The other two Ice Dragons followed close behind.
Just as the golden dragon Lo Quen was about to beat his wings in pursuit, countless wights and Others surged upward like a tide. They hurled weapons wildly, some even piling atop one another, trying to climb into the air to interfere with him and block his advance.
Lo Quen let out a furious roar and blasted a torrent of searing Dragonfire downward, reducing great swathes of the undead to ash.
Blooddancer and Ashshadow followed suit, pouring out Dragonfire of their own and clearing away any enemies that dared draw near.
At that moment, Daenerys, who had been holding another fortress, arrived riding Greysmoke. Watching the undead host retreat like a receding tide, she exclaimed in surprise, "Your Grace, why are they all running?"
The golden dragon Lo Quen kept his eyes fixed on the direction where the Night Queen had vanished, his voice low and resonant. "This isn't a simple withdrawal. I suspect she's rushing to K'Dath. She must have sensed something. If my intuition is right, Jon Snow has probably already reached that place."
Only there, and only Jon Snow, were important enough to draw the attention of the servant of the Cold God.
"K'Dath?" Daenerys froze for a moment. "Should we chase after her?"
"We have to!"
Lo Quen answered without hesitation. "Dany, notify the others at once. Then join Luo Wen and assemble the main force. March for K'Dath immediately. I'll go on ahead. I need to find out what she's planning, and I won't let her succeed."
Worry spread across Daenerys's face. "That's far too dangerous. You'll be alone…"
Lo Quen replied with calm confidence. "Don't worry. She and those few Ice Dragons can't hurt me. If she hadn't fled so quickly, and if the undead horde hadn't interfered, I would have kept her here already. Those Ice Dragons are nothing without her magic healing them. They're no match for my [Explosive Dragonfire Projectile]."
Seeing the unshakable resolve and absolute confidence in Lo Quen's eyes, Daenerys knew she couldn't change his mind. She could only nod, full of concern. "Then you must be careful."
"I will."
With that, Lo Quen released a roar that shook the heavens. He beat his massive wings, continuously spewing Dragonfire to burn away the undead trying to block his path, and tore through the blizzard in pursuit of the Night Queen's escape route.
...
The breath of winter froze every inch of land beyond the Wall, and it froze the last trace of hope in Jon Snow's heart.
After bringing an end to House Bolton's rule in the North, he followed Thoros and the few remaining members of the Brotherhood Without Banners as they struggled through the frozen wilderness beyond the Wall.
In the depths of the Haunted Forest, they finally ran headlong into a White Walker knight.
The battle was short and savage.
Blades of ice tore through the Brotherhood's leather and flesh with ease. Hot blood splashed onto the snow and froze instantly into crimson crystals.
Under the Brotherhood Without Banners' cover, Jon escaped with sheer, desperate ferocity.
During their flight, Thoros saw the bane of the Others through a vision in the flames: Dragonglass.
As if favored by the gods themselves, they miraculously dug up a sizeable cache of Dragonglass from beneath the snow.
In a later ambush, Jon drove the Dragonglass in his hand straight into the White Walker knight's chest.
The Other shattered, collapsing into a scatter of icy fragments.
What surprised Jon and Thoros, however, was that the Other had not been wielding an ice weapon, but a longsword with a dull, dark sheen, as though taken from elsewhere.
Thoros recognized it at once. It was Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel sword of House Targaryen.
Jon gripped the cold hilt, feeling its lightness and deadly sharpness. There was no joy in his heart, only a heavy weight of responsibility.
He was Rhaegar's son, with dragonblood in his veins, and now, by chance, Dark Sister had fallen into his hands.
It felt as though fate itself was pushing him toward something he could not yet see.
Carrying the legendary blade, they continued their struggle through ice and snow until they finally reached Hardhome.
In this place Jon could never forget, they were attacked by wights once more.
As Jon swung Dark Sister, cutting down one walking corpse after another,
a figure that haunted his dreams appeared beside a collapsed palisade.
Ygritte.
She still wore that tattered fur, but now the blue in her eyes stood out with piercing clarity against the pale snow.
