The stone steps felt endless. Jon made his way down, leaning against the frozen wall, his wounded side bleeding and numb, every step a struggle. Arya held onto his arm tightly, keeping him from falling.
Her breath was quick and white, but her eyes stayed fixed ahead, determined.
At the bottom of the stairs, the basement opened into a vast, dark chamber, the ceiling low and heavy above them.
To the right, hundreds of barrels of wildfire stretched into the shadows, glowing with an ominous green light. Maybe thousands, counting the ones buried in other forgotten chambers of Kingâs Landing. Enough to turn the city to ash.
To the left, close to the stairs, stood a large iron door set into the wall. Beyond it, a narrow corridor led down toward the coast, toward the exit. The air escaping through the crack was laced with frostâthe threat was near.
Jon stopped, gasping, and looked around. The cold seeped through cracks in the ceiling. His breath came in short, painful clouds. He knew time was almost up.
No more prophecy. No Lightbringer. The Night King had stolen that chance. Jon didnât believe in fate or heroes anymore. Only this: one last chance to do something that mattered.
âAryaâŠâ he murmured, his voice rough. âCheck the exit.â
She looked at him, frowning, suspicious. She hesitated, but obeyed. She walked to the great iron door, its hinges coated with frost. She tested the crack with her dagger, and the lock gave. The ice split under her blade.
âIt still opens,â she said, not turning around.
At that moment, Jon, with brutal effort, shoved her with his shoulder. Arya lost her balance and stumbled into the hallway. The second her feet touched the other side, he pulled the heavy iron door shut with a metallic slam.
She reacted instantly, banging on the door with both hands, breath fractured.
âNo!â she cried, voice full of fury and terror. âJon!â
Jon rested his forehead against the iron grate, fingers clenched on the bars.
âYou have to go,â he said, his breath fogging the frozen metal.
âNot without you!â Arya replied, voice breaking. âDonât leave me here!â
Jon closed his eyes. He felt the wound burning like liquid fire. He felt the cold claiming every part of his body. But nothing hurt more than seeing her there, so close, yet unreachable.
âAryaâŠâ he whispered, barely a breath. âYou can still survive.â
She shook her head hard, knuckles white on the iron.
âNo! Not without you.â
Jon looked up at her, and in his eyes were rage, fearâbut also fierce love. And he⊠he looked at her like she was the last image he wanted etched into his soul.
âListen to me,â he said, firm. âYou still have a future. A long road. But only if you go now.â
âAnd you⊠what?â Arya asked, trembling.
Jon gave a faint smile.
âRemember when I gave you Needle?â he murmured. âI gave it to you so youâd learn to fight. So youâd endure.â
He paused. His voice dropped, rougher.
âNow Iâm giving you something else.
Now Iâm giving you who I am⊠so you can live.â
Arya felt her heart shrink. The air turned heavy, almost impossible to breathe. She wanted to respond, but her throat found no voice. The tears burned, caught between her lashes and the cold trying to steal them.
On the other side, Jon didnât stop looking at her. There was no fear in his eyes, but a pain so deep it tore at her from within. And behind that pain⊠was her. Only her. As if she were all that still mattered.
He leaned his face against the grate, the icy metal cutting his forehead.
âDonât make me ask again.
Go.
Run.
Live.
For both of us.â
Arya felt each command like a heartbeat fading. Her breathing faltered, her chest searched for air like drowning. She wanted to tell him no, that they could fight together, that there was another way⊠but she saw it. She saw it in his eyes: the decision was already made. There was no room for pleading.
And that hurt more than any wound.
She hated him in that moment. Hated him for deciding alone, for pushing her, for stealing the last chance to fight by his side. And she loved him with a force so fierce it ached in her bones. Because she understood. Because he was giving everythingâeven what he didnât have.
Her numb fingers slid from the iron, as if letting go of her brother forever.
Jon kept looking at her, and Arya knewâwithout him saying itâthat this was the last time sheâd see those eyes alive. And still, he smiled. A small, tired, broken smile⊠but his.
And then they heard it.
A creak. Not of frost, but of footsteps. Claws scraping. Breaths that were not human.
The creatures were coming.
Jon took a step back, into the darkness.
âRunâŠâ was the last thing he said.
She pressed her forehead to the grate, gritting her teeth as tears froze on her face. Her hands clutched the iron⊠then let go.
And she ran, not to escape, but to carry him with herâevery heartbeat, forever.