"There are things in the world that were not made for men to witness. To see them is to be unmade. Just as some horrors are not seen with the eyes, but felt in the silence they leave behind."
—The Book of Eternal Balance, Gospel of the Shadows
Night had not finished settling over War's End. The fog still clung to the stones, heavy as breath held in a dying chest. And somewhere in that hush, the world waited — listening, watching, shifting in ways only fear could understand.
Erik turned.
A boy leaned against the wooden fence at the edge of the yard, one leg propped upon the rail, arms folded across his chest. He couldn't have been older than Erik, yet there was something in his stillness — something that didn't belong to boys.
"You…" Erik began, unsure his voice would hold. "You believe me?"
The boy nodded once, eyes unreadable. "That you saw it? Aye. I did."
Erik frowned, stepping closer. "Who are you?"
"Ren," he said simply. "One of the new recruits. Arrived this morning."
The name hung there a moment before Erik spoke again. "You've seen it?"
Ren's gaze drifted toward the dark horizon beyond the walls.
"I didn't have to see it," he said quietly. "It never shows itself to the open… it inflicted havoc on my village."
Erik's throat tightened. "I'm… sorry," he said softly.
Ren nodded, not in acceptance but in remembrance. Erik looked at him, searching for something human to hold onto — yet found only a quiet void staring back.
Still, beneath that silence, something bound them.
Two boys, strangers to one another, tied by the same unseen terror.
And for the first time since Calvanry, Erik didn't feel entirely alone.
Above them, the horns of War's End moaned once through the fog — a long, mournful sound that carried across the hills like a warning. The forge-fires dimmed, and the wind rose from the west, heavy with the scent of salt and rain.
Somewhere beyond the walls, unseen in the dark, the world was shifting again.
The Night's Watch
War's End Fortress, Dusk
The horns faded, leaving behind a silence that seemed to breathe. Night came slowly to War's End, not with stars but with smoke. The forges dulled to embers, the hammer-song stilled, and the great courtyard dimmed to the restless glow of torches along the ramparts.
Erik stood by the armory steps, fastening the leather straps of his gauntlet. The bruises from the day still throbbed, each one a reminder that the world above the river had not believed him. Across the yard, Ren leaned against a barrel, sharpening his blade with deliberate, patient strokes.
"Still on duty?" Erik asked, voice low.
Ren glanced up, a faint half-smile flickering. "Sleep doesn't take kindly to me. Figured I'd return the favor."
They took their posts along the northern wall. Below, the fog rolled like a slow tide through the pines. The torches burned steady, but their light felt weaker than usual, as though the night itself drank from the flame.
"You ever been out there?" Erik asked.
Ren's eyes followed the dark line of the forest. "Once," he said. "Hunting bandits for a lord who no longer remembers my name."
"What happened?"
"The forest happened."
Erik didn't press further. He had learned that some silences were not meant to be broken.
The hours bled into each other.The fortress stirred behind them—voices muffled through stone, boots echoing faintly in the inner yard. The smith's dog barked once, then whimpered and went quiet.
"Something's off," Erik said.
Ren didn't answer at first. His gaze had drifted to the horizon, where the fog met the sea. "It's the air," he said at last. "Tastes like storms but smells like iron."
A door creaked below. The Lord Commander emerged onto the lower parapet, wrapped in a dark cloak. His hair was silvered by age, his eyes sharp with the weariness of men who had lived too long in duty's shadow.
He called up to them. "You two — eyes wide tonight. The western scouts haven't returned from their run."
"Yes, my lord," they answered together.
The Commander lingered a moment longer, studying the sea. "If they're late, it's the fog's doing," he muttered, more to himself than to them. Then he turned and vanished back into the keep.
The minutes stretched thin. Erik began to pace, boots scuffing against the stone. Every sound seemed amplified—the hiss of the wind, the creak of timber, the slow beat of his own pulse.
Ren broke the quiet. "When the world holds its breath like this," he said, "something's listening."
Erik frowned. "You mean the thing from your village?"
Ren's face was unreadable. "Maybe. Maybe it's something older."
A shout came from the western tower—faint, sharp, and cut short. Both boys turned, hands to their blades. The echo died fast. No other sound followed.
Ren looked toward the fog. "There," he whispered.
At first Erik saw nothing. Then the mist rippled—as though something vast moved beneath it, silent and slow. The torches nearest the wall guttered, their flames bowing toward the thing, whatever it was, as if drawn by breath.
"Do you see that?" Erik breathed.
Ren nodded once. "I did."
And then, just as suddenly, the fog stilled. The torches straightened. The night returned to its normal, heavy quiet.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Finally Ren said, "Tell no one. They'll call you mad twice in one lifetime."
Erik nodded. But as he looked westward, his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. For the first time, he wondered whether War's End truly earned its name—or if it was only waiting for war to find it again.
The Rescue in the Western Fog
War's End Fortress, Nightfall
The fog thickened as night fell, swallowing the fortress walls until even the torches looked drowned.By the time the horns sounded from the western tower, the light had turned the color of ash.
