Sunup to sundown, the days bled into one another. Thorfinn continued his relentless, daily training. He had mastered the essentials of Skinchanging; all that remained were the constant, unyielding routines: physical conditioning, archery, and magic.
Thorfinn had also begun to feel something subtle. The magical energy seemed more active lately. Where others might be overjoyed by this phenomenon, Thorfinn worried. Did this mean... the Others were stirring again, or that their activities were growing bolder?
The more he thought, the less certain he felt. The worry was like a shadow he could not shake, an unease that kept Thorfinn from sleep. Because of this, Thorfinn sought out Granny Thenya.
Which led to this moment. Inside Granny Thenya's room, Thorfinn confessed his fears, even resorting to mentioning the rarely-seen "Greensight" among Skinchangers to convince Granny Thenya to take him seriously. Lyra was also present in the room, listening to Thorfinn's words.
Thenya: "Little Thorfinn, you're telling me... you saw ill omens in your sleep?"
Thorfinn patiently explained, "It wasn't a common dream; it was a 'Green Dream.' They are filled with symbolic images, hinting at what is to come. I saw blood—a sea of it—and that bodes ill, no matter how you look at it. I haven't slept easily since. After wrestling with it, I came to you for aid, Granny, as Boro... has no wisdom in these matters."
Thenya smiled. "Yes, I have heard tales of certain Skinchangers experiencing such visions. They are prophetic dreams. Their normal dreams are like any man's, but the 'Green Dreams' are different. The meaning behind them is sometimes vague, but once experienced, you find that surrounding events soon confirm the dream's contents. If this is true, I believe... I must cast a spell."
Lyra protested, "But... Granny, your strength."
Thenya maintained her warm smile. "It is fine, Lyra. I have taught you all that I know; you must learn to stand on your own. Granny cannot be with you forever. Besides, this matter seems uncommon. Thorfinn's words recall other warnings... Rather than simply wither away to meet an inevitable end, I would use my last moments to do something useful for you both."
Thorfinn: "Thenya..."
Before Thorfinn could finish, Thenya cut him off. "Say no more, little Thorfinn. I have lived for over eighty years; that is enough. This is the death I choose. I will not survive this one spell, but even facing death, I am content."
At Thenya's insistence, Lyra and Thorfinn helped her expend her magic for a prophecy. Thenya remained seated in her chair while Thorfinn and Lyra knelt. The three held hands, forming a closed circle, and chanted an ancient and mysterious spell in unison. An unseen force rippled out from the modest little room...
The prophecy revealed many ill omens: death descending silently like the wind, inescapable and relentless. Darkness, biting cold, and savage blizzards raged, forming a hymn of death. White snow and red blood painted a horrific scene. All three knew this was a terrible sign, and Thorfinn understood that disaster was coming to the lands Beyond the Wall where the harsh winds blow.
After the vision, Thenya's trembling hands shook uncontrollably. Her eyes, filled with excessive terror, lost their focus for a long moment before she recovered. Thorfinn and Lyra worried she might simply die right then and there.
Thenya said in disbelief, "I saw death... boundless death. Ice covering the corpses, the dead standing up, killing the living, then rising again to kill more. Blue eyes... only blue eyes. The Others are rising, the demons are walking among men, and a saving fire comes from the South... The dead rise in a tide of Free Folk: old bones, newborn babes, men, and women—all are among the corpses..."
In a flash, Thenya was drenched in cold sweat. The prophecy was too terrifying. She wondered if she was raving, but though she wished to deny it, magic does not lie.
Lyra gasped in horror, unable to speak for a long time. She believed Thenya, but at that moment, she wished she were simply hallucinating. She desperately wanted Thenya to speak a word of denial. What Thenya had said was frightening enough, but Lyra knew those few words were nowhere near enough to describe the horror she had seen. If this were to come true, how many would die?
Thorfinn's expression was grim. Although he had been mentally prepared, receiving such a clear prophecy for the first time still unnerved him. Could mankind truly survive this disaster? If the prophecy came to pass, if the Long Night returned, it would be nothing less than the end of the world.
Thorfinn: "We can't just wait here to be slaughtered."
Thenya: "Yes, little Thorfinn, you are right. You always are... But alas, I, this poor old woman, have no strength left to wait for that day. The future world has no place for old relics like me."
Thorfinn looked at the frail, fading Thenya, unable to speak. The prophecy had emptied her mind, exhausted her magic, and brought her life to its end.
Lyra couldn't help but ask, "Thenya, what is wrong? You look unwell."
