The storm did not relent.
Snow poured from the heavens in ceaseless torrents, burying canyons, filling valleys, leveling jagged peaks into a suffocating white prison. Within moments, the battlefield had become a single vast snowfield, flat and crushing, like the hand of a god pressing down.
At its heart, the Night King stood unbowed. His armor was shattered, his cloak burned away, but his will was absolute. He drew the long ice sword from his back and drove it into the snow.
A shudder rippled outward. The loose powder hardened instantly, freezing into solid ice. The white sea was no longer soft—it was a tomb.
Rayder struggled, head barely poking above the snow. His lungs burned with every breath. Panic stabbed through him. If he locks us in this field, it's over.
Through the bond he felt the dragons straining, wings pinned, mouths clogged, bodies pressed down by the weight of a mountain. Flames sputtered from their jaws only to be smothered by fresh layers of ice. It was endless, a trap with no bottom.
Then—light.
A golden bolt split the snow, shattering the ice above Rayder. Kidora's head burst through, roaring, lightning still crackling in its teeth.
Air rushed into Rayder's lungs. He gasped, dragging himself free. "Good—buy me time."
Sword in hand, he charged.
The Night King saw him coming but did not falter. His grip tightened on the ice blade, his other hand snapping out to catch Rayder's swing barehanded. Steel met frost. For an instant they locked—but Rayder's strength was greater. The clash hurled the Night King backward, gouging a trench in the ice.
Rayder exhaled hard. Not dead. But not invincible either.
The Night King rose. His left palm dripped cold ichor where the steel had bitten. It was the first wound he had taken in an age, and his burning eyes promised vengeance.
He wrenched his sword free and struck.
Steel met ice. The clash screamed like thunder. Rayder's blade snapped, shorn clean in half. The ice sword swept for his chest, but Rayder twisted aside, hurling the broken fragment into the Night King's face. The creature flinched, jerking back, and Rayder lunged.
Another blade flashed into his hand, drawn from his system space. He attacked again and again, muscles burning, forcing the Night King back with sheer ferocity. Yet each strike barely marked him, as though Rayder were hammering stone. The blows staggered, but they did not kill.
Not enough. Ordinary steel is nothing against him.
Frustration flared into resolve. Rayder reached deep, into the spark he had touched during his training. He willed his energy into the blade.
The greatsword blazed red. A glow spread along its length, pure and sharp, humming with the promise of ruin.
Rayder's eyes widened. "So it works."
The Night King's gaze narrowed, cold fury turning to caution.
Rayder did not wait. With both hands he swung, the blade screaming through the air. Magic flared like fire, colliding with the ice sword. The ancient weapon shuddered, deflected, and the red edge carved into the Night King's chest.
The scream that followed shook the mountains.
For the first time in thousands of years, the Night King cried out. The enchanted strike melted his flesh where it struck, leaving blackened wounds that smoked in the cold.
Rayder pressed harder. One strike. Then another. Sparks of fire against shards of frost. The Night King staggered beneath the assault, his strength faltering.
Then, with a final heave, Rayder cleaved through his right arm. The ice sword tumbled into the snow.
The Night King reeled, clutching the stump. Fear flickered across his face—fear he had not known since the day of his making. He had believed himself eternal, deathless. Now, death's shadow loomed once more.
For an instant, Rayder saw it—the end. He could finish this.
But the Night King chose otherwise. With a blast of cold he hurled himself back, his command rolling through the horde. White Walkers surged forward, wights shrieking, bodies flinging themselves between hunter and hunted.
Through the blizzard of corpses, the Night King's figure faded into the storm, broken and fleeing.
Rayder lowered his blade, chest heaving. The legendary terror of the North—running.
A bitter laugh tore from his throat. "So much for eternal."
But triumph was fleeting. The tide of the dead pressed in from all sides, endless, relentless. The Night King was gone, but his army remained.
Rayder raised his glowing sword once more. The dragons roared beneath the snow, golden light flickering as Kidora broke free.
The battle was not done.
Not yet.
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Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)