Castle Black. The Wall.
The Wall stood as the "World's End" in the minds of the men of Westeros—a place wreathed in ancient legend and bone-chilling cold. It was a white hell, an endless expanse of ice where the wind shrieked against the frozen ramparts as if whispering the secrets of the First Men. To the men stationed there, the world held only one color: a blinding, unforgiving white.
Amidst the swirling snow and the howling gale, a single figure moved along the top of the Wall. He was a beacon of heat in the frozen dark. His upper body was bare, his muscles corded and taut against the biting air. Each breath he took was a visible plume of steam, a testament to a fierce, inward determination.
He was running. His steps were heavy and rhythmic, sinking into the frost. On his shoulders, he carried a massive, water-logged timber—a crushing weight chosen specifically to test the limits of his endurance. Sweat soaked his skin, causing the rough bark of the log to stick to his shoulders as if it were a natural extension of his own frame. Despite the sub-zero temperatures, his body radiated an intense heat, and the droplets of sweat that fell from his brow froze into ice the moment they touched the ground.
The young man's eyes were hard, filled with a grit that suggested he would sooner break than yield. He was a lonely silhouette against the sky, a new landmark in this desolate land.
"Respected Lord... you have descended once more!"
The youth stopped abruptly, dropping the log with a heavy, echoing thud that shook the ice beneath his feet. He stretched, feeling the ache in his joints and the explosive power coiled in his muscles. Jon had returned to the body of Samwell Tarly.
"It has been a long time, Samwell," Jon projected into the shared consciousness of their mind.
"You went silent so suddenly last time," Sam replied, his mental voice now filled with a confidence it had once lacked. "I had to lead Lord Tyrion back to the Wall myself. He told me your true name is Aegon... are you truly the Dragon King of legend?"
"What makes you ask that?" Jon replied, intrigued by the boy's initiative.
"While you were away, I didn't just train my body," Sam explained. "I asked the Lord Commander to assign me to Maester Aemon's library. I've been studying the old texts, trying to understand the nature of the power that chose me."
Samwell had truly "awakened" in Jon's absence. He had become a monster of the training yard; veteran rangers found they couldn't last ten blows against him. Yet, it was his dedication to Aemon's books that truly set him apart. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, seeing a diamond in the rough, had wanted Sam as his personal steward, but Sam insisted he had received a divine revelation—a call to prepare for a coming darkness.
While the senior officers dismissed Sam's talk of "divine light" as the ramblings of a peculiar boy, Mormont had nonetheless promoted him to a squad leader to satisfy the new recruits who saw Sam as an idol. Ser Alliser Thorne had barked his protests, but the Lord Commander had silenced him with the weight of Tyrion Lannister's gold.
Before leaving for the south, the Imp had donated every coin he possessed to the Watch, promising to send even more supplies from White Harbor. Tyrion had claimed Sam saved his life, a story Mormont found dubious but profitable. No one in the Watch was foolish enough to offend a friend of House Lannister—especially one who paid his debts.
"That is all that has happened here," Sam concluded. "Lord Tyrion said if he found the chance, he would go to King's Landing to aid Lord Eddard Stark."
"And the First Ranger?" Jon asked. "Is Benjen Stark still at Castle Black?"
"Lord Benjen returned briefly, but he rode out again. I heard several brothers have gone missing in the Haunted Forest."
"Then it is time for us to move," Jon said, his tone turning grim. "The enemy has begun to cull your numbers."
"The enemy?" Sam asked, a tremor of excitement in his voice. "Do you mean the White Walkers, my Lord?"
"Are you afraid, Sam?"
"No," Sam replied firmly. "I've been waiting for this. I knew you didn't choose me for nothing. I'll keep this body strong. I'll build more muscle. I'm ready to create my own legend."
The Great Hall. Castle Black.
An hour had passed since Jon's arrival. The System had already charted the path for the next quest; all that remained was to gather the men.
The hall was a portrait of gloom. The disappearance of several veteran rangers had cast a long shadow over the Watch. Men spoke in hushed, fearful tones, and the usual ribaldry of the mess hall had been replaced by a heavy, anxious silence.
"I heard Benjen hasn't sent a bird in days." "Lost in the woods... like the others." "May the Seven protect us. I'm not stepping a foot past the gate."
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont struck the table with a heavy wooden staff, drawing every eye in the room.
"Enough!" Mormont roared. The Old Bear spoke with the bluntness of a man from Bear Island, devoid of courtly fluff. "We are here to discuss a Great Range. We need men to ride into the Haunted Forest and find our brothers. If we lose the woods, we lose the Wall."
"The wildlings are out there!" a bandaged ranger named Joman shouted. He was the sole survivor of a recent skirmish. "They're gathering. They're shouting about 'fighting for a King.' There's a new King-Beyond-the-Wall, and he's hunting us."