Jon ran until his lungs burned and his legs shook, roots snapping back into the earth behind him like disappointed serpents. He did not stop until the trees thinned and the bone-white forest gave way to stone and snow once more. Only then did he collapse to one knee, Ghost immediately at his side, hackles raised, teeth bared at the darkness they had escaped.

  The pressure was gone. Not eased only gone for now, like a hand lifted from his skull at the last possible moment. Jon retched, dry and shaking. His head throbbed, memories sloshing together like ice in a cracked cup. He could still feel it, faintly. Watching. Furious.

  Then he heard it. A soft step. Bare feet on stone. “Jon Snow.”

  He jerked around, Longclaw half-raised before he stopped himself. Leaf stood a short distance away, staff in hand, golden eyes wide, astonished. “You should not be here,” she said slowly. “You went inside.”

  Jon laughed once, sharp and humorless. “That’s one way to put it.”

  Leaf moved closer, studying him with an intensity that made Jon shift uncomfortably. She reached out her hand on his temple, as if feeling the air around his thoughts. “…you are still you,” she murmured.

  Jon looked up at her. “You sound surprised.” Something cold settled in his chest. “What was it, Leaf,” he asked. No anger now. Just iron certainty. “Don’t lie to me. Not after that.”

  The Child of the Forest was silent for a long moment. The wind moved through the dead branches overhead, whispering like old bones. Finally, she lowered herself onto a stone opposite him. “The Three-Eyed Raven is a very old creature,” she said carefully.

  She looked north, away from the cave, away from the weirwood whose roots still remembered what Jon had seen. “He was from among the Old Gods,” she continued, “there were many. Not all were kind. Not all were strong.”

  Jon swallowed. “It showed me.”

  Leaf flinched. “You saw the first days,” she said softly. “The green world.”

  “And the hungry one,” Jon said. “The twisted tree.”

  Leaf closed her eyes. “We do not speak its true name,” she said. “Not anymore. It is all that remains. We have no choice but to work with it since the Old Gods are long gone and the Great Enemy is still here.”

  Jon’s hands clenched in the snow, he knew it was talking about the others but still. “It wears people. Greenseers. Boys.”

  “Yes.” Leaf’s voice was heavy with something like shame. “We all must do what we must.”

  “Bran,” Jon said. “It wanted my brother which you would have given to it if he came here.”

  “Yes.” Her fingers tightened on her staff.

  “I should kill you where you stand,” he growled, his fingers touching his longsword.

  “That is your prerogative,” the child of the forest bowed its head. “But for the first time we have an opening. You stand at a crossing. It could not hollow you out. It could not overwrite you.” A pause. “That should not be possible. There had never been anyone that withstood it. Until now.”

  Jon almost laughed again. ‘Story of my life.’

  “You are a problem,” Leaf said.

  “That’s comforting.”

  “You broke its expectation,” she said. “And worse, you escaped with knowledge.”

  Jon looked back toward the north, toward the cave he had fled. “It said I should have stayed at the Wall.”

  Leaf’s mouth tightened. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because prophecy is safest when it is contained,” she said quietly. “And you… are not where you were meant to be.”

  Ghost growled low, sensing Jon’s unease. “What happens now?” Jon asked.

  Leaf rose to her feet. “Now,” she said, “the Hungry Tree knows you exist.”

  Jon nodded slowly. “It already hated me.”

  Leaf met his eyes. “No. Hate is simple.”

  She glanced north one last time. “Now it is afraid.”

  The wind shifted. Somewhere far away, a raven screamed. “Let’s go back to the hidden grooves. I can teach you the tools to withstand it.”

  -

  They turned south and it wasn’t long before they were under attack.

  The first attack came silently. A shadow detached itself from a tree and lunged.

  Jon barely raised Longclaw in time. Steel rang as claws scraped across the blade. The thing recoiled, revealing itself, a bear eyes glowing red and unblinking. Its mouth opened and spoke in a chorus of whispers. ‘Come back.’

  Jon answered with a shout and drove Longclaw through its skull. The creature collapsed, falling into rotting leaves and frozen blood. Ghost tore into what remained, snarling as if the corpse might rise again.

  Leaf knelt, touching the ground where it fell. “Borrowed flesh,” she said. “The Raven does not wish to let you go.”

  They moved faster. At night, the attacks grew bolder.

  A flock of ravens descended at once, blotting out the stars. They struck like knives, beaks tearing, wings battering, screaming Jon’s name in a dozen stolen voices. Ghost snapped and leapt, dragging birds from the air. Jon burned feathers with his torch, the firelight forcing the rest back but not before roots erupted from the snow, wrapping around his ankle.

