Time, in the dead silence of waiting, stretched infinitely.
The night at Castle Black was longer and colder than anywhere else.
Lynn leaned against the cold wall of the tower, still as a stone.
The cold had long since numbed his skin, but he didn't care in the slightest.
All his focus was on the window on the top floor, which emitted a faint yellow light.
He could imagine what the Old Bear, Mormont, looked like at this moment.
Perhaps he was sitting in front of the fireplace, with a glass of strong liquor, flipping through ancient scrolls about wildlings and Others.
He might still be finding his crazy suggestion from earlier in the day absurd, but the veteran's vigilance in his heart kept him from sleeping peacefully.
Lynn's mind raced.
He was not a bloodthirsty madman, nor a hothead just trying to prove himself.
Everything he did had a clear purpose.
Saving Mormont was not just to repay him for letting him leave, but for something more important.
longclaw.
That Valyrian steel sword.
In this world, about to be swept by Others, the value of a valyrian steel weapon was immeasurable.
It was not only a symbol of status but also the sharpest weapon against the darkness.
He knew longclaw was in Mormont's room.
It had been put away because of the defection of his disappointing son, Jorah Mormont.
Mormont would not give it to a disgraceful son again.
And he, a "prophet" who saved his life and proved the threat of the Others with facts, would be the most suitable and only person to take over this sword!
This game had begun the moment he suggested burning the bodies.
Mormont's refusal was within his expectations.
This was even better.
Only when Mormont personally experienced the horror of the wights and saw himself pulled back from the brink of death.
Only then would that gratitude, that trust, reach its peak!
By then, when he gave longclaw, it would seem natural and without any reluctance.
"Lynn?"
A suppressed voice came from below.
Lynn looked down and saw Jon Snow's young and confused face.
He was wrapped in a black cloak, and the Direwolf, Ghost, followed behind him, sneaking over quietly.
"Why are you here?"
Jon looked up at Lynn, who was clinging to the wall, and asked in a low voice.
"Everyone in the Castle is saying you've gone mad."
"Let them say what they want, go back to sleep, Jon."
Lynn's voice was completely calm.
"This is not where you should be."
"I can't sleep." Jon shook his head.
"Ghost has been very restless; it won't go inside."
The Direwolf in his arms let out low growls, its red eyes fixed on the top of the tower, full of hostility.
"Is something... really going to happen here?"
Jon's voice trembled slightly.
Lynn was silent for a moment.
"Jon, listen."
Lynn slid down the wall silently, landing steadily in front of Jon.
"Some things, it's best you don't see."
He looked at Jon's gray eyes, which were as stubborn as Ned Stark's, and sighed.
"Alright, since you're here."
Lynn pointed to the shadow at the stairwell.
"Stay there, with Harvy and the others."
"Remember, no matter what happens, don't be impulsive. Protect yourself first, and your sister, Arya."
"Arya?" Jon was startled.
"She definitely can't sleep either; she'll probably sneak over soon."
Lynn knew the little girl too well.
Jon's face showed a bitter smile, and he nodded.
He took Ghost and retreated into the shadows where Harvy's squad was.
Lynn refocused his gaze on the top of the tower.
Time passed by minute by minute.
At the other end of the Castle, in Maester Aemon's room.
The centenarian Maester sat alone in the darkness.
His blind eyes were fixed on the body covered with a black cloth in the center of the room.
He couldn't see anything, but he could "hear."
He could hear the wind, the sound of burning firewood, and the footsteps of Night's Watch patrols in the distance.
He could also hear other sounds.
Some... sounds that didn't belong to this world.
It was an extremely subtle sound, like ice crystals shattering from deep within bones.
"Crack... crunch..."
Maester Aemon's body leaned slightly forward, his wrinkled face devoid of any expression.
He recalled Lynn's words from earlier in the day.
"Burn them."
He remembered the ancient records of the House Targaryen about the Long Night and the Others.
His entire life had been spent with books and knowledge.
He believed in logic, in reason.
But he also knew that in this world, there were too many things that could not be explained by logic and reason.
Like dragons.
Like... the Others.
Outside the door, Toren and his thirty Northern soldiers had surrounded the entire infirmary, making it impenetrable.
They held their swords, and in their hands were torches, already prepared.
Every man was like a fully drawn bow, tense to the extreme.
Meanwhile, in the Lord Commander's room.
Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, finally felt a touch of weariness.
He was no longer young.
The farce of the day, Lynn's almost mad suggestion, and the two eerie bodies had kept his nerves taut all day.
He poured the last sip of liquor from his cup down his throat.
The spicy liquid, like a ball of fire, burned from his throat all the way to his stomach, dispelling some of the cold that lingered in his bones.
He stood up and walked to the long table in the center of the room, which was temporarily serving as a mortuary slab.
On the table, Othor's body lay quietly, covered by a rough black Night's Watch cloak.
"Ah..."
Mormont sighed, extending his calloused hand, and lifted a corner of the cloak.
Othor's face, illuminated by the fireplace's firelight, was an unnervingly pale blue-white.
The expression on his face was peaceful, as if he were merely asleep.
But his unclosed eyes were an eerie, inhuman blue.
"Madness, is it?"
Mormont shook his head, muttering to himself.
He still couldn't believe Lynn's warnings, which sounded like a fairy tale.
The raven on his shoulder suddenly flapped its wings uneasily, letting out a hoarse cry.
"Quiet, fellow."
Mormont patted its head.
He took off his outer garment, preparing to go to bed.
His taut nerves were starting to take a toll on the Old Bear.
He lay in bed and blew out the candle by the bedside.
Instantly, the room plunged into darkness.
Only the faint firelight in the fireplace still flickered tirelessly, illuminating the large map of the North on the wall, making it alternately bright and dim.
All was silent.
Suddenly.
"Crunch."
A slight sound, like bones twisting, echoed in the quiet room.
Mormont's eyes snapped open.
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