Chapter 98: The Last Transmission
The Winter's Titan had already departed.
Far beyond the western horizon, the floating city carried the envoys of White Harbor back toward Westeros.
The massive vessel followed its usual route around the continent, its enormous form disappearing slowly into the endless sea.
For the first time in weeks, Winter's Heaven felt peaceful.
Trains moved across their tracks.
Factories released streams of white steam into the cold sky.
Children filled schools and academies.
Workers expanded roads and districts.
Merchants crowded the markets.
Life continued.
Exactly as it should.
Jon stood near one of the great windows inside the Hall of Governance, watching the city below.
Snow drifted lazily from the sky.
The sight brought him satisfaction.
Not pride.
Satisfaction.
Everything below existed because countless people had worked together.
Builders.
Farmers.
Engineers.
Teachers.
Soldiers.
Giants.
Every stone.
Every road.
Every home.
Someone had built it.
That mattered to him.
Because one day he would be gone.
And Winter's Heaven would remain.
That had always been the goal.
A kingdom that could survive without him.
A civilization that did not depend on a single man.
The door opened suddenly.
A young officer hurried inside.
"My King."
Jon turned.
The officer looked uneasy.
"Communication Center requests your presence immediately."
The room instantly quieted.
Alex looked up from his reports.
Tom stopped arguing with an engineer.
Jon frowned slightly.
"Why?"
"Frost Station Seven has reported unusual activity."
That immediately drew everyone's attention.
Northern watch stations rarely interrupted the capital unless something important happened.
Jon set down his papers.
"Let's go."
________________________________________
The Communication Center was already active when they arrived.
Rows of operators sat before radio equipment.
Maps covered entire walls.
Colored markers tracked every watch station beyond the northern frontier.
The moment Jon entered, everyone stood.
"Report."
A senior communications officer pointed toward the northern map.
"Frost Station Seven."
A radio crackled.
Then a voice emerged.
"This is Frost Station Seven."
The voice belonged to Commander Harl.
Jon recognized it immediately.
A veteran.
Reliable.
Disciplined.
"What have you found?" Jon asked.
A brief pause followed.
Then:
"Movement detected."
The room remained calm.
Movement wasn't unusual.
Animals crossed patrol routes all the time.
Migrating herds.
Predators.
Strange creatures from the far north.
It happened.
Jon folded his arms.
"Numbers?"
The answer came slowly.
"Unknown."
Several operators exchanged glances.
That was unusual.
Very unusual.
Commander Harl continued.
"Visibility is poor. Heavy snowfall."
Then another radio activated.
Everyone turned.
Frost Station Nine.
"This is Frost Station Nine."
The commander's voice sounded tense.
"Movement detected."
Silence spread through the room.
Then another radio activated.
Frost Station Twelve.
"This is Frost Station Twelve."
A pause.
Then:
"Movement detected."
The room became completely still.
Three stations.
At once.
Separated by vast distances.
Reporting the same thing.
No one needed to explain why that was troubling.
________________________________________
Jon stepped closer to the northern map.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
Several minutes passed.
Then Frost Station Seven transmitted again.
This time Commander Harl's voice had changed.
The calm professionalism remained.
But something else was present beneath it.
Concern.
"My King."
Jon immediately stepped forward.
"Report."
"We have visual confirmation."
The room seemed to hold its breath.
"What do you see?"
Silence.
Then:
"Dead."
No one moved.
No one spoke.
The single word struck harder than any weapon.
Commander Harl continued.
"Thousands."
The communication center froze.
Thousands.
Not dozens.
Not hundreds.
Thousands.
Another transmission erupted.
Frost Station Nine.
"Undead confirmed."
Then Frost Station Twelve.
"Undead confirmed."
Every operator stared at the radios.
The dead had returned.
________________________________________
Nobody panicked.
Nobody shouted.
These were professionals.
But the atmosphere changed instantly.
The room became colder.
Heavier.
Every person present understood the meaning behind those reports.
The White Walkers.
The dead.
The ancient enemy.
Back.
________________________________________
Another transmission arrived.
Station Seven.
"We have visual on a White Walker."
For the first time, absolute silence filled the room.
Even Alex's expression darkened.
Then Station Nine reported.
"Three White Walkers confirmed."
A few operators inhaled sharply.
Then Station Twelve.
"Multiple White Walkers visible."
Jon's eyes narrowed.
His mind immediately began working.
Calculating.
Analyzing.
Three stations.
Multiple White Walkers.
Coordinated attacks.
The Night King was absent.
This wasn't invasion.
This was reconnaissance.
