The sun had just begun to dip beyond the horizon, casting the Free Cities in a soft orange hue. The evening was peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within the ancient walls of the Assassin Brotherhood's sanctuary. Whispers filled the corridors, echoing suspicions and mistrust. There were rumors that the Mentor had embraced the faith of the Many-Faced God, forsaking the tenets of the Creed.


Korda, a master assassin of the Brotherhood, navigated through the labyrinthine corridors with a sense of urgency. His footsteps were silent, his hood concealing his face. Years of training had honed his skills to near-perfection. His agility, strength, and intuition were unparalleled, but tonight, they were tested like never before.


As he approached the main hall, the muffled sound of a struggle reached his ears. Peeking through an ajar door, he witnessed a sight that would haunt him for the remainder of his days. Nyla, his childhood friend and a fellow Assassin, was giving birth. The room was awash with blood, not just from childbirth, but from the bodies of Assassins strewn around her. The room had been a sanctuary, a place of refuge, but it was clear a betrayal had taken place.


Two figures, garbed in the new attire of the Faceless Men, stood over her, their intentions clear. Korda acted swiftly, drawing his blade and attacking with the precision that only an Assassin possessed. The first traitor fell before he could react, but the other managed to parry Korda's advances. Their blades clashed in a deadly dance, with Korda using every ounce of his skill to protect Nyla and her newborn.


With a final, deft maneuver, Korda drove his blade through the traitor's heart, ending the threat. Rushing to Nyla's side, he found her gravely injured, her life rapidly slipping away. With tears in her eyes, she handed him the newborn, whispering, "Protect him, Korda. He is the last hope."


Korda looked at the baby, its cries echoing the pain and loss of the night. He recalled his days as a street rat alongside Nyla, their bond forged in adversity. Though his love for her remained unrequited, he vowed to honor her dying wish.


Sounds of combat echoed from elsewhere in the stronghold. The Brotherhood was under siege. Korda knew he had to leave, taking the child to safety. He wrapped the baby in a cloth bearing the emblem of the Brotherhood and made his way to the secret tunnels, an escape route known only to the most senior members.


As he maneuvered through the passages, memories flooded back. He remembered his initiation, his first Leap of Faith, and when he finally earned his mark , signaling his transformation into a full-fledged Assassin. He knew that this child, a natural-born Assassin, would undergo the same rites, but only if he could protect him from the Faceless Men and keep him alive long enough.


Emerging into the cool night air, Korda headed towards the docks. He had previously arranged for a boat in anticipation of the Brotherhood's civil turmoil , and it was waiting. But as he approached, he heard familiar voices. Two Assassins, now traitors, conversed about the "last natural-born" and the threat he posed.


Korda realized he was trapped. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself for the fight. What he lacked in numbers, he made up for in skill and determination. The first traitor lunged, but Korda was quicker. A swift counter-attack saw his opponent sprawled on the ground. The second was more cautious, but Korda's experience prevailed.


With the immediate threat dealt with, Korda boarded the boat, setting course for Westeros. As the Free Cities faded into the distance, and the assassin sanctuary burning flames became more obscure. he gazed at the child, a symbol of hope in these dark times. The journey to Westeros would be perilous, but he was determined to honor Nyla's wish, no matter the cost. And there was only one place in Westeros that was safe enough for them. Beyond the wall


The voyage across the Narrow Sea was wrought with challenges. Storms roiled and waves crashed against the small boat, but Korda's determination was unyielding. Every time he looked at the baby, he remembered Nyla's sapphire eyes and the promise he had made.
Arriving at the shores of Westeros, Korda knew he was in unfamiliar territory. While the Brotherhood had dealings in the past with the continent, his own personal experience was limited. As he trekked northward, he kept to the shadows, avoiding the main roads. The Faceless Men's reach was vast, and he couldn't afford any slip-ups.


His instincts served him well, but as he neared Winterfell, the danger grew palpable. One evening, while camping in a secluded forest, the chilling howl of a direwolf echoed through the night. But this was soon overshadowed by another sound - the silent whispers of men approaching. The Faceless Men had caught up.


Korda prepared for a confrontation, clutching Sauron close to his chest. He could feel the baby's heart racing, a mirror to his own. As the first of the attackers emerged from the treeline, Korda's blade found its mark, silencing him forever. But more were coming.
The battle was intense. Korda's skills were unmatched, but even he struggled against the sheer numbers. For every attacker he felled, another took their place. Using the environment to his advantage, he tried to create distance, seeking refuge in the dense woods.


But a fateful arrow found its mark, piercing Korda's leg and bringing him to the ground. Clutching Sauron tightly, he used his remaining strength to hide the baby beneath a pile of leaves and snow. The infant's blue eyes locked onto Korda's for a moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
The Faceless Men surrounded the wounded Assassin, their intentions clear. "Where is the child?" one demanded. Despite his pain, Korda managed a defiant smile. "Gone. You'll never find him."


Frustrated, the lead attacker made the final blow, ensuring Korda's silence forever. As they departed, the forest was left in a haunting stillness, broken only by the soft cries of a hidden child.
Days passed, the snow gently covering Korda's lifeless form. But fate had one more card to play. A Stark hunting party, led by a young Ned Stark, ventured into these woods. The direwolves, with their keen senses, led him to a peculiar sight—a baby, miraculously alive, bearing a sigil he had never seen before but looked oddly familiar


The Stark hunting party returned to Winterfell, the baby cradled in young Ned's arms. Word spread quickly of their unusual find, and by the evening, the main hall was filled with the nobles and retainers of the Stark household, all whispering in hushed tones about the mysterious child with the unfamiliar sigil.
Maester Luwin, after examining the child, declared, "He's healthy, but bears a mark I have not seen in any book or scroll."


Ned placed the baby on the large wooden table, allowing all to see the emblem on the cloth. "I have seen this only once," he began, his voice filled with reminiscence, "during my father's time. A messenger from Essos bore this symbol."


The room was filled with murmurs. Lady Catelyn, her face etched with worry, whispered to Ned, "We have just emerged from a rebellion, my love. We know not the child's origin or the enemies he might bring."


There was a consensus that the child couldn't be turned away. Yet, with so many uncertainties surrounding his origins, placing him within the stark domain might court unnecessary danger.
Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms, suggested, "Perhaps he could be raised at a distance, yet still within the safety of Winterfell's walls."


It was then that Hullen, the stable master, stepped forward. "My wife and I lost our son to winter's chill last year. The Gods might've taken our boy, but perhaps they've sent us another in his stead. We'd be honored to raise the child as our own."


Ned, looking relieved, nodded in agreement. "Then it's settled. The child will be under Hullen's care. And as for a name, given his mysterious origins we do not know if he is born in wedlock. Or to what importance he might be to essos. Better for him to be raised as a bastard as to not draw any attention. His last name will be snow. As for his first name. Lord stark looked to hullen. You may choose hullen.


Hullen declared. His name will be Sauron, sauron snow. Hullen disliked that the child be given a bastard name. But understood the reasoning and decision.


The assembly nodded in agreement. Sauron snow, the child of mystery and prophecy, would grow up under the shadow of Winterfell, unaware of the destiny that awaited him.