Chapter 412

The daylight in the far northern reaches of the Seven Kingdoms was always fleeting. By roughly three or four in the afternoon, the sky would already darken, and along the easternmost stretch of the Wall, near the Night’s Watch port of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, the edge of the haunted forest grew even gloomier. The thick trees and dense foliage muted what little light remained, leaving the ground shrouded in a dim haze. The faint glow filtering through twisted and gnarled branches painted eerie, claw-like shadows that swayed in the cold wind, their creaks and whistles evoking the cries of restless phantoms. The result was a setting more terrifying than the complete darkness of midnight.

Amid this haunted woodland, a mound of snow suddenly burst open, and a desiccated figure clawed its way to the surface, breaking through the icy crust. It—or rather, they—were not alone. Within moments, another emerged, then a third… and a tenth… until dozens upon dozens followed, clawing their way out of the ground.

For months, the undead army had lain dormant beneath the snow, conserving magical energy and evading human patrols. But now, with the faint ripple of an arcane signal sweeping through the air, the wights awakened from their standby state. Like mushrooms sprouting after a warm rain, they emerged en masse, shaking off snow and icicles, staggering to their feet. One by one, wights, dead wolves, and even undead bears began to assemble. The lifeless creatures, once scattered, coalesced into packs, the packs formed clusters, and the clusters joined into a tide—a relentless sea of death that surged forward in a slow but inexorable march toward the eastern coastline, just beyond the sightlines of the Wall’s sentinels.

On the coast, standing atop a massive boulder, were two White Walkers—the "Commander of the Eastern Front" and the "Deputy Commander." They had arrived moments earlier, watching silently as the undead masses converged, waiting for the opportune moment.

The peak of the cold’s magical concentration had yet to arrive. The temperature had not yet reached its lowest point, and even the waters of the Bay of Seals remained unfrozen. By their calculations, the best time for an assault was still at least half a month away. But if the higher power, the enigmatic and supreme force they served, had issued the command, then there must be a reason.

As the most faithful servants of this being, the White Walkers did not question orders—they executed them.

Now, the wights from all directions gathered at the shore, awaiting a miracle from their mysterious master—something to create a path across the waters of the Bay of Seals, bypassing the Wall.

The ocean was vast and deep, holding an incomprehensible amount of water. Freezing it was, under normal circumstances, an impossible feat. Even lowering the bay’s temperature by a single degree required energy far beyond what even the "mysterious presence" could muster.

But the waters had already dropped below freezing, lingering in a state of supercooling. Currents, waves, tides, and the Night’s Watch’s constant efforts to break up ice formations were all that kept the bay from fully freezing. A little external force—one final push—was all that was needed to tip the balance. While this method was far less efficient than waiting for the natural freeze to complete before launching their attack, the benefits of acting earlier outweighed the costs.

The two White Walkers, their bodies coated in an ever-thickening layer of frost from the damp, icy air, occasionally shifted to shake off the accumulating "ice armor" that threatened to encase them. But their vigil would not last indefinitely. As twilight deepened into night, the final wights stumbled into place, joining the swelling tide of the undead. The two leaders turned their gaze northward, toward the direction of the Land of Always Winter.

From that sacred and eternal homeland, distant rumbling sounds began to echo. A massive surge of energy had gathered and was now racing toward the Wall—more specifically, toward the waters of the Bay of Seals.
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Five Night’s Watch ships, patrolling the bay’s waters, remained blissfully unaware of the impending magical onslaught. The crews worked diligently, their lanterns cutting through the darkness as they battled the encroaching ice.

Though the White Walkers had yet to attack, the ice-breaking crews of Eastwatch were already at the forefront of humanity’s struggle against the forces of winter. Each night, the ice near the shore thickened faster than before, often forming layers a foot thick overnight. Any lapse in their efforts would allow the ice to creep further out, eventually sealing off the bay completely.

The crews worked tirelessly, scattering coal dust along the shoreline and over the shallow waters. By dawn, the dark coal absorbed sunlight, weakening and breaking apart the shorebound ice. The remaining fragments were hauled away by ships, the larger pieces dragged off with ropes and chains, and the smaller ones collected in nets and transported to a natural harbor a few miles south. There, the ice was deposited to prevent it from drifting back.