A test.
Someone was probing Winter's Heaven.
Measuring its strength.
________________________________________
The reports continued.
Enemy numbers increased rapidly.
Thousands became more.
The stations updated distances constantly.
The dead were advancing.
And advancing fast.
Then Commander Harl spoke again.
"Estimated contact in thirty minutes."
Another voice.
Station Nine.
"Twenty-eight minutes."
Then Station Twelve.
"Thirty-two minutes."
The room became suffocatingly quiet.
Everyone knew the truth.
There wasn't enough time.
The stations were too far apart.
Reinforcements couldn't reach them.
Not before contact.
The enemy had chosen their targets carefully.
Three stations.
Simultaneously.
No rescue possible.
________________________________________
Jon stepped forward.
He grabbed a microphone.
Immediately every station fell silent.
Waiting.
Listening.
The King himself was speaking.
"Frost Seven."
Commander Harl responded instantly.
"Seven here, my King."
Jon looked at the map.
Then made his decision.
"This is a direct royal order."
The room remained silent.
"Abandon your station."
Several operators looked up.
Jon continued.
"Retreat south immediately."
Silence followed.
Long.
Heavy.
Then Commander Harl finally answered.
"My King."
The veteran's voice was respectful.
Steady.
"We cannot do that."
The room froze.
Jon's expression hardened.
"That is an order."
Commander Harl laughed softly.
Not mockingly.
Not rebelliously.
Almost apologetically.
"We know, my King."
"Forgive us."
________________________________________
Then another voice joined.
Station Nine.
"My King."
"We will stay."
________________________________________
Then Station Twelve.
"We refuse."
The words carried absolute certainty.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Only conviction.
________________________________________
Jon closed his eyes briefly.
The room watched him.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
Then Commander Harl spoke again.
"You trained us for this."
Silence.
Another commander joined.
"You prepared us for this day."
Then another.
"You trusted us."
The words spread across the communication network.
Across every radio.
Across every station listening.
________________________________________
Commander Harl continued.
"You entrusted us with this station."
"You entrusted us with this responsibility."
His voice carried pride.
"We will defend it."
________________________________________
Station Nine responded immediately.
"If we retreat now..."
A pause.
"The dead move south sooner."
________________________________________
Station Twelve laughed.
A tired soldier's laugh.
"My King."
"We've been waiting for these bastards."
Several operators lowered their heads.
Some smiled despite themselves.
________________________________________
Another voice suddenly appeared.
Young.
Confident.
One of the station soldiers.
"My King."
Jon opened his eyes.
The soldier chuckled.
"If my mother asks..."
A pause.
Then:
"Tell her I wasn't scared."
Laughter erupted across all three stations.
Real laughter.
Genuine laughter.
Men joking as death approached.
The communication center became silent again.
Because no one inside could laugh.
________________________________________
Jon listened.
And pain settled heavily in his chest.
Because he could save them.
Every one of them.
He had the power.
The speed.
The ability.
He could arrive before the dead.
He could change everything.
He could save them.
But another thought followed.
The same thought that had guided him for years.
If every crisis requires me...
Then I have failed.
If every battle requires me...
Then this kingdom is not strong.
If Winter's Heaven survives only because of Jon Snow...
Then Winter's Heaven does not truly exist.
A kingdom must stand on its own.
Even when it hurts.
Especially when it hurts.
________________________________________
The radios crackled again.
Station Seven.
"Enemy sighted."
Immediately the room became still.
Station Nine.
"Enemy sighted."
Station Twelve.
"Enemy sighted."
Every eye fixed upon the radios.
Commander Harl spoke quietly.
"My King."
"We have visual."
Jon stepped closer.
"What do you see?"
A long pause followed.
Then:
"The storm is clearing."
Silence.
The commander's breathing could be heard through the radio.
Then his voice returned.
Quieter now.
Not afraid.
Simply stunned.
"Gods..."
The room froze.
"What do you see?" Jon asked again.
Another pause.
Then:
"There are so many."
Station Nine transmitted immediately.
"Dead ahead."
Station Twelve followed.
"Dead ahead."
Then Commander Harl spoke one final time.
And every person inside Winter's Heaven heard the words.
"The dead have arrived."
Beyond the walls of Frost Station Seven, the blizzard parted.
Thousands upon thousands of blue eyes emerged from the snow.
An endless sea of death.
Silent.
Waiting.
Watching.
And far behind them—
Upon a dead horse—
A White Walker sat motionless.
Observing the station.
Observing the men.
Observing Winter's Heaven.
The war had begun.
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Author's Note:
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