Winterfell's great hall was filled with steam from the morning hearths, the scent of smoked pork and pinewood lingering in the air. Cregan sat near the edge of the long table, half-ignored by the higher-born children, his porridge cooling as his mind drifted back to the rune he'd drawn in the dark.
A chain broken in two.
He didn't know what it meant. But he felt it. Like a prophecy yet to unfold.
His thoughts were cut short by the horn blast echoing from the gatehouse.
"A rider from the Dreadfort," announced the steward as he entered. "Lord Benjen Bolton sends his kin to speak with Lord Rickon."
Cregan's hand stiffened around his spoon.
The Boltons.
That name alone brought unease. The North tolerated them, but never truly welcomed them.
He slipped away from the table before anyone could stop him.
The simulation was still on cooldown. He had another hour before it would reactivate.
In the meantime, he climbed the ramparts, watching as the Bolton banner approached—red flayed man on pink field, a chilling symbol even against the white snow.
Three riders. One was tall, with raven-black hair and a cruel, curved blade at his hip. A younger man followed, his expression unreadable. The third was a hooded woman with silver-blonde braids that did not match the Bolton look.
Targaryen blood? Or a southern hostage?
He would need answers. And the system might help him get them.
[Simulation Ready]
Begin simulation? [Yes] [No]
"Yes."
Choose a Simulation:
Attend the private audience with the Boltons using shadow listening.
Study the new guests' behavior during the feast.
Meditate on the runes in solitude and attempt to awaken a hidden resonance.
He picked Option 1.
[Simulation Running...]
You move silently through the servant passages, finding a crack behind a tapestry in the solar. Through it, you watch as the Bolton envoy stands before Lord Rickon.
The older man speaks in curt tones:
"Bandits near the Last River. Too organized. Too southern."
Rickon frowns. "You want my riders to patrol your lands?"
The young Bolton interjects. "They're not ours, my lord. They're looking for something."
The woman—silent until now—leans forward. "Or someone."
Her voice carries weight. An accent touched with the Reach. She meets Rickon's eyes and says, "We request access to the crypts."
Rickon stiffens.
"No one but the blood of Stark enters the deep crypts. Not even honored guests."
The simulation ends abruptly.
Simulation Complete.
Skill Gained: Shadow Listening (Basic) – Able to eavesdrop more effectively without detection. Knowledge Gained:
The Boltons suspect foreign agents in the North.
Their companion may be more than she appears.
Interest in Winterfell's crypts is growing.
Trait Gained: Insightful Ear – You notice emotional tones and subtle manipulations in speech.
Accept outcome? [Accept] [Reject]
He accepted.
This wasn't coincidence. First the runes. Now strangers asking about the crypts. Something old was waking. Something more than just magic.
And Cregan Snow would uncover it before anyone else did.