Blood-red leaves, shaped like human palms, painted the sky crimson. Bone-white branches extended in all directions, forming a canopy that covered the earth.
A hundred girls dressed in animal hides and wearing delicate bronze curved daggers on their waists held hands, forming a circle around the trunk of the weirwood tree. With sacred expressions, they danced counterclockwise while chanting an ancient sacrificial song in a high, coarse tone.
Beneath the canopy, thousands of wildlings stood solemnly watching. Most wore furs and looked similar to the Free Folk beyond the Wall, including men, women, and children.
Closer to the weirwood, dozens of warriors stood with bronze swords at their waists and shining yellow bronze armor on their bodies. Each was accompanied by a woman in coarse linen, tears at the corners of her eyes and sorrow on her face.
Besides humans, there were other humanoid beings present—gray-furred giants with short necks and forward-tilting heads, and a group of people Dany had never seen before: dark chestnut skin, large ears, exquisite features, and small statures like squirrels.
Most of them had golden eyes, but five standing at the front had green or red eyes.
Dany stared at them curiously. Suddenly, the five green- or red-eyed squirrel people turned their heads in unison and looked at her with suspicion and surprise.
The sudden movement startled her.
"What is it, Prophet?" one of the warriors noticed the squirrel people's reaction and stepped closer to ask in a low voice.
He spoke in the Old Tongue.
He was a lean man in his early forties, with a long horse-like face, brown hair, and deep gray eyes. Though he too wore a bronze sword at his waist, his right hand held a smooth staff made of weirwood.
"No... maybe just an illusion," one red-eyed squirrel person said uncertainly.
"No, I felt it too," another replied solemnly.
"We all felt it," the remaining three exchanged glances and spoke in unison.
The squirrel people also spoke the Old Tongue, their voices carrying a strange, calming quality, as if they could soothe storms and tidal waves.
"Then... could something go wrong with the ritual?" the horse-faced man gripped his staff tightly, worry etched in his voice.
"No. What the Father has promised will never change," the five squirrel people said together, their expressions grave and devout.
At that moment, the girls' song rose to a climax. The massive carved face on the tree trunk seemed to come alive, its solemn expression slowly turning to sorrow and helplessness.
The women in the front row could no longer contain themselves and burst into tears.
As the sacrificial song drew to an end, one of the girls glanced back at the weeping women. Then, all one hundred maidens drew the small curved daggers from their waists. The blood-colored leaves rustled suddenly, and the sorrow on the old man's face deepened.
"Shhh—shhh—shhh..."The singing ceased.
The girls immediately plunged the daggers into their hearts, stretched their arms toward the tree trunk, faces filled with bliss and satisfaction, and then collapsed to the ground.
Looking closely, the corpses of the hundred girls formed a precise reverse spiral pattern. The blood from their chests did not spread or pool; instead, it seeped into the earth like water absorbed by a thirsty desert. The brown soil drank every drop eagerly.
Not even a small trace of blood was left on the ground.
The women wept uncontrollably, their cries mournful. The bronze-armored men were also visibly affected, their eyes swollen and red, struggling to keep their sorrow hidden.
"Zee zee zee—"
Something strange occurred.
A bud sprouted from the forehead of the carved face on the tree. Within seconds, it grew into a tender new branch, about the length of an arm.
"Rustle—!"The thousands watching—whether commoners or nobles, humans, giants, or squirrel people—fell to their knees with devout expressions.
Led by the five green- and red-eyed squirrel people, a solemn and sacred hymn began. Everyone joined in the chant.
The hymn was holy and simple, praising the mountains, rivers, lakes, seas, the earth and sky, wind and fire, sun and moon.
When the song ended, the crowd rose.
A green-eyed squirrel person turned and looked over the faces of the bronze-armored warriors one by one, finally fixing his gaze on the horse-faced man holding the staff.
"Brandon Stark, the 'Builder'—go," the squirrel person said with a sigh.
The long-faced man did not refuse or hesitate. He left the staff where it stood, and with a solemn, reverent expression, stepped over the bodies of the girls and approached the tree trunk—so wide that it would take ten people to encircle it. Reaching out, he broke off the new branch sprouting with seven or eight tender red buds from the forehead of the carved face.
With both hands, he held the fresh branch reverently, bowed, and stepped backward slowly.
"Boom—crack, whooosh..."Suddenly, the enormous weirwood trembled violently. It was as if a colossal hand had struck its crown from the sky. Countless blood-red, hand-shaped leaves fell from the branches and filled the air.
Like red snowflakes, the entire world was blanketed in a crimson snowfall.
The weirwood remained the same tree, the face the same carved visage.
But now the branches were bare—like an old man who had lived too long, each hair fallen one by one. What remained were only dead limbs and trunk. From that moment forward, no new leaves or buds would ever grow.
The immortal weirwood had died.
The face was merely a carving now—no longer sacred, no longer awe-inspiring.
Afterward, the long-faced man, surrounded by thousands, began a long journey. They crossed plains and marshes, traveling northward for thousands, even tens of thousands of miles, until they reached a land of snow and ice.
In the snow by a small lake, he knelt. The thousands behind him followed suit, and under the guidance of the squirrel people, they sang sacred hymns in praise of the gods.