Erwin of the Seven stood in the yard, already armed. "Another signal?" he asked.
The watchman nodded, breath quick. "The scouts from Tower Reach haven't returned, ser. Lord Commander wants a search."
Erwin's jaw tightened. "How long overdue?"
"Four hours."
That was long enough to die twice over.
Erwin turned to the men gathering by the gate. Erik was already among them, sword at his side, eyes raw from the cold."You volunteering, boy?" Erwin asked.
"Yes, Ser," Erik said without hesitation. His voice carried the edge of defiance.
"You've seen enough death for one season."
"Then I'll know how to look for it."
A ghost of a smile crossed Erwin's face — grim, approving. "You're learning the wrong lessons fast."
From the shadow of the stables, Ren stepped forward. "If the boy's going, I'll go as well."
Erwin studied him briefly. There was something unsettling about the calm in that young face — not arrogance, not fear, just an absence of both. "Fine," he said. "Two veterans with us. No torches till we reach the outer pines."
The gate groaned open. Fog spilled inward like smoke.
They rode out six strong, the sound of hooves smothered by the mist. The world narrowed to the circle of breath around their mouths and the dull glint of metal in moonlight.
No bird called. No wolf howled. Even the wind had left them.
After an hour, they found the first sign. A campfire still smoked beside the road, coals hissing wet in the fog.Erwin dismounted and crouched low, gloved hand sifting through the ash. "Still warm," he murmured. "They weren't gone long."
No tracks beyond the camp. No drag marks. No prints at all.
One of the veterans spat into the mud. "It's like they vanished clean off the road."
"Nothing vanishes clean," Erwin said. "Something took them."
They moved on.
Minutes became hours, though none could say how long truly passed. The fog warped distance — the road behind seemed to fold in on itself, and the trees ahead bent as if listening.
Then came the horse.
It stood alone by a shallow stream, reins torn to ribbons. Foam clung to its lips, and its eyes rolled white, seeing things beyond the world. It made no sound when Erwin approached, only shivered like a leaf in winter.
"Gods," whispered Erik. "That's Jareth's mount."
"How do you know?"
"The scar on its flank. He named it Ghost."
Erwin laid a hand on the beast's neck — cold as riverstone. "The saddle's still wet," he said. "He rode not long before…"
He didn't finish. The silence did it for him.
They found the first body soon after — half-buried in the marsh, as if the earth itself tried to hide it.No wound marked the flesh. The man's skin was pale, translucent, veins ink-black beneath. His eyes stared open, a film of frost glazing them though no frost had touched the ground.
Erwin knelt, breath misting. When he pressed two fingers to the throat, the skin cracked like thin glass.
"Not burned," he murmured. "Not cut. Just… hollow."
The veterans shifted uneasily. "What could do that?" one asked.
"Nothing I've met and lived to name," Erwin said.
Erik swallowed hard. "Ser, I've seen this before. In Calvanry."
Erwin looked up sharply. "You're certain?"
"Yes." His voice trembled. "It's the same emptiness. The same silence after."
Ren stood apart, eyes lost in the fog. "It doesn't show itself," he said softly. "Not to the open."
The men turned toward him. His voice was calm, steady. "If you look for it, it hides. If you fear it, it listens."
One veteran muttered a curse. "What are you babbling, boy?"
But Erwin's eyes narrowed. "He's right. The quiet isn't peace. It's waiting."
Something shifted in the fog — a whisper, low and wide, like breath drawn through a thousand throats. The horses snorted and backed.
"Form up," Erwin ordered. "Blades out."
A pale light flickered briefly ahead, too soft for torchfire. It moved once, then stilled.
Erwin motioned one of the veterans forward. The man obeyed, stepping into the grey, his torch held high.They watched the glow of it fade.
Then — nothing.
The torch reappeared a dozen paces away, lying on the ground. No sound, no scream. Just the hiss of wet flame dying in the mud.
"Back!" Erwin barked. "Take the body! We're leaving!"
Two men hoisted the corpse onto a horse, its weight stiff, limbs unbending. The flesh felt colder than stone.
They turned as one, leading the horses. The fog pressed close, dense as cloth. Erik felt the air tighten, cold sinking into his bones. Somewhere in the grey, voices whispered — not words, but shapes of them. He heard his name once, twice, then gone.
He stumbled. Ren caught his arm, pulling him forward. "Don't listen," he said. "That's how it follows."
Erwin's voice cut through the mist. "Keep moving!"
They horsed and as they came within sight of the gate, the watchmen upon the tower spotted them and cried out—
"Horsemen!"
A horn sounded loud and clear and the gate began to roll open.
They broke from the fog in a rush — the fortress lights ahead like the eyes of salvation. When the gate closed behind them, the silence burst like a held breath.
The veterans crossed themselves. Erik leaned against the wall, chest heaving. His sword hand shook.
Erwin stood apart, staring back into the darkness beyond the gate. His eyes reflected the last dying torchlight.
"What did you see, Ser?" Ren asked quietly.
"Nothing," Erwin said. "And that's what frightens me most."