Thorfinn, whose senses were sharp, spoke after a struggle, "She is fading..."
In a final burst of life, Thenya's eyes brightened. "Little Thorfinn, little Lyra, do not weep. It is only death. There are so many horrors in this world, far worse than this; do not fret over my leaving. But you two, you must live. You are young, and in this great catastrophe, survival is your most vital task."
Having said this, Thenya smiled, and her eyes dimmed, losing all their light. Witnessing this, Thorfinn's eyes grew wet, while Lyra was already sobbing uncontrollably.
Thenya simply smiled. Even facing death, her smile was warm, so warm it seemed she was not dying but going home. This serenity earned Thorfinn's deepest respect. Smiling when facing death is something few can do, and Thorfinn knew he owed his mentor a debt that could never be repaid.
Thorfinn comforted Lyra for a time, then ran out to notify Boro. He knew he had to tell him. He sprinted toward Boro's dwelling.
Boro was currently lounging lazily in a chair, taking a rest, already half-asleep—his usual state. He always took a nap there when he had nothing to do.
Thorfinn said breathlessly, "Boro, bad news... Granny Thenya is gone."
Boro, who had been slightly annoyed at being woken, was instantly wide awake. He scrambled up, grabbing Thorfinn's shoulder. "What did you say?"
"...Granny Thenya passed away." After a moment's thought, Thorfinn did not elaborate on the cause of death.
Boro froze for a second, then sighed. "So the old woman is finally dead. She looked so frail the last time I saw her. I thought she might make it through the winter. I didn't think..."
Thorfinn said, "I think we should see her off."
Boro said, "Indeed we should. She once healed me. You go ahead. I'll gather a few things."
Thorfinn didn't hesitate, turning to run back to Thenya's cottage.
When he pushed open Thenya's door again, Lyra had calmed down. She was tidying Thenya's clothes and preparing her body. Thenya was still peaceful, as if her serene composure was fixed for all time. Thorfinn joined in, helping the benevolent old woman leave with dignity.
Soon after, Boro arrived. Without speaking much, he went outside, found a quiet, beautiful spot, and began to dig a grave—burial was the common practice Beyond the Wall these days.
Thorfinn and Lyra settled Thenya's body and went outside. Seeing Boro's work, they exchanged a look and came to a shared decision.
Thorfinn: "Boro, stop digging! That's deep enough."
Boro wiped sweat from his brow, confused. "How is this enough? It's shallow! What if wild beasts dig her up?"
Lyra explained, "We are going to use a pyre this time. If you want to help, gather the firewood. Fire has the power to cleanse evil. Once burned... she should not rise again."
Thorfinn patted Lyra's shoulder to comfort her, then joined Boro in stacking the wood, building the pyre until it was as high as a table.
Thenya's funeral was attended only by Thorfinn, Lyra, and Boro who mourned her. The Free Folk have never been ones for eulogies, so the three simply watched Thenya depart. Boro lit the wood with a torch, and the flames spread, quickly consuming Thenya's body.
Lyra, unable to watch, collapsed onto Thorfinn's shoulder, weeping uncontrollably. Thorfinn could only comfort his fellow apprentice, his eyes fixed on the roaring fire. He didn't know where she had come from; she rarely spoke of her past, but this did not lessen Thorfinn's profound respect for her. But the dead are gone, and Thorfinn would never have a chance to repay this kindness. The debt would forever remain unpaid.
The fire burned until the wood was ash, and Thenya was gone...
Looking at the still-sniffling Lyra, Thorfinn asked, "Lyra, do you have any other kin?"
Lyra sobbed, "No, I have nothing. I am all alone."
Hearing Lyra's painful cry, Thorfinn's heart ached for the young woman. In that instant, he made a decision. He spoke earnestly, "From this day forward, I am your kin."
Lyra looked at Thorfinn, her eyes blurry with tears, slightly bewildered. After a moment, she managed a heavy, nasal "Mmm!" The sound made her smile through her tears, though her nose twitched again when she looked back at the spot where the fire had burned.
It was now the sixth year of the long summer. No matter how powerful Thorfinn became, he was helpless against a tide of Wights in the short term. Fortunately, Thorfinn had never intended to confront the legions of the undead; he only wanted to protect his loved ones.
Just as Thenya had said, survival was the most pressing task for the future. Staying alive was everything. He had many people to guard, and the thought hardened Thorfinn's resolve. Furthermore, this prophecy was a precious gift bought with Thenya's life. He could not stand idly by; he would not let the old woman's sacrifice be in vain.