New students start from 'Game of Thrones'

Chapter 63 Evidence

Samwell Tarly knew better than anyone what those shadowy, slowly advancing figures in the distance were—terrors that existed only in books, creatures that had vanished over a thousand years ago.

Stunned, Sam froze in place, watching the horrifying shapes draw closer. When he finally snapped back to his senses and tried to run, Edd and Grenn were already nowhere to be seen. Panic surged through him; he stumbled forward, his plump body lumbering toward the Fist of the First Men. But in just a few seconds, a storm engulfed him, swirling all around.

In his frenzy, Sam tripped and fell hard. Glancing over his shoulder at the blurry figures inching nearer, he scrambled to hide behind a boulder, praying desperately not to be discovered.

As the storm intensified, the vague shapes drew closer, revealing their true forms—wights. What shocked Sam even more was that the wights passing by his hiding spot didn't attack him.

Just as he breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he'd gone unnoticed, a horse came to a halt beside his shelter. Sam's heart sank—his luck had run out. Forcing down his fear, he looked up. First, he saw the rotting corpse of a horse; above it, a monster with silver hair and colored eyes (the original text does not specify the exact eye color, so it is retained as is) clutching an ice spear.

This was the fabled White Walker. Yet instead of killing Sam, it merely glanced down at him with haughty disdain, then raised its weapon and pointed directly toward the Fist of the First Men.

A roar from the White Walker echoed across the sky. Countless wights swarmed toward the Fist, surrounding it.

After a millennium of silence, the White Walkers had returned to humanity—and their target was the Night's Watch at the Fist. For the first time in a thousand years, the White Walkers had launched a large-scale attack, targeting their age-old foes.

At the Fist of the First Men, every Night's Watch ranger drew his sword, their eyes fixed warily on the path leading up the hill.

"Prepare for battle!" Owen shouted, drawing his two swords from his waist. He stepped beside Jeor Mormont, joining the rangers in staring down at the distant foothills.

"What's going on?" Jaime Lannister asked, confused by the tension in the air.

"Three horn blasts," Jeor replied without turning