The stone steps seemed endless. Jon descended leaning against the frozen wall, his wounded side bleeding and numb, each step a torment. Beside him, Arya held him firmly by the arm, preventing him from falling.
His breathing was fast, white, but his gaze remained fixed ahead, determined.
The basement was dark and cold, with a low and heavy ceiling above them. The shadows of dragon bones covered the walls, long and twisted like claws that never escaped the fire.
As far as the eye could see, hundreds of barrels of wildfire extended throughout the vast basement, glowing faintly with an ominous green, awaiting their moment. Perhaps thousands, if you counted those still lying in forgotten chambers throughout King's Landing. Enough to reduce the entire city to ashes.
Jon stopped, panting, and looked around. The cold was already filtering through the cracks in the ceiling. His breath came out in brief and painful clouds. He knew very little time remained.
There was no longer a prophecy. No Lightbringer. The Night King had torn away that possibility. Jon no longer believed in destinies, nor in heroes. Only in this: one last opportunity to do something that mattered.
—Arya... —he murmured, with a hoarse voice—. Check the exit.
She looked at him, frowning, distrustful. She hesitated. But obeyed. She walked to the great iron door at the back of the basement, the hinges covered with frost. She tested the crack with her dagger, and the lock gave way. The ice broke under her blade.
—It still opens —she reported, without turning around.
In that same instant, Jon, with a brutal effort, pushed her with his shoulder. Arya lost her balance and crossed the threshold. As soon as her feet touched the other side, he pulled the heavy iron sheet and closed it with a metallic crash.
She reacted immediately, hitting the door with both hands.
—No! —she screamed, her voice charged with fury, with terror—. Jon!
Jon rested his forehead against the gate's grating, his fingers clenched on the bars.
—You have to go —he said, his breathing fogging the metal.
—Not without you! —Arya replied, with a broken voice—. Don't leave me here!
Jon closed his eyes. He felt the wound burn, felt how the cold claimed him. But nothing hurt more than seeing her there. So close. So impossible.
—Arya... —he whispered, barely a breath—. You can still save yourself.
She shook her head strongly, knuckles white on the iron.
—No! Not without you.
Jon raised his eyes to her, and his eyes burned with everything he didn't know how to say.
—Listen to me —he said, firmly—. You still have a future. A long road. But only if you leave now.
—And you... what? —Arya asked, broken.
Jon sketched a weak smile.
—Do you remember when I gave you Needle? —he murmured—. I did it so you would learn to fight. So you would resist.
He paused.
—Now I give you something more.
—I give you my life.
He lowered his voice, and his words fell like swords:
—Don't make me ask again.
—Go.
—Run.
—Live.
—For both of us.
Arya looked at him, with trembling lips, moist eyes. And in that last look she hated him. She hated him for pushing her, for locking her up, for deciding alone. But she also loved him. As one only loves someone who is about to die for you. And she knew. She knew without him saying it: that they would never see each other again, that he was already a shadow walking toward the end. And Jon... Jon looked at her as if that were the last image he wanted to take to the other world. As if in her he found everything that had been worth living. Neither blinked. Neither fluttered. Both knew what was coming.
And then they heard it.
A crack. Not of frost, but of steps. Claws dragging. Breaths that weren't human.
The creatures were approaching.
Jon took a step back, toward the darkness.
—Run... —was the last thing he said.
She rested her forehead against the grating, gritting her teeth while tears slid down her face. Her hands clung to the iron... and then released it.
And she ran.
She launched into the tunnel without looking back, feet hitting the stone, breathing choppy, tears freezing on her cheeks. She ran with rage. With pain. With guilt. And with the echo of her brother, her shadow, her sacrifice... pursuing her forever.