Chapter Three: Shadows Beneath the Snow
The gates of Winterfell loomed ahead, carved from ancient wood and iron, flanked by towering stone walls that had stood for centuries. Snow drifted lazily from the sky, blanketing the ground in silence. Renji Kurozawa, cloaked in a borrowed fur, walked with measured steps, his crimson eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his hood.
He had been summoned.
Word of his rescue of Benjen Stark had spread faster than wildfire. A stranger with glowing eyes and a blade made of blood — it was the kind of tale that stirred both awe and suspicion in the North. And now, Lord Eddard Stark himself wished to meet him.
Renji's boots crunched against the snow as he passed through the gate. Guards watched him warily, hands on hilts. He could feel their unease — the way their heartbeats quickened, the way their eyes lingered too long. His aura unsettled them. Not by intent, but by nature.
He was no longer human. And they sensed it.
The Great Hall
Winterfell's Great Hall was warm, lit by roaring hearths and lined with banners bearing the direwolf sigil. Renji stood before the high table, where Lord Eddard Stark sat with his wife, Lady Catelyn, and their children — Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Maester Luwin stood nearby, his chain glinting in the firelight.
Benjen, still pale but recovering, sat beside his brother.
Renji bowed low. "Lord Stark. I am honored."
Eddard studied him. His eyes were sharp, calculating. "You saved my brother's life. That earns you our thanks. But the North is wary of magic — and you, Renji Kurozawa, are not ordinary."
Renji straightened. "I don't claim to be. I was… reborn. In another world. I carry powers I didn't ask for, but I use them to protect."
A murmur rippled through the hall. Catelyn's eyes narrowed. Robb leaned forward, intrigued. Arya looked excited. Sansa looked afraid.
Maester Luwin stepped forward. "Reborn? Another world? These are tales fit for Old Nan."
Renji turned to him. "And yet, here I stand."
He extended his hand. A drop of blood formed at his fingertip, hovering in the air before hardening into a perfect ruby. Gasps echoed through the hall.
"I don't seek power," Renji said. "Only purpose."
A Test of Trust
Eddard rose. "Then let us test that purpose."
He gestured to a guard. "Bring Ser Rodrik."
Moments later, Ser Rodrik Cassel entered — grizzled, armored, and skeptical. "A duel?" he asked.
"A demonstration," Eddard replied. "Renji, show us your skill. No killing."
Renji nodded. "Understood."
They moved to the courtyard. Snow continued to fall, softening the edges of the world. A crowd gathered — guards, servants, even the Stark children. Arya bounced on her toes. Sansa clung to her mother.
Ser Rodrik drew his sword. Renji summoned his blood blade.
The duel began.
Rodrik was fast, experienced. His strikes were precise, his footwork flawless. But Renji was something else. He moved like mist, his blade shifting shape mid-swing. He parried with the flat of his weapon, dodged with supernatural grace, and countered with elegance.
In less than a minute, Rodrik's sword was on the ground, and Renji's blade hovered inches from his throat.
Rodrik raised his hands. "Yield."
The crowd erupted in whispers. Eddard nodded slowly. "You are skilled. And you held back. That speaks well of you."
The Invitation
That evening, Renji was offered guest rights — a place in Winterfell, food, shelter, and protection. He accepted with gratitude.
Over dinner, he sat beside Benjen, who leaned close. "You impressed them. But be careful. The North remembers. And it fears what it doesn't understand."
Renji nodded. "I understand fear. I lived in it once."
Robb joined them. "You fought like a ghost. Where did you learn?"
Renji smiled faintly. "Books. Observation. And pain."
Arya piped up. "Can you teach me?"
Catelyn frowned. "Arya…"
Renji looked at the girl — fierce, curious, unafraid. "Perhaps. If your parents allow."
Eddard watched silently. He was still weighing Renji — still unsure if he was a gift or a threat.
The Raven's Warning
Later that night, Renji stood on the battlements, watching the snow fall. His breath misted in the air, though he didn't feel the cold. His thoughts drifted to Shiranui — to Aiko, to the shrine, to the blood.
A raven landed beside him, black as midnight. It stared at him with unnatural intelligence.
Renji frowned. "You're not ordinary."
The raven cawed once, then dropped a scroll at his feet. Renji picked it up and read.
The blood remembers. The East stirs. You are not alone.
No signature. No seal.
Renji's eyes narrowed. The East — Essos. Magic was awakening. And someone knew of him.
He crushed the scroll in his hand. The game was deeper than he thought.
The Dream
That night, Renji dreamed.
He stood in a field of ash. The sky was red. Aiko stood before him, smiling, her eyes glowing gold.
"You're doing well," she said. "But be careful. The world you're in… it breaks heroes."
Renji reached for her, but she vanished.
He turned — and saw dragons in the sky. Wolves in the snow. Shadows rising from the ground.
And a throne made of swords, bleeding.
He awoke with a gasp.
End of Chapter Three
Renji's place in Westeros was no longer a question of survival — it was a question of influence. He had entered the game. And the pieces were already moving.