  He hacked free just as the roots tried to crawl higher.

  The wolves came at dusk a few days into their journey and these were no regular creatures, but Direwolves.

  They poured out of the trees like smoke given teeth: grey, white, black, too many to count. Their eyes glowed an unhealthy unnatural red. Ghost lunged forward with a roar that shook the air, meeting them head-on.

  Jon barely had time to draw Longclaw before the first wolf leapt. Steel flashed. Fire flared. Longclaw burned through fur and bone, heat blooming along the Valyrian steel as if answering Jon’s blood. The wolf shrieked not like an animal, but like something possessed.

  More came.

  Jon fought like a man cornered by the world itself; slashing, burning, moving constantly. Ghost tore throats out, red eyes blazing brighter with every kill. When a wolf tried to seize Jon’s leg, roots erupted from the ground thanks to Leaf and dragged it screaming back into the earth.

  The forest screamed with it. Then, just as suddenly as it began…Silence.

  They did not see the wildlings at first. They smelled them. Smoke. Old leather. Fear.

  A dozen figures emerged from the treeline, weapons raised. Ragged cloaks. Scarred faces. Free folk but something was wrong. Their movements were stiff, eyes unfocused, mouths whispering words Jon could not hear.

  Then one of them spoke. Not with his own voice. “Come back, child,” the Raven croaked through him. “You can not run from me.”

  Jon’s blood went cold. “Get behind me,” Jon said to Leaf. The wildlings attacked. They fought without fear, without hesitation, hurling themselves onto Jon’s blade as if pain meant nothing.

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  Jon burned them. Literally. Fire surged from his strikes now, uncontrolled and furious, scorching flesh so completely the roots recoiled, shriveling and retreating into the snow. Ghost dragged one man down and tore his throat out, only for the Raven’s voice to scream through the dying body: “I will not stop hunting you until the edge of the world!”

  Leaf sang. The earth answered. Roots exploded upward, impaling the possessed, pinning them in place as bark hardened around them like coffins. The song was painful to hear sharp, discordant, resistant magic meant to deny.

  When it was over, Jon stood amid smoking corpses and shattered ground.

  They heard the footsteps long before they saw them.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  The ground shook. Snow fell from trees in sheets. Leaf froze. “No,” she whispered. “He should not be able to—”

  The giant emerged from the storm like a moving hill. Then another. Then a third. Their eyes burned red. One of them raised a tree trunk as a club and when it spoke, the Raven’s voice came from all three mouths at once. “I will break you,” it thundered. “If I cannot wear you.”

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  Jon could only stare in awe as he stared at these massive creatures right out of the tales of Old Nan. Then he shook himself and stepped back. The fire in his blood roared. “Ghost,” he said, calm and deadly. “Run.”

  The direwolf obeyed instantly. He also hightailed it out of there without looking back. As much as he wished to test himself against such mighty creatures he was not that foolish.

  The snow exploded beneath his boots as the first boom landed behind him. The impact threw him forward, nearly pitching him face-first into a drift. He caught himself with one hand, came up hard, and kept moving.

  Another explosion came as trees shattered. A pine the width of a watchtower trunk snapped in half and collapsed where Jon had been a breath earlier. Snow poured down in choking clouds, blinding him, freezing his lashes together.

  “RUN!” Leaf shouted behind him, her voice thin and sharp with terror.

  Ghost was already gone, a white streak tearing through the storm, impossibly fast, leading them toward broken ground and narrow passes where giants could not easily follow. Jon trusted the wolf without question and followed.

  The Raven laughed. “You flee like prey,” it mocked through three enormous throats. “Good. I’ll enjoy hunting you!”

  Another boom, closer. The ground lurched. Jon felt himself lifted and thrown as a giant’s foot struck just behind him. He hit the snow hard, rolling end over end, armor clanging, Longclaw nearly torn from his grip.

  For a heartbeat the world went white and soundless. Then the Raven spoke again, low and pleased. “You cannot outrun the roots of the world, child of fire and ice.”

  Jon forced himself up, vision swimming. Blood ran warm down his temple, instantly freezing. He did not look back. Looking back was how people died. He ran.

  Leaf surged past him, impossibly fast, her small form weaving through snow and stone as if the land bent to let her pass. She sang sharp and urgent. The earth answered her in protest.

  Roots burst from the ground behind them, not enough to stop the giants, but enough to slow them. One giant roared as his stride faltered, his corrupted eyes blazing brighter with the Raven’s fury.

  They kept on going with no stops at all. What else could you do with giants at your heel.

