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Jon's tone hardened, louder, a commander's order as he repeated once again.
"Now! Move!"
The rangers wasted no time. Boots pounded against frozen ground, snow crunched underfoot, and blades of dragonglass rattled as they turned and fled the ruin. Some muttered curses, some whispered prayers, but all of them obeyed. Jon lingered a heartbeat longer, glancing back despite himself.
Through the mist, beside the colossal shadow of the frozen beast, something walked. A figure. Tall. Cloaked in frost and dread. He did not see its face,only the glow. Cold, piercing, merciless. Two blue flames burning in a skull of ice.
Jon's heart slammed against his ribs. His breath caught. Longclaw trembled in his grasp though his hand refused to let go. He did not need to see more.
'That's gotta be him…' The thought struck sharp and undeniable. 'The Night King.'
And then another, bitter as ash in his throat. 'Does this mean Aeron is…?'
His jaw tightened. His legs finally obeyed. He turned and sprinted after his men, the snow swallowing his boots, his voice cutting sharp through the storm.
"Hurry! Back to the Wall! Do not look back!"
The rangers stumbled through the trees, eyes wide, panting, some near breaking under the terror that pressed close at their backs.
Jon risked one final glance. The figure had not moved to chase. Instead, the Night King stood in the ruin as if the world itself bent to him. His hand, pale, long-fingered, rimed with frost pressed against the dragon's frozen hide. The great beast loomed like a monument, terrible even in this state.
The ground shuddered. Snow leapt, stones split, and a low groan echoed through the forest as if the earth itself resented his touch. The Night King's eyes never left Jon.
Jon turned back, forcing himself not to falter. His cloak whipped behind him as he chased his men, his lungs burning. His voice, hoarse but unyielding, carried through the trees.
"Do not falter! Run, damn you! Run!"
And in his chest, unspoken, a fear far heavier than the winter air pressed down on him.
If the Night King had any control over Aeron's dragon… then what came next would be worse than any nightmare.
he had driven the rangers hard, pushing them through the snow, but a sound behind them froze their blood in their veins. It was not pursuit, not yet, but something vast was stirring. The earth itself trembled, snow sloughing off branches, ground cracking beneath their boots.
"Seven hells…" muttered a ranger, breath ragged, his eyes darting back though Jon had ordered them not to.
Jon half-turned to check it out. What he saw stole the remaining breath from his lungs.
The frozen carcass of the dragon loomed in the mist, a mountain of shadow and frost. But now, something new was happening. The air glowed with unnatural cold, frost racing outward in jagged veins across the ground. From the beast's withered hide, ice began to spread, slow at first, then violently, like crystal birthed in an instant.
Shards shot outward, merging, twisting, climbing. Wings took shape vast, jagged sails of pure ice, glittering. A tail whipped into being, formed not of flesh, but sculpted crystal. Its neck arched upward, a crown of frost carving the silhouette of a skull, jaws snapping as life or rather something far fouler filled it.
A dragon. The same shape. The same monstrous size. But wrought of ice and death. Its eyes blazed open blue, piercing, hateful and the forest itself seemed to shrink back.
The shadow-dragon remained frozen, unmoving, like a tomb. This one… this one lived.
One of the younger rangers stumbled, falling to his knees, eyes wide, mouth dry. "Gods be good… another one."
"No god made that," muttered another one, his voice as bleak as the sight. "That's a bloody fucking nightmare! And I've had horrible nightmares in my lifetime!"
Jon's lips parted, his chest rising and falling too fast, his breath smoking in the cold. His knuckles whitened on Longclaw's hilt never letting it go while he ran "The Night King…" he whispered.
As if summoned by the name, the figure moved. He stepped lightly onto the Ice dragon. The Night King climbed with slow, inexorable steps, until at last he stood up on the crown of the beast's skull. The ice dragon lowered itself, wings groaning like glaciers breaking apart. And with the ease of a man mounting a horse, he leapt and landed astride its neck.
The moment his pale hand touched the creature, its eyes flared brighter. Its chest heaved breathing though it should not breathe, and then it threw back its head.
The roar that tore from its maw was no roar of flesh and scale. It was a sound wrong to the world, an abomination given voice. A wail of wind and death, ice grinding upon ice, a scream that split the sky itself.
The rangers clutched their ears, grimacing. One cried out in terror. Another dropped his dragonglass dagger, hands trembling.
Jon's heart thrashed against his ribs. He forced his legs to move, shoving a ranger to his feet, voice hoarse and fierce.
"Run! Don't stop you idiots! Go!"
The roar carried far. Too far.
On the Wall, the black stones themselves seemed to hum with the sound. Atop the battlements, sentries froze, squinting into the endless snow. One turned to his brother beside him, face pale as the moon.
"Tell me you heard that. It came from the forest."
"I heard it, Jon took some rangers to find out what happened there..." the other whispered, clutching his spear tighter. "Gods save us all… what beast makes such a cry?"
Torches flickered in the sudden gale that swept down from the Haunted Forest. The men of the Night's Watch shifted uneasily, whispers spreading like wildfire along the wall-walk.
And still, in the distance, the echo of that wrongness rolled over the land. A dragon's roar but hollow, unnatural, soulless.
Jon ran harder than he ever had in his life, his cloak snapping behind him, his breath tearing his throat raw. He did not dare look back again. But in his mind's eye, he still saw it ice wings, blue eyes, and the Night King astride his mount.
A dragon of death had taken flight.
The men , stumbling through snow and broken branches, fear making their steps clumsy yet swift. One ranger muttered prayers between gasps, another cursed the cold, but none dared break formation. They had seen enough to know death were behind them.
Then suddenly
A hand landed on Jon's shoulder.
In the haze of panic, instinct ruled. Jon twisted with a snarl, his hand tightening around Longclaw. With a fluid motion, he wheeled about, the Valyrian steel flashing in the dim light as he brought it down in a savage strike at the figure behind him.
The blade never landed.
A gauntleted hand shot up, catching the flat of Longclaw's blade as though it were nothing more than steel from a common forge. Frosted breath misted between them as Jon's eyes widened.
"Calm yourself, Snow," came a low, steady voice.
Jon froze at the sound of it. His eyes, wild with battle-fury, met another pair, glowing, violet and calm despite everything.
The figure's grip on Longclaw loosened, and with a flick of his wrist, he released the blade. Jon's arm trembled.
"Aeron… I thought you..." he breathed, his voice caught filled with disbelief.
The Shadow Monarch stood before him, armored in black, his presence dark and commanding, yet strangely grounding. The rangers, scattered around, stared with widened eyes and shaking hands, none daring to move.
Aeron inclined his head faintly, a smirk ghosting across his lips. "Sorry for the mess," he said, almost too casually.
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