The winds of winter had finally come. It took so long that many doubted it would ever arrive. But winter never forgets. It waits. And when it wakes, it takes everything—kingdoms and kings, bonfires and songs, names and memories.
It brings no snow—only judgment.
It brings no cold—only the end.
Jon Snow saw it first. Not in dreams or prophecies, but beyond the Wall, face-to-face with the Night King. He knew the world wasn’t ready. If the living didn’t unite, all would fall. But old wounds still bled. The great houses distrusted each other. Power bred greed; bloodlines bred pride. Jon’s warning was lost in the noise of ancient grudges.
To break the silence, Jon took Daenerys beyond the Wall. Words weren’t enough—she had to see it for herself. And she did. But she was also seen. The ambush was sudden and merciless. A dragon fell. The Dragon Queen was marked by a shadow that would never leave her.
Soon after, she grew ill. Fevers, delirium, nightmares... her body endured, but her spirit faded. The maesters failed. No one could save her—until someone, whether from the past or sent by fate, intervened. No words, no trace. At dawn, Daenerys opened her eyes. She was healed. But something inside her was different.
From that new beginning, a child was born: Jonaerys, the child of Jon and Daenerys. For a moment, hearts soared. For a moment, darkness retreated. But then, an old prophecy returned: if she didn’t fulfill her destiny, the shadow would claim those she loved, one by one. Only the Promised Sword, the sword of light, could stop the end.
Daenerys tried to dismiss the prophecy as a bad dream. But the Wall fell. No battle. No warning. The Night King passed through as if it had never been there.
Kingdom after kingdom fell. Rhaegal died. Drogon, wounded, was the last of his kind. Then they understood: ancient fire couldn’t destroy the Night King. He was immune to dragonflame. No weapon known could kill him.
With every defeat, with every loss, beloved names vanished. Voices that once filled halls and camps were swallowed by the shadow—no song, no grave, no farewell.
That’s when Daenerys understood. The prophecy wasn’t a metaphor or distant symbol. It was a warning. A destiny she couldn’t ignore. If she didn’t face it, everything she loved—her son, her people, the world—would be lost to the shadow.
In King’s Landing, the capital, there was no glory left. Only fear and confinement. The city, once overflowing, was now just an echo. Most of its people were gone. They had left—some by choice, others by reasons too grim to name.
No armies remained. No allies. No certainties. Just a city still standing.
The Night King knew it. He never wanted a throne or a kingdom. His purpose was colder and more absolute: to wipe out humanity. Now, only a single heartbeat of hope remained.
In Blackwater Bay, Davos and Tyrion had scraped together a makeshift fleet from the last Greyjoy ships and battered fishing boats. If they couldn’t find a way to win, they would evacuate the survivors by sea before the shadow fell.
Deep in the Red Keep, the last hope gathered: Jon, Daenerys, Arya, Sam, Davos, Tyrion, Sansa… and little Jonaerys.
The enemy was already marching toward them. Just a few days. One city left. One last chance to stop the end.
The fate of the world comes down to a single choice.
One final decision.
Before the shadow falls on the last flame.