Brandon Stark took out the still fresh branch and gently placed it on the ground.
"Rumble—"The earth roared.
Buds on the tree branches rapidly sprouted into new limbs, piercing the earth. Branches as thick as fingers swelled to the size of barrels—dense, layered, and entangled—forming two earthen dragons that furiously tunneled through the ground in both eastern and western directions.
In just five minutes, a fifteen-meter-wide, two-hundred-meter-high tree-trunk wall appeared across the narrow land—five hundred kilometers wide—between the North and the lands beyond.
Then, giants and humans worked together, quarrying stone from the mountains and filling the tree-trunk wall with massive boulders. It was like construction workers pouring cement into a steel frame, then building a brick wall around the reinforced structure.
Brandon Stark didn't remain idle.
He walked the entire length of the tree-trunk wall, surveying the terrain in the mountain valleys and drawing maps. He then commanded the giants to dig and fill the ground with enormous foundation stones, ensuring the wall had no blind spots or weak points, even in complex and hilly landscapes.
After laying the foundation, he led thousands of squirrel folk to carve strange magical runes into the giant stones and tree trunks. From that point on, no unnatural creatures could come near the Wall.
Decades passed. Stark died of old age, but construction on the Wall did not cease. The second Stark—Brandon's son—continued the work using the blueprints his father left behind. He directed the giants and the First Men to quarry stones, fill the trunks, carve magical runes, and reinforce the wall.
Generation after generation of Starks died. Gradually, the tree trunks that had served as the skeleton were fully covered, and the majestic stone Wall was finally completed.
The giants and squirrel folk bid farewell to the First Men. Some traveled north beyond the Wall, while others returned to their warm homeland in the south.
Yes—homeland.
At that time, the Andals had not yet invaded. Westeros was still a paradise for the First Men and the squirrel folk—the Children of the Forest.
Those who remained donned black robes and were known as the Night's Watch.
The Watch didn't stop building either. With Brandon's blueprints, they dug massive ice blocks from the frozen rivers of the Haunted Forest and hauled them back to the Wall.
Centuries passed. The stone wall became covered in thick ice crystals, maintaining that form for eight thousand years—until now.
"Rumble..."The Wall trembled. Cracks spanned the entire five hundred kilometers. Huge chunks of ice fell everywhere.
The Wall was collapsing.
"No!" Dany cried out to the sky, her hair flying wildly. A translucent green crystal shot out from the center of her brow, returning to its original place.
Like a heartbeat, it pulsed periodically, radiating waves of sacred majesty.
"Crack! Crack!"At Nightfort, Sam; at Castle Black, Melisandre; at Eastwatch, Shireen and Patchface—all stared in shock as the palm-wide cracks in the ice slowly healed.
Apart from faint black marks, the Wall looked nearly identical to before.
The Night's Watch, wildlings, and Stag Party on the Wall stood stunned, as if waking from a dream.
"The wind has stopped beneath the Wall. The foolish queen returned the treasure. Hoo hoo hoo... Fool, fool. I knew it, I knew it."Anger flashed briefly in Patchface's eyes before he began singing joyfully.
"Huff... huff..."Dany gasped for breath, staring at the floating green crystal in awe and fear.She asked, "What is it?"
"My song. The Song of the Wind."Whether it was her imagination or not, the doorkeeper's aged and solemn voice now carried a hint of gentleness.
In truth, even its tone had changed.
Dany suddenly understood. She gave the green crystal one final look, then resolutely turned away. It took her a long time to sever the mountainous greed in her heart and calm herself.
Exhaling deeply, she asked,"Why was I able to obtain it? Isn't it your song?"
"You saw it—eight thousand years ago, I died." the doorkeeper replied calmly.
"That weirwood tree was your body? You are the Old God—the spirit of the weirwood?" Dany asked in shock.
"The Old God..." the doorkeeper sighed."I am the Old God, but the Old Gods are not just me. Eons ago, before even the gods existed, I took root in this land and witnessed the birth of mountains and rivers, of life itself.""I always listened to the Song of the Wind that surrounds this world. It brought me news from afar and kept me from feeling alone."
"Time passed beyond reckoning. Eventually, I too learned the song—and then I heard the voices of other singers. Together, we sang. The world flourished. Thus began the Next Age."
Dany was overwhelmed, speechless for a long time. Finally, in a hoarse voice, she asked:"The Next Age—what is that?"
"The age after the singers. The age before yours."
"The Children of the Forest?"
"The Children of the Forest..."There was a trace of nostalgia and sorrow in the doorkeeper's voice."Those children lived in harmony with the world, never seeking conflict, never leaving this continent. Yet the world is vast—elsewhere, life was even more colorful and diverse."
"What about the White Walkers? Who is the Cold God?" Dany asked again.
"You'll understand once you've lived through it," the doorkeeper said slowly."Now go. You already know the secrets of this world."
"But I want to know more. My mind is full of questions." Dany said.
The doorkeeper seemed taken aback. After a pause, it sighed helplessly,"I don't have the strength to answer you anymore. And just as you took the Song of the Wind, the evil sealed beneath the Wall escaped. Your companions are in danger."
(End of Chapter)
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