Chapter 4

“What?”

“What!”

Two voices spoke simultaneously—one filled with doubt, the other with shock.

Ser Waymar Royce glanced curiously at Aegor, who looked as though he had seen a ghost. “What did you see? Be precise. Don’t leave out any details.”

“The camp is two miles ahead, just over a small snowdrift, next to a stream,” Will reported. “The fire is out—only a pile of smoldering embers remains. The wildlings are scattered around, lying haphazardly. I counted eight, about the number we estimated before, but I didn’t see any children... None of them are moving, including one in a tree. I crept as close as I dared and observed for a long time. I didn’t see any blood, but no living person would lie that still.”

“No living person would let their fire die out,” Gary added. “The temperatures have dropped sharply these past few days. Maybe they weren’t prepared and froze to death?”

“Possibly,” Will agreed, shivering for effect. “Ser, what should we do now?”

“If you’re cold, put on more layers,” Royce snapped dismissively. “Nine days ago, when we set out, the Wall was still dripping. There’s been a bit of frost and some snow, but not enough to freeze an entire group of wildlings. They were wearing furs, sheltered from the wind, and they had a fire going. They shouldn’t have frozen.”

...

Listening to his three brothers debate, Aegor felt a coldness seep into his very bones. Why? His mind raced, cursing the entire Royce family tree. The scene Will described sent an unmistakable chill of recognition down his spine. This was the opening of the A Song of Ice and Fire saga—the moment Ser Waymar Royce led his men into the path of the Others. The only difference now was that Aegor was here too.

“They’re already dead,” Gary muttered uneasily. “We should turn back.”

“Dead men frighten you?” Royce turned back, a faint sneer curling his lips as he repeated the line Aegor dreaded.

“Dead men aren’t the problem,” Aegor said quickly, realizing he couldn’t stay silent any longer. This was life or death. If Royce led them to investigate the scene of the massacre, they would encounter the Others. And Aegor had no illusions—adding himself to the original three-man patrol didn’t change the odds against creatures that had nearly wiped out humanity thousands of years ago. “What I fear is whatever killed those wildlings.”

“Something that can kill wildlings doesn’t mean it can kill us,” Royce replied with confident arrogance, though his gaze betrayed a flicker of unease. He had never seen Aegor so vocal before. “Besides, are you certain they’re dead? Where’s the proof?”

“Will may not be a warrior, but he’s no liar,” Gary interjected. “If he says he saw it, I believe him. Our orders were to investigate wildling movements, and now we know—they won’t trouble us anymore.”

“And you think the Lord Commander won’t ask us how they died?” Royce interrupted sharply, his tone brooking no dissent. “Mount up. Take me to the site.”

Gary’s face darkened with frustration, but in the end, he said nothing. He turned and walked toward his horse.

“I’m not going.” Aegor couldn’t hold back any longer. This was the moment—life or death. “Call me a coward or a weakling, but I’m terrified. These past few days, I’ve had this overwhelming sense that something malicious is watching us from the shadows. Those wildlings must have been killed by it, and we’re no match for it.”

“I’ve felt it too,” Will stammered, emboldened by Aegor’s defiance.

Gary frowned, glancing between the two younger men. It was rare for Aegor, who was usually agreeable, to openly defy orders. “The sun is setting. We could wait until morning to investigate.”

“Afraid of the dark, are you?” Royce’s face twisted with disdain. He was used to Gary opposing him, but now even Aegor and Will were standing against him. Their insubordination only fueled his stubborn pride. “I’ve made my decision. Mount up. We’re going now—I won’t say it again.”

“No,” Aegor said, his voice trembling with desperation. He turned to Gary, hoping for support from the veteran ranger. Gary met his gaze for a long moment, then shook his head, signaling Aegor to back down. “I have a strong feeling that if we go, I’m not coming back alive.”

“I don’t believe in your feelings,” Royce sneered. “If you insist on staying behind, you’re free to desert. But you’ll surrender your weapons and horse first. If you think you can run back to the Wall on foot, I won’t stop you. Go on, run.”

Aegor locked eyes with Royce, who had his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. After a tense moment, Aegor gave in to reality.

Desertion would mean becoming a fugitive, with no refuge in Westeros. Even if he survived the wilderness and avoided wildlings or the Others, starvation, cold, or simply getting lost would kill him. Fighting was equally hopeless—Royce was younger, trained from childhood in swordsmanship, and far more experienced. Aegor had no choice.

He could only hope his meager preparations for survival would be enough.

“Mount up. You and Will will take the lead,” Royce ordered, visibly pleased with Aegor’s capitulation. “Don’t try anything foolish—I’ll be watching.”

...

The four mounted their horses and set out, with Will and Aegor at the front. Both men moved cautiously, the thin, fresh layer of snow concealing rocks, roots, and puddles that could trip their mounts. Aegor kept his fear tightly controlled, one hand on the reins while the other reached into his pack, clutching the obsidian dagger he had painstakingly crafted.

...

Obsidian—also called dragonglass, or “frozen fire” in Old Valyrian—was a naturally occurring volcanic glass. In Aegor’s original world, it held no special properties. But here, in this world of magic, he suspected it had unique qualities tied to some unknown energy, granting it its legendary ability to kill the Others.

The Others had been gone for millennia, and dragonglass, though known as a weapon against them, was now mostly considered a decorative gemstone. Its fragility and dark color made it less desirable than other stones, so it was neither rare nor expensive. But obtaining it wasn’t easy either.

Aegor had spent months arranging for a fellow recruit stationed at Eastwatch to purchase a piece from a merchant. It had cost him several months’ wages. The chunk of obsidian, initially the size of a man’s forearm, had taken weeks of painstaking effort to shape into a dagger. He had wrapped the hilt with cloth and carried it as a talisman ever since.

For months, he had lived frugally, enduring the mockery of his brothers. But if this dagger saved his life today, those hardships would have been worth it.

Death was inevitable, but Aegor refused to accept dying in an unnamed corner of this frozen wasteland, under a name given to him by peasants, at the hands of creatures most people didn’t even believe existed.

...