Kael trudged behind the wolf, his legs already burning, though they were small now, and lighter than they had been before. His steps were short, awkward. The snow, even when only ankle-deep, came nearly to his knees now. Every few steps he stumbled, breathing hard in the cold air. The thick fur-lined coat wrapped tightly around his frame, but it weighed him down.
He hadn't yet grown used to the body he now lived in—smaller, lighter, clumsier. His feet slipped on frozen roots and buried rocks, and though the wolf kept a slow pace, Kael had to fight to keep up. More than once he tumbled face-first into the snow, pushing himself up with mittened hands and panting.
And yet, he followed.
At some point, the thought struck him—What am I even doing? He was trusting a wolf, of all things. Not just trusting—it was leading him through an unknown forest in an unknown world, and he was letting it. Placing his survival in the paws of a creature he'd just met.
But something in him had already decided.
Maybe it was the way the wolf had waited. Or the way it looked at him—not like prey, not like a burden, but like... a companion.
Still, it was absurd. This entire thing is absurd.
He shook the thought away and kept moving.
The wolf always stopped and looked back. Once, as Kael lay groaning in the snow, the animal gave what could only be described as a huff—almost a canine laugh—before padding back to nudge him gently, then turning to trot onward with a flick of its tail.
"Yeah, yeah," Kael muttered breathlessly, brushing snow from his cheeks. "Easy for you to say."
He pulled himself to his feet and trudged on.
The forest was different from any he had ever known. The trees were taller, older, gnarled in ways that made them feel aware. The air was quiet—not silent, but purposeful. Every rustle of branch or soft crack of ice seemed to echo.
No birdsong, no distant hum of machines. Just wind. Leaves. The crunch of snow beneath boots that were slightly too big.
Kael kept his eyes open. He didn't know where the wolf was leading him, but he scanned the landscape as he walked. His parents had taught him enough about the land—he recognized a cluster of red-berried shrubs half-covered in frost. Not poisonous. Edible, if sour.
He picked a few and tucked them into a pouch at his side.
Nearby, he saw a fallen branch, dry and cracked at the edges. Not enough for a fire, but a start. As he walked, he gathered what he could—dead twigs, bits of pine, dried leaves buried under the snow. His fingers were clumsy, but he worked fast, knowing the light wouldn't last forever.
Eventually, the wolf stopped.
Kael blinked snowflakes from his lashes and looked up.
The entrance to the cave was hard to see. It was half-hidden beneath a small overhang of stone and bush. Roots hung over the mouth like a veil, and fresh snow had settled on the slope.
The wolf turned back to him, tail wagging once, then slipped inside.
Kael followed, ducking under the low opening.
The narrow space forced him to stoop as he crept forward, but after a short passage, the stone walls opened up into a wide chamber. The ceiling arched just high enough for him to stand fully. It wasn't warm, not truly—but the biting cold of outside was gone. The air here was still, quiet, and just tolerable.
Moss covered parts of the stone, and near the center was a dip in the floor where a small trickle of water seeped in. He touched it. Cold, but clean.
The wolf was already curled in a corner, licking snow from its paws.
Kael exhaled, then noticed another path in the far right corner—a narrow, darker crevice. Curious, he stepped toward it, using the firelight from his torch to see. He ducked through.
It led into a much smaller chamber, but this one was different. The air felt thicker—warmer. The stone underfoot was slightly damp, and steam curled faintly in the air. At the back, nestled in the rock, was a pool. Not large, but unmistakably a hot spring. Warmth radiated gently from the water, and the air carried a mineral tang.
Kael crouched beside it, brushing his fingers along the surface. The heat soaked into his skin.
"This… this is perfect," he whispered.
He returned to the main chamber and set down his bundle of kindling and berries.
He looked around. With the two chambers, he had more than a cave—he had shelter, water, a warm place to sleep.
He arranged the kindling carefully. His father had shown him how. With effort, he coaxed a spark to life. The fire caught slowly, then flared into a flickering glow.
He fed it patiently, adding dry bits, until it was stable.
Then he sat beside the flames, pulling the coat tighter, chewing one of the berries.
The wolf moved closer, resting against him again, silent but present.
Kael stared at the fire. His body was sore, his mind too tired to think deeply. But one thought surfaced, clear and cold.
This isn't just a dream.
He looked at the wolf. So intelligent. So real. The weirwood. The snow. The air. All of it—it matched what he had seen on screen, in books, in deep-dives late at night. And yet, it was real.
"I can't be in Game of Thrones," he whispered.
But he was. He knew it.
Not just in Westeros.
In the North.
And then came the other thought. One that made his throat tighten.
I'm not going home.
The words hit him with a sudden weight. Home. His parents. The farm. Their voices that morning. His mother handing him the last label for the jam. His father's nod. None of that would come again.
They were still there. In a world where he no longer existed.
And though he hadn't always felt close to them—had often been alone, felt distant—they were still his. And now they would never know what had happened to him.
He lay down slowly, curling near the fire, pulling the heavy fur cloak around himself. The wolf stretched beside him, pressing close, its warmth grounding him.
Kael blinked at the fire, and his vision blurred.
A few tears slid down his cheeks, warm at first, then cold as they dried.
"I miss you," he whispered, unsure if he meant his parents, his world, or something more.
He closed his eyes.