She had become an Other.
In that instant, Jon's heart nearly stopped.
Time seemed to flow backward, carrying him once more to that warm cave, to the memory of her skin's warmth.
"Ygrit…"
His voice caught, and for a moment he nearly lowered his sword and rushed toward her.
But in the next instant, he saw her eyes again.
Those eyes that had once burned with wild vitality were now nothing but hollow, ghostly blue voids.
She looked at him with no joy at reunion, no trace of love, only hatred for the living and a pure urge to kill.
Jon's heart plunged into an icy abyss as he watched his former lover throw herself at him.
Her movements were still swift and vicious. Jon was forced to raise his sword to block, Dark Sister crashing against her dagger with a shrill, grating screech.
"Ygritte, it's me. Jon Snow!"
He shouted desperately, trying to reach whatever fragment of awareness might still remain within her.
His answer was an even more frenzied assault.
At the same time, on the other side, Thoros was surrounded by more wights as he tried to cover Jon's retreat.
The devout red priest fell at last, dying amid the interwoven blaze of fire and frost.
The loss of his companion, and Ygritte's complete transformation, ignited the pain and fury in Jon's heart.
Ygritte seemed to realize she couldn't finish him easily. She suddenly turned and fled, racing across the vast snowfields beyond Hardhome at astonishing speed.
Jon chased after her without hesitation.
Ghost stayed tight at his side.
A long pursuit began.
They crossed the Land of Always Winter, buried beneath eternal ice and snow.
Ygritte's figure flickered in and out of the blizzard. She seemed intimately familiar with the terrain, always choosing the most treacherous and concealed paths.
Jon managed to keep up only thanks to Ghost's extraordinary sense of smell and his ability to track through the snow.
After a long, indeterminate stretch of time, they seemed to leave the snowfields behind and plunge into a dim, shadowed forest.
Towering ancient trees twisted overhead, their branches heavy with icicles.
Light struggled to pierce the thick canopy, leaving the forest shrouded in gloom, with only the snow reflecting faint glimmers of light.
Ygritte's figure darted through the darkness.
More than once, Jon nearly lost her trail, only for Ghost to guide him back on course.
No one knew how long they wandered through that suffocating forest. When they finally emerged from the darkness, the sight before Jon made him suck in a sharp breath.
They stood on a vast, boundless Grey Waste. The sky was a dull, oppressive leaden gray, and snow fell soundlessly.
They continued onward across the Grey Waste for a long time.
Then Jon saw a massive ruin.
A city, or rather, the remains of one.
Every structure was built from dull, lightless black stone, ancient and grotesque in style, full of sharp edges and twisted lines.
Yet the most nauseating sight wasn't the buildings themselves, but what covered every slab of black stone.
Thick pools of dark crimson blood.
Vast amounts of fresh blood soaked every wall, every stone pillar, every flight of steps.
Snowflakes drifting down onto the surface melted instantly into the sticky gore, thinning into bloodwater that crept and flowed along the stone. The already crimson-black surfaces took on a slick, dark red sheen, as though a mass sacrifice slaughtering tens of thousands had only just ended.
Ygritte's figure vanished in an eerie fashion the moment she entered this blood-drenched ruin.
Jon tightened his grip on Dark Sister. The cold of the hilt helped keep his mind sharp.
Ghost crouched uneasily at his feet, white fur standing on end. A low, warning growl rumbled from his throat as his wolf eyes swept over the surrounding black stone buildings dripping with blood.
"Ygritte…"
Jon called softly, his voice frail within the deathly silence of the blood-red city.
He stepped forward with care, boots sinking into the mud where blood and snow had mixed, making wet, sucking sounds.
He moved through narrow streets, his eyes scanning every possible hiding place, every window yawning like a black hole.
Aside from his own breathing, Ghost's low panting, and the steady drip of blood, there was nothing but silence.
Ygritte seemed to have vanished completely, as if she had merged with the blood-soaked city itself.
A chill unlike anything he had ever felt crept up Jon's spine and settled at the back of his neck.
...
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