  -

  They burst through the last veil of frozen brush and into the hidden grove. Warmth washed over Jon so suddenly his knees nearly buckled. Green grass bent beneath his boots. Flowing water. Fireflies spun lazy circles through air that smelled of moss and life instead of death and rot. Ghost skidded to a halt and wheeled back, planting himself squarely in front of Jon, hackles still raised, eyes scanning the treeline.

  Leaf collapsed to one knee, breath ragged. “It cannot enter here,” she said, more to herself than to Jon.

  Jon didn’t answer. His eyes were already on the figure waiting at the edge of the grove.

  Coldhands stood beneath a living tree, elk nowhere in sight, black cloak rimed with frost that did not melt despite the warmth. His red eyes burned brighter than Jon remembered. He took one look at Jon’s bloodied face, the shaking in his hands, the way Ghost pressed close and the temperature of the grove dropped a fraction. “What happened?” Benjen Stark asked.

  Jon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Uncle.”

  In two strides Benjen was in front of him. His hand closed around Jon’s shoulder cold as ever, but steady. Anchoring. “Tell me.”

  So Jon did.

  He told him about the dawn world. The World Trees. The Old Gods descending like laws made flesh. The twisted, hungry tree that could not be fed, would not be loved. The first greenseers screaming as they were hollowed out. The Old Gods punishment, trapped forever in a raven’s form, condemned to watch a world it could no longer rule.

  When Jon finished, the grove was silent. Even the fireflies had stilled. Benjen turned slowly to Leaf. There was no rage in his face now. That was worse. “You knew,” he said.

  Leaf rose slowly. “We have no choice in matter. We need its help to stave off the Great Enemy.”

  “So what?! You hand over my nephew. To that thing.” Benjen snapped. The grove stirred leaves rustled though there was no wind. The other children were silent.

  Jon swallowed unable to help himself in making things worse. “It wanted Bran.”

  Benjen went very still. “Of course it did,” he said softly. Too softly. “Always the young. Always the broken. Always the ones who don’t know how to fight back yet.” His red eyes bored into Leaf.

  “We are losing,” Leaf said, and for the first time her voice cracked. “The Others do not tire. Men forget. The Old Gods are gone. And the Raven—” She hesitated. “It sees much.”

  “You let it wear men,” Benjen said. “You let it hollow children and call it necessity.”

  Jon knew they were not going anywhere so he intervened. “It’s afraid of me,” he said quietly.

  Both of them looked at him. “It said I should have stayed at the Wall,” Jon went on. “Contained. Predictable.” His jaw tightened. “It couldn’t take me.”

  Benjen studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded once. “That tracks.”

  “We can teach him our ways. The magic we taught the Green Men long ago. He is a child of the North. He can use it to withstand the Raven.”

  The Green Men. Jon heard of them from Old Nan, those who used to commune to the old gods and entrant with the Children of the Forest. There were not that many left in the world. They could be found in the neck and the isle of faces.

  Still he was curious, “What magic are you talking about?”

  Leaf shifted, leaning on her staff, eyes bright as sunlight caught the fireflies in the grove. “Green magic,” she said, “is older than men, older than even the first long night. It is not the magic you see in flames or in shadow. It is the magic of the land, of trees, of rivers, and of the bones of the world itself. It binds all living things, but it can also protect and preserve. It is subtle, patient, and precise.”

  Another child spoke up her voice low and deliberate. “It is the power to listen to the world and to answer it. To move with it, rather than against it. You can call roots to shift, rivers to bend, and even the wind to carry your thoughts. But it does not obey whims, it obeys understanding. You must think in the patterns of life itself.”

  Jon frowned. “So… it’s like being part of the world? Like the trees themselves can fight for you?”

  Leaf smiled faintly, though her expression was serious. “Yes. But the world is patient, not fast. Green magic cannot strike a killer wolf in the blink of an eye. It will help you endure, resist, and bend situations to your favor but only if you respect it. Only if you understand it.”

  Another child stepped closer, Jon shadowing it with his imposing presence. “It is what the Green Men once taught their apprentices how to resist the Raven. It is how they survived, how they withstood the hunters of old. You are a child of fire and ice, Jon. That makes you rare. The Raven cannot simply take you, but without green magic, you can fight against him.”

  Leaf raised her hand, letting the wind curl through her fingers. “We will teach you to feel the roots beneath your feet, to know what lives in the forest and what tries to invade it. To call life to shield you, to speak to the trees so that they speak back. You will not wield it like a sword, it will weave through you, making you part of something larger.”

  Jon tightened his grip on Longclaw, feeling the frost of the grove settle into his bones, grounding him. “Then teach me,” he said. “Teach me everything you can.”

  Leaf gave a small, approving nod. “Good. Then we begin.”

  -

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