It was grueling labor, but the men approached it with fervor, spurred on by the leadership of Cotter Pyke. Understanding the harsh conditions, Pyke ensured the ice-breaking crew received the highest pay within the Night’s Watch and rotated shifts daily. The work was so lucrative that some men even bribed their way onto the crew.

Yet one man remained bitter despite his cushioned position: Yohn Royce, once Lord of Runestone and now commander of the ice-breaking team. Though he wasn’t required to perform the manual labor himself, he was excluded from shift rotations, forced to oversee operations every single day. Cotter Pyke, once his ally, had turned cold and distant after Aegor’s rise to power, refusing to discuss plans to undermine the new Lord Commander and assigning guards to monitor Royce’s every move.

Despite his resentment, Royce stood at the prow of the Mermaid, overseeing the night’s work. The men were nearly finished—one more haul and they could return to Eastwatch, turning the ship over to the night patrol.

But as the men shouted and worked to clear the final ice floes, their voices faltered. One by one, they fell silent, gazing northward. Royce turned to reprimand them for slacking off, but when he followed their gaze, he froze.

A strange sight loomed on the horizon. Against the dark backdrop of the forest, a vast expanse of gray-white mist stretched across the northern sky. It shouldn’t have been there—it looked unnatural, like an infinite curtain of frost hanging between heaven and earth.

What was that thing?

Royce squinted in suspicion, but realization struck him like a hammer: its identity didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was moving—fast—directly toward the Wall.

It was an ice storm of unprecedented scale. A shiver ran down Royce’s spine. The Wall might endure such an onslaught, but he was standing on a ship—an exposed vessel floating in the freezing waters of the Bay of Seals.

"Everyone, back on the ship! Now!" Royce bellowed, gripping the rail as the wind howled louder. He turned to the sailors on the Mermaid. "Lower the sails! Turn the ship to face the storm! Relay the same orders to the Blackbird and the other ships. Anyone not working, get below deck and stay there!"

Panic broke out among the men, and those still on the ice scrambled for safety. The storm approached with terrifying speed. Within moments, its deafening roar filled the air, as if a thousand dragons were shrieking in unison. Royce didn’t wait to see the full impact—he dove below deck, sealing the door behind him as the tempest struck.
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"Boom—!"

No one could have imagined that the wind striking a ship could produce such an earth-shattering sound. The deafening impact was followed by the sharp clatter of debris slamming into the hull. But before anyone could dwell on the noise, chaos consumed them.

Even though they had taken refuge inside the cabin, the sheer force of the storm made them no different from insects trapped in a tumbling barrel. They were hurled about at the mercy of the ship's wild thrashing, their bodies colliding violently with every surface—walls, floor, ceiling—leaving no part of the cabin unscathed.

---

After half a minute of agonizing pain and terror, Yohn finally emerged from his brief daze.

The cabin was in complete disarray. Furniture, supplies, and bodies were tangled together in a chaotic heap. Fortunately, someone had the foresight to extinguish the oil lamps beforehand—otherwise, they would have all been roasted alive.

He was certain the ship had capsized at least once. And yet… somehow, it had righted itself again.

More strangely, the vessel now lay perfectly still. Not just stabilized, but completely motionless—without even the faintest rocking of ocean waves.

Had they run aground?

---

That’s impossible… This is a mid-sized ship with hardly any cargo. We were at least a mile offshore. There’s no way the wind alone could have driven us straight onto land…!  

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Doubt gnawed at him.

Struggling to open his eyes against the lingering dizziness, he soon noticed another anomaly—

The burning pain that had wracked his body moments ago was fading unnaturally fast.

At first, he thought he simply hadn’t been injured too badly.

But then, he felt an unsettling numbness spread across his face. His fingertips brushed his beard… and came away dusted with frost.

Cold.

Not from injury, but from freezing.

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Bracing against the walls, Yohn forced himself to his feet.

Ignoring the groans and muffled cries of pain from the others still trapped in the wreckage, he struggled to pry open the cabin door—twisted and jammed from the impact—before finally kicking it loose.

As he stumbled out onto the deck, his breath caught in his throat.

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"Old Gods…"

The dying embers of twilight painted the sky in fading hues, offering him just enough light to see.

And in that moment, he understood.

He understood why the ship no longer rocked.

He understood why the air burned with a frigid bite.

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They had not merely run aground.

They had been buried in ice.