The Night's Watch rangers stood frozen, too shocked and terrified to react as they stared at their fallen comrade. Fear clutched at their chests, but they managed to pull back from the White Walkers, gasping for breath, their swords trembling in their hands. Despite the terror gripping them, their training held—they maintained their fighting stances, even in the face of such monstrous foes.
But the strength of the White Walker had surpassed all expectations. Its movements were fluid yet unpredictable, like phantoms shifting in and out of sight. Every step it took seemed to defy the rangers' attempts to track them.
Alliser Thorne, normally a seasoned and unshakable commander, was at a loss. His mind raced for a plan, and then he remembered the black obsidian dagger Viserys had given him. With trembling hands, he unsheathed the blade.
For a brief moment, the White Walker's icy eyes flickered with something that looked like fear. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the creature's lips curled into a sneer of contempt. Another harsh, crackling sound escaped its mouth—an otherworldly language that chilled the air. A malevolent wind surged again, making it clear that the White Walker was about to unleash the same deadly force.
Alliser knew they couldn't withstand that strange, unnatural power a second time.
"Run!" he bellowed, his voice raw with desperation. If there was any hope left, it was in retreat. Staying would only mean death, one by one.
But even as the command left his lips, Alliser felt a coldness unlike anything he'd ever known—a freezing, numbing sensation spreading from his chest. He looked down in disbelief to see an ice-blue blade protruding through his armor. There was no blood. The cold had sealed the wound, freezing him from the inside out.
In the blade's reflection, he saw his own face—twisted in agony.
'I won't be going home.' That was Alliser's final thought before the darkness consumed him.
As the remaining Night's Watch rangers scattered in all directions, the White Walker that had slain Alliser turned to leave. But before it could disappear into the shadows, three arrows whistled through the air, aimed directly at it.
With a fluid motion, the White Walker sidestepped, evading the arrows with ease. Confusion briefly flickered in its icy blue eyes—how had it been detected?
Harrumph.
A thunderous sound split the sky. The White Walker's head snapped upward, eyes wide with alarm. The sound of wings flapping overhead filled the air as three dragons swooped in, fire erupting from their mouths. Flames roared to life, igniting the surrounding trees, encircling it in a blazing inferno.
Viserys, watching from above, wasn't sure if the fire would work, but he knew one thing—they feared flames. That alone would buy them some time.
"I hope there's only one Night King among the 'No-Burners'... It would be truly perverse if all the White Walkers were immune to fire," Viserys muttered, watching the dragon's flames surround the White Walker. He didn't want to kill it outright. His goal was to capture it alive—or at least test its limits, to see how much damage it could withstand, and what it would take to bring one down.
As the inferno raged around the trapped White Walker, the Night's Watch rangers moved into position, arrows nocked and ready.
With a sharp whoosh, a hail of arrows flew through the air, igniting as they passed through the wall of fire. The White Walker raised his hands, his wide sleeves falling back to reveal pale, frostbitten arms. Strange, guttural words escaped his lips, and two shimmering blue ice shields formed on his forearms.
The obsidian-tipped arrows pierced the flames and struck his icy shields, leaving white marks and spreading cracks across them. After the barrage, the shields shattered, but instead of retreating, the White Walker spotted a gap in the wall of fire and prepared to charge through.
With a wave of his arm, a cold wind blew from his cloak, snuffing out half the flames in his path.
Just as he was about to escape, a figure appeared through the smoke. Viserys stepped forward, Valyrian steel sword strapped to his back, two obsidian spears gripped tightly in his hands. He had seen enough—if the White Walker had blocked the arrows, it meant obsidian could hurt him. The arrows just hadn't been powerful enough.
Now, it was time to try with something stronger.
Viserys lunged at the White Walker, the obsidian spear whistling through the air. The White Walker parried with his ice sword, and their weapons clashed with a piercing clang. Both fighters immediately sensed the immense power in their opponent.
For Viserys, the White Walker's strength was formidable, about twice that of a normal man—less than he had expected, but still dangerous.
For the White Walker, it was different. He felt something almost impossible to resist, a strange power radiating from Viserys that shook him to his core.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
After just a few brutal exchanges, Viserys managed to knock the ice sword from the White Walker's hand. Without hesitation, he raised the obsidian spear and drove it toward the creature's chest.
The White Walker moved with unnatural speed, narrowly dodging the strike as though using some dark magic. Still, the effort was costly. As he avoided the blow, his milky white skin grew translucent, the strain of the magic draining him.
Though Viserys had aimed for the heart, the spear struck the White Walker's shoulder instead. The tip of the obsidian pierced deep into the creature's flesh, and a strange blue-white bloom of frost erupted from the wound. With a sickening crack, the White Walker's arm shattered, falling to the ground like brittle ice.
It staggered, clearly exhausted.
A second thrust followed, and this time, the White Walker had no chance to cast any spells.
But Viserys didn't want to kill him—not yet. He drove the obsidian spear into the its thigh. Just as before, when he had struck the shoulder, a blue-white explosion of ice bloomed from the wound.
Viserys withdrew the spear, then unsheathed his Valyrian steel sword, eager to test its power against the creature. The wight seemed to understand his intent. Its glowing blue eyes, once cold and emotionless, now held a sad, almost resigned look.
Pop.
Another cloud of frost burst from the wound. The wight, now missing an arm and limping heavily, seemed no longer a threat. Confident, Viserys stepped closer and asked, "Tell me—where is the Night King?"
It didn't respond. It only glared at him with intense anger, not the mindless rage of a beast, but something far more unsettling—the fury of a thinking, intelligent being. It was clear there would be no communication, no way to extract any knowledge of its ice magic.
With a gesture, Viserys extinguished the flames surrounding them, revealing the gathered Night's Watchmen and free folk, who had been anxiously peering into the inferno. Grabbing it by the neck like a ragdoll, Viserys dragged the one-armed creature forward and held it up for all to see.
"Mance! Come here!" His voice, sharp and commanding, rang out across the clearing.
Mance Rayder, followed by a ranger, approached cautiously. Others—Jorah, Jalifah, Jon, Benjen, and a few others—moved in as well, curiosity and fear etched on their faces.
"My gods... what is that thing?" Benjen muttered, a chill running down his spine as he took in the sight. The creature before them looked exactly like the White Walkers from legend: milky white skin, glowing blue eyes, and an unnatural aura that seemed impervious to the cold. Its face, however, was the most disturbing part—withered, like that of a dying old man, drained of life. Even Aemon looked more alive by comparison.
Viserys held the wight up for all to see. "Mance, do you see this? The legendary White Walker, in the flesh."
As he spoke, a sudden cry of alarm rang out. One of the fallen rangers, the one who had been killed by the White Walker, stood back up. His eyes, once dead, now burned with the same icy blue glow. His face was expressionless, and he moved as though something else was controlling him—a wight, reanimated before their eyes.