Chương 1: The Blood of the wolf
Jon Snow stood on the windswept battlements of Castle Black, his eyes scanning the distant white plains of the North. The cold gnawed at his bones, but he barely felt it anymore. He had learned to embrace the chill, to let it wash over him as one would a wave in the sea. But today, the cold felt different—heavier, more suffocating. A darkness lingered at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him under.
Then came the raven.
The bird fluttered toward him, black wings against a grey sky, its presence a shadow of ill omen. When it landed on the stone beside him, Jon stared at it, unmoving. He didn't want to take the message tied to its leg. He knew, in his bones, that whatever it carried would change everything.
Slowly, reluctantly, Jon reached out. The parchment was rough, smudged with dirt and blood, the ink smeared but unmistakable: the direwolf seal of House Stark. His hand trembled as he unrolled the note, feeling a strange cold take hold of his heart.
"Robb Stark is dead. The Young Wolf has fallen. Winterfell is lost."
The words sliced through him like a blade of Valyrian steel. Robb. Dead. His brother—his king. Jon's breath hitched as he read the short message again, willing the words to rearrange themselves, for this to be some cruel joke played by the gods. But they didn't change. They remained as cold and final as the grave. His chest tightened with a pain that felt too large for him to hold.
He remembered Robb as a boy—fierce, proud, always charging ahead as if nothing could stop him. Jon had admired that in him, even envied it. Though they hadn't been as close as brothers should be, Robb was still his brother. His family. And now that connection was severed forever, just as it had been with his father, and his uncle Benjen.
"Robb Stark is dead," Jon whispered, his breath fogging in the cold air.
He didn't notice Maester Aemon approach until the old man was beside him, his clouded eyes staring into the distance. The ancient maester had a way of knowing things—things he shouldn't have been able to sense. "You have received troubling news," Aemon said softly.
Jon swallowed, unable to find the words. It felt too enormous to say aloud. Instead, he simply nodded.
"Your brother," Aemon continued, sensing Jon's silence. "What will you do now?"
That question. Jon felt it like a hammer blow. What would he do? The vows he'd taken chained him to the Night's Watch—I am the sword in the darkness. The shield that guards the realms of men. Those words had once brought him a strange sense of purpose, but now they felt hollow, meaningless. How could he stay here, a sworn brother, while his family was butchered in the south?
"I don't know," Jon muttered, feeling his throat tighten. "I—he was my brother."
Maester Aemon nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Brothers fall in times of war, Jon Snow. It is a truth you cannot escape. But what comes after? That is where the true challenge lies."
Jon stared at the parchment again, the words burning in his mind. Robb had fought for honor, for loyalty, for the North—and it had gotten him betrayal and death. What was the point of oaths, of duty, when they led only to the ruin of those you loved?
"I should be with them," Jon whispered, more to himself than to Aemon. "I should be avenging them."
Aemon turned his head toward Jon, his blind eyes filled with the weight of long-kept secrets. "The time will come when you must choose between love and duty. And when it does, remember this: love can blind a man, but so can duty."
The old man's words hung in the air like a warning, but Jon could barely hear them. His mind was spinning with the storm of grief and rage building within him. Robb was dead. Winterfell was lost. The Starks had been torn apart one by one, and now Jon was the only one left with the blood of the wolf in him, north of the Wall. The thought burned in his chest.
His fists clenched at his sides. Robb was dead, but Jon was not. He still had breath in his lungs, a sword in his hand, and Stark blood in his veins. And he was tired of doing nothing while his family was slaughtered.
Suddenly, Jon knew what he had to do.
He turned sharply, heading down from the battlements and into the winding halls of Castle Black. His brothers of the Night's Watch watched him pass with curious eyes, but Jon moved with purpose, ignoring their stares. His heart pounded in his chest as he descended toward the armory.
The sound of hammers striking steel rang out in the dim, smoky space, where blacksmiths worked on mending the weapons of the Watch. Jon found his target—his long sword, propped against a rack of blades. He grasped the hilt, feeling the cold, familiar weight of it in his hand. Ghost, who had followed silently at his heels, growled low as if sensing the turmoil in Jon's heart.
Eddison Tollett, his closest friend in the Watch, approached him cautiously. "Jon, where are you going? You look like a man ready for war."
Jon didn't answer immediately, staring down at his sword as if it could tell him what to do. But deep down, he knew. His mind was already made up. He sheathed the blade and turned to Edd.
"Robb's dead, Edd. My brother's been killed. Winterfell is gone."
Edd's face paled, though he nodded grimly. "I'm sorry, Jon. I truly am. But… what can you do about it? You've taken your vows. Your place is here."
"Vows," Jon repeated, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. "What good are vows if they only keep me from my family? From doing what's right?"
"You swore your life to the Wall," Edd said quietly, his voice heavy with concern. "There's no going back. You know that."
Jon looked at his friend, then at the stone walls around him, the Watch's home—the prison he'd willingly embraced. He'd chosen to be here, thinking it was his only path, but now he felt suffocated by it. The black cloak on his back felt like a shroud, heavy and oppressive.
"My brother died for our family," Jon said, his voice hard. "For the North. For everything we're supposed to stand for. I won't stay here while they destroy everything I have left. I won't let them."
Edd didn't argue further. He simply watched as Jon strapped his sword to his side and turned to leave. "And what about your brothers here?" he called after him. "What about your duty?"
Jon paused at the doorway. "I am my father's son, Edd. My duty is to the blood of the wolf."
With those final words, Jon walked out into the biting wind, Ghost at his side. His heart pounded with the weight of his decision, but there was no turning back now. He would leave the Wall. He would avenge Robb. And if that meant war with the West, so be it.
Jon Snow had chosen his path. The blood of the wolf demanded it.
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