The next few days passed in a blur of pain, poppy-induced haze, and clandestine exploration. By day, Jon was the model patient. He dutifully swallowed the bitter draughts Maester Luwin brought him, endured the old man's gentle prodding of his bandages, and answered his father's inquiries with quiet, reassuring words. But by night, when the castle fell silent and the only light was the moon through his high window, he delved into the impossible world that now lived behind his eyes.
He learned to navigate the System with thought alone. A flicker of intent, a mental push, and the glowing script would shift and reform. He spent hours studying the three skill trees, his mind tracing the glowing lines that connected one ability to the next.
The Ghost, The Fang, The Strider. Each was a path to a different kind of power, a different kind of man. The Fang called to the part of him trained by Ser Rodrik, the boy who dreamed of wielding a Valyrian steel sword in glorious battle. The Strider promised a freedom he'd never known, the ability to run, to climb, to escape.
But it was The Ghost that held his attention. To move unseen, to be a shadow in the halls where he already felt like one… there was a bitter appeal to it. It felt like an extension of what he already was.
His most startling discovery was how to use his core ability: The Sight. On the second day, as Maester Luwin was changing his dressing, Jon focused on the old man, willing the System to show him more. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, a soft, pale blue aura bloomed around the Maester's form, calm and steady as a candle flame. Beneath it, a single line of text appeared in Jon's vision.
[Intent: Benevolent. Diagnostic.]
Jon flinched. He could see the Maester's intent. Later, when he heard Robb's cheerful voice call to him from outside the door, he focused on the sound and saw a vibrant green aura through the thick wood. [Intent: Familial. Concerned.]It was followed by Arya's much smaller, flickering magenta aura. [Intent: Impatient. Curious.]
The Sight was a terrifying, intimate power. It felt like a violation, like reading a letter not meant for him. Yet, it was also a shield. For the first time in his life, he felt he could see the truth of people, a truth that lay deeper than their words. He wondered, with a cold knot in his stomach, what color aura Lady Catelyn would have. He suspected it wouldn't be a kind one.
Activating The Sight bleached the world of color, turning it into a landscape of detailed greys. This was the base vision. The colored auras were a layer of information that revealed the hidden intentions of those around him. Blue for benevolent allies, green for friendly family, magenta for curious siblings, and orange for the dutiful but detached guards. It was a perfect tool for navigating a world of hidden allegiances and secret hostilities, the very essence of its name: The Sight.
On the fourth night, the fire in his ribs had subsided to a dull, manageable ache. The Maester had declared him well on the way to recovery, and the milk of the poppy had been reduced to a single dose before sleep. But Jon knew he wouldn't be sleeping. The [Initiation] quest pulsed in his vision, a silent challenge he could no longer ignore. The fear was still there, a cold companion in the dark, but it was now matched by a desperate curiosity. He had to know if this was real. He had to take the first step.
He waited until the castle was deep in its slumber. Slipping from his bed, he ignored the protest of his healing muscles. He dressed not in his usual leathers, but in a simple, dark tunic and breeches, the softest clothes he owned. He left his boots, knowing their soles would betray him on the stone floors.
The air was frigid on his bare feet as he pulled open his chamber door. The hinges gave a low groan, a sound that seemed as loud as a scream in the oppressive silence. He froze, his heart hammering, but no alarm was raised. The hallway was empty, a river of deep shadows and pale moonlight.
This was it.
He took a breath and activated The Sight. The world washed out in shades of grey, but the intentions of the living glowed like embers. Far down the corridor, a single orange aura—a guard, [Intent: Bored. Dutiful.]—was moving away from him on its patrol. Now was the chance.
He moved, placing each foot with deliberate care, heel to toe, the way he'd seen hunters move in the Wolfswood. He kept to the deepest parts of the shadows, his back brushing against the cold stone walls. Every distant cough, every rustle of wind felt like an approaching threat. He was no phantom; he was just a boy, terrified and out of his depth.
He reached the main stairwell, a vast, open space he had to cross. He peered over the railing. Below, another guard stood by the main entrance, his aura a lazy, pulsing orange. Jon's path to the battlements lay up, not down. He began to climb, his bare feet making no sound on the worn stone steps. He felt a strange thrill, a hum of nervous energy that was almost exhilarating. He was breaking rules, yes, but he was doing it with a purpose he had chosen for himself.
A close call came near the armory. A door swung open just ahead, and a guard stepped out, yawning. Jon flattened himself into a recessed doorway, his body rigid, his breath held tight in his chest. The guard's orange aura passed so close Jon could have reached out and touched it. The man grumbled something about the cold and continued down the hall, oblivious. Jon waited until the aura was a faint glow in the distance before daring to move again.
Finally, he reached the last door, the one leading out onto the castle walls. It was heavy, and the latch would be loud. He spent a full minute examining it, his fingers tracing the iron mechanism. He lifted the latch with painstaking slowness, controlling the metal, preventing it from clanking against its housing. The door swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges.
He stepped out into the biting wind of a Northern night. The view was breathtaking. Below him, Winterfell slept under a blanket of stars, its grey towers and snow-dusted roofs bathed in silver moonlight. He was here. He had done it.
A small, satisfying chime echoed in his mind.
[Objective (1/2) Complete: Reach the castle battlements undetected.]
He allowed himself a single, deep breath of the cold, clean air, a moment of triumph. But it wasn't over. He turned and slipped back inside, his movements a little faster now, a little more confident. The journey back was a mirror of the first, a silent dance with shadows and sleeping guards.
When he finally pushed his chamber door shut behind him, his body was trembling, not from cold, but from adrenaline and relief. He leaned against the wood, his eyes closed, as the final notification bloomed in his vision, brighter and more brilliant than any before.
[Quest Complete: Initiation]
[Reward: 100 Experience. New Skill - [Silent Step].]
[Rank Up! Rank 1 -> Rank 2]
[You have 2 Skill Points.]
Jon opened his eyes. He felt a subtle shift within himself, a new awareness of his own body, of the way his weight settled on the floor. He took a step, then another. There was no sound. Not even the soft padding of his bare feet. It was as if the floor itself was swallowing the noise. He felt… lighter. Quieter.
He brought up the System interface, focusing on the newly acquired skill. [Silent Step], the description read, A passive skill that grants the User instinctual control over their body to perfectly mask the sound of their footsteps. It was always active, a foundational piece of the Ghost's art. He now understood. This wasn't just him being careful; the System was feeding him the knowledge, allowing his body to move with a grace and silence he couldn't have achieved on his own. It was the first true power he had earned, and it felt like a key turning in a lock he never knew existed.
As he stood there, basking in the glow of his first real accomplishment, another notification chimed, pulling his attention back to the interface.
[New Quest Available: Initiation 2]
Description: A shadow must know how to fight when cornered. A true warrior knows that a good defense is the sharpest offense. To control a fight, you must first learn to control your enemy's blade.
Objective: In the practice yard, successfully parry an opponent's strike.
Reward: 100 Experience, New Skill - [Perfect Parry].