When Viserys arrived at Castle Black, it was already quite late. The sky was dark and silent, with only a faint pale light far in the distance. At first, no one took particular notice, but as the night wore on without change, everyone sensed that something was amiss. Neither Viserys nor Ned understood the cause, so they sought the counsel of the Red Witch, Melisandre.
"I'm not certain," she replied, "but I can feel the Cold God's power is indeed growing."
"Cold God? Is the Cold God the same as the Night King?" Ned asked.
"Yes, you could think of it that way."
Her affirmation sent a shiver through those present. The title "Night King" seemed ominous enough, but "Cold God" gave them a sense of confronting a divine power with only mortal means—far more daunting.
"Alright, that's enough for tonight," Viserys said, breaking the tense silence. "New weapons will be delivered tomorrow, and we can test them then. Remember, from now on, he is the Night King—nothing more, nothing less. We are not fighting a god. Understood?"
"Yes, Your Grace!" came the resolute reply from the men.
The mention of new weapons lifted their spirits somewhat. Once Ned and the others had departed, Viserys noticed that Melisandre seemed unaffected by the cold, wearing only her red cloak draped loosely over her shoulders.
When they began discussing their next steps, Melisandre admitted that she couldn't yet interpret the meaning behind the Icebone Spires. "I'd need a closer look to divine anything meaningful," she said. Then she added, "Perhaps Shadow magic could be useful here."
Seeing Viserys's apprehensive expression, she explained, "There are other ways to create shadow assassins, and you're stronger than Robert or Stannis. Any assassin you create will be far more powerful."
Relieved, Viserys asked her to continue.
In a dimly lit chamber, Melisandre set a brazier in the center. Strangely, it was empty—no wood, no coals. She instructed Viserys to sit bare-chested in front of it, then made a small cut on his wrist, allowing his blood to drip into the brazier. The crimson droplets pooled at the bottom as she circled him three times, chanting in the ancient tongues of Valyria and Asshai.
Suddenly, the empty brazier ignited, orange flames leaping up without any visible fuel. The flames climbed higher, and to Viserys's surprise, they reached his arm yet did not burn him. Instead, they seemed to draw the blood from his wound, like flame leeches drinking from him. As they fed, the flames in the brazier grew, gradually taking the shape of a man.
This "flame man" extended a tongue of fire, licking at Viserys's arms. With each touch, the fire grew darker, shifting from orange-red to blood red, then to deep crimson, until it became an almost blackish red. Finally, the flames turned a solid black, and the figure took form—a shadowy figure resembling Viserys himself, nearly two and a half meters tall, its body dense and emitting small flickers of black flame from its skin.
This being, whom Viserys mentally named "Blackfyre," stood fully upright, with sharp features that mirrored his own. But Viserys quickly realized the cost: his health had dropped to just 55 points, and his Constitution had plunged below 90, leaving him pale, weakened, and visibly drained.
"Using this method will inflict greater harm on you, and it's impossible to repeat it again within a short period," Melisandre warned, her voice slightly weary from the significant expenditure of magic. Yet, the toll on her paled in comparison to what Viserys had endured. To her astonishment, within a few breaths, Viserys's drained and weakened state vanished entirely. Unknown to her, he had saved up nearly 100,000 attribute points over the past two years, which immediately replenished his reserves and restored his strength.
"How did you do that?" Melisandre's eyes gleamed with curiosity, clearly struck by a new idea.
"It's a long story," Viserys replied. "How long will it take for you to be able to cast this spell again?" The two seemed to have reached a silent agreement.
"About ten days."
"In that case, I'll send someone to escort you back tomorrow. Teach this magic to Dany and my concubines so we can deploy shadow assassins every two or three days, giving us a way to delay the Night King's forces as long as possible."
"But can you handle such a strain?" Melisandre was visibly unsettled by Viserys's audacious plan. The concept of using "stored energy" as disposable weaponry was difficult for her to accept.
"Don't worry," Viserys replied with a calm determination. "We Targaryens are stronger than you think."
After their brief exchange, Melisandre instructed Viserys on how to control the Blackfyre shadow assassin. With this knowledge, Viserys sent the shadowy figure swiftly away from the Wall, directing it toward the Fist of the First Men where the Night King resided.
To his satisfaction, the assassin moved with remarkable speed and agility, nearly unimpeded by the terrain. Viserys maneuvered it down the frozen Milkwater river, where some Icebone Towers appeared directly on the surface of the ice, their pale, milky white hue distinct from those elsewhere.
Surrounding the towers stood ranks of wights in eerie, unmoving postures. The army was composed of corpses both fresh and ancient—wildlings and Night's Watchmen, the latter identifiable by shields bearing long-extinct sigils like that of House Gardener, which had perished in the Conqueror's War. It was clear the Night King had been stockpiling bodies for years, preparing for a massive invasion.
Among the human dead were animals as well—wolves, deer, and horses, their skeletal forms grotesquely distorted. Wolves and horses, in particular, looked monstrous, their long, exposed teeth appearing capable of tearing flesh with ease. As Viserys's shadow passed by, these creatures seemed to detect it but did not react, remaining still in their frozen postures.
The closer he maneuvered the shadow toward the Fist of the First Men, the more White Walkers he encountered. Here, he saw an unsettling number of hooded White Walker priests, along with ranks of "White Walker warriors" clad in blue-white ice armor. Among them were "White Walker knights" on horseback, all armored and mounted, forming an imposing cavalry.
As Viserys's shadow moved silently among them, the White Walkers became aware of its presence. A priest in their midst emitted a sound like cracking ice—a warning that echoed across the snowfields toward the Fist of the First Men, directly alerting the Night King of the intruder.