Chapter 110: A Message to the Dead
The battlefield burned.
Miles of forest remained engulfed in flames.
The firestorm stretched across the frozen wilderness.
Entire sections of the ancient ice fields had vanished beneath burning trees.
The snow had melted.
The ground itself seemed to glow red beneath the inferno.
The screams of the dead echoed endlessly.
Thousands still burned.
Thousands still died.
Yet the great army that had once marched confidently through the frozen north no longer existed.
It had become a graveyard.
A graveyard of fire.
A graveyard of ash.
And above it all stood Jon Snow.
The King of Winter's Heaven.
The man responsible for the destruction.
The man responsible for the slaughter.
The man responsible for the fear now spreading through the surviving White Walkers.
Far below him, the last two generals remained trapped.
Massive roots wrapped around their bodies.
Gigantic vines coiled around their limbs.
Ancient trees held them in place like prisoners awaiting judgment.
The White Walkers struggled.
Ice spread from their bodies.
The surrounding wood froze.
Cracked.
Shattered.
Then more roots replaced it.
Then more.
Then more.
No matter how much they resisted, the bindings only tightened.
The forest itself seemed determined to keep them imprisoned.
For the first time in centuries...
The White Walkers could not move.
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Across the battlefield, the destruction of two generals continued showing its effects.
Thousands of corpses suddenly collapsed.
Bodies dropped into the snow.
Motionless.
Dead once more.
The destruction of their masters had severed countless connections.
Yet not all of them.
Roughly four thousand wights still remained.
Some burned.
Some wandered.
Some continued charging mindlessly.
The remnants of a once terrifying army.
Jon barely looked at them.
His attention remained fixed upon the prisoners.
________________________________________
Slowly.
Calmly.
He descended from the sky.
His boots touched the frozen earth.
The flames behind him illuminated the battlefield.
The heat of the inferno rolled across the land.
The White Walkers stared.
Those glowing blue eyes never left him.
Watching.
Studying.
Waiting.
Jon stared back.
For several moments neither side moved.
The only sound was the roar of the burning forest.
Then Jon spoke.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"I know you're watching."
The White Walkers remained silent.
Their expressions never changed.
Yet Jon continued.
"I know you can see me."
His gaze remained fixed upon them.
"After all..."
A cold smile appeared.
"You created them."
The flames crackled behind him.
"What they see, you see."
The smile disappeared.
"What they feel, you feel."
The wind howled through the battlefield.
Jon took another step forward.
His eyes hardened.
"You dared attack my kingdom."
The temperature around him seemed to drop.
The anger buried within his heart surfaced once more.
Cold.
Focused.
Absolute.
"You dared spill the blood of my people."
The White Walkers continued staring.
The Night King continued watching.
Neither responded.
Neither could.
Yet Jon knew.
The Night King was listening.
Every word.
Every movement.
Every breath.
________________________________________
Jon slowly turned away.
His gaze shifted toward the remaining four thousand dead.
The survivors of the slaughter.
The remnants of an army.
Tiny compared to what had existed only an hour ago.
Yet still moving.
Still serving.
Still obeying.
Jon stared at them.
Then raised one hand.
The White Walkers watched.
The Night King watched.
The burning battlefield watched.
Then reality trembled.
A massive magic circle appeared before Jon.
The air exploded.
Space distorted.
The frozen landscape shook violently.
The remaining wights stopped moving.
The White Walkers froze.
Something was coming.
Something enormous.
Something terrifying.
Then—
BOOM!
The world erupted.
An explosion shook the battlefield.
The air itself seemed to shatter.
The earth cracked.
The burning forest bent beneath an unimaginable pressure.
The sky darkened.
The White Walkers stared upward.
For the first time...
True fear appeared within their glowing blue eyes.
A shadow emerged.
Then another.
Then another.
Three enormous necks rose into the sky.
Each one larger than castle towers.
Golden scales reflected the light of the burning forest.
Lightning danced across massive wings.
The creature continued emerging.
Higher.
Higher.
Higher.
Until its full form became visible.
The battlefield became silent.
Even the dead seemed frozen.
King Ghidorah.
The Three-Headed Dragon King.
A monster from another world.
A creature that did not belong in Westeros.
A creature that did not belong anywhere.
Its enormous body towered over the battlefield.
One hundred and seventy-five meters tall.
Its wings slowly unfolded.
And unfolded.
And unfolded.
Until they stretched across the sky itself.
Nearly four hundred meters from tip to tip.
The heavens vanished beneath its shadow.
The burning battlefield disappeared beneath its shadow.
The White Walkers disappeared beneath its shadow.
Everything seemed insignificant beside it.
The three heads slowly lowered.
Golden eyes opened.
Ancient.
Intelligent.
Terrifying.
The left head looked toward the burning forest.
The right head looked toward the dead.
The center head looked directly at the captured White Walkers.
The two generals froze completely.
Every instinct screamed danger.
Not from Jon.
From the creature.
This thing was wrong.
Everything about it was wrong.
Its presence alone felt unnatural.
Like a force of destruction given life.
Like a living catastrophe.
________________________________________
King Ghidorah spread its wings.
The resulting shockwave flattened burning trees for hundreds of meters.
Snow vanished.
Ash scattered.
The remaining four thousand dead stumbled.
Many were thrown from their feet.
The monster hadn't even attacked.
It had simply moved.
________________________________________
Jon stood calmly before it.
Tiny compared to the dragon king.
Yet completely unafraid.
The center head lowered beside him.
Watching.
Waiting.
Listening.
Like a loyal companion awaiting orders.
The White Walkers stared.
The Night King stared through their eyes.
Neither could comprehend what they were seeing.
A creature larger than dragons.
Larger than giants.
Larger than anything that should exist.
And it obeyed Jon Snow.
________________________________________
Jon looked back toward the trapped generals.
His voice carried across the battlefield.
"You attacked Winter's Heaven."
The flames roared behind him.
"You killed my people."
Lightning crackled across Ghidorah's body.
The sky darkened further.
Then Jon's eyes locked onto theirs.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
Filled with a fury that had not diminished since the memorial.
"You wanted to see my power."
The three heads of Ghidorah slowly rose.
Golden lightning began gathering around them.
The battlefield trembled.
The surviving dead hesitated.
For the first time in their existence...
The White Walkers wished they could flee.
Jon's voice became little more than a whisper.
A whisper the Night King would hear perfectly.
"Then watch carefully."
End Chapter 110
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