fast. Ghost leapt at the first one, his powerful jaws snapping its neck with a sickening crunch. Katrina thrust her spear with deadly precision, her strikes swift and unerring.
Jon moved with practiced ease, Longclaw flashing in the firelight as he cut down wight after wight. The Valyrian steel blade cleaved through bone and flesh as if slicing through air, but the sheer number of the dead was overwhelming.
"Fall back to the fire!" Jon called, his voice carrying over the chaos.
The group retreated, forming a tighter circle around the flames. Thane fought fiercely, his axe swinging in wide arcs that sent wights tumbling to the ground. The younger Wildlings held their own, though fear was evident in their eyes.
"They're not stopping!" one of them shouted, panic creeping into his voice.
"They never do," Katrina said grimly, her spear splintering as she drove it through a wight's chest. She cursed under her breath, pulling a dagger from her belt and continuing the fight.
Dream darted between the combatants, her small form surprisingly effective as she leapt onto a wight's face, clawing at its eyes. Ghost moved like a blur, his growls savage as he tore through the dead with feral intensity.
Jon's arms burned with the effort of swinging Longclaw, but he didn't falter. His dark eyes scanned the battlefield, searching for any sign of weakness in their enemy. The wights were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless.
"They're pushing us back!" Thane shouted, his voice strained.
Jon turned to Katrina, his mind racing. "We need to do something, or we're finished."
Katrina's gaze flicked to the fire, an idea forming in her mind. "The flames. We need to spread them."
"How?" Jon asked, cutting down another wight.
Katrina grabbed a burning log from the fire, her hands protected by the leather wraps on her palms. "Like this."
She hurled the log into the approaching wights, the flames catching on the dry leaves and branches at their feet. The fire spread quickly, creating a barrier between the group and their attackers.
"It's working!" one of the Wildlings shouted, relief evident in his voice.
But the reprieve was short-lived. From the shadows emerged something larger, more menacing—a shadowy figure that towered over the wights. Its form was indistinct, shifting like smoke, but its glowing eyes burned with malice.
Katrina's breath caught. "It's him."
Jon turned to her, his heart sinking. "Your father?"
She nodded, her voice barely audible. "Or what's left of him."
The figure raised an arm, and the fire began to flicker, its light dimming as if being consumed. The shadows grew darker, pressing closer.
"Katrina," Jon said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. "What do we do?"
Katrina's golden eyes met his, filled with both determination and despair. "We fight. And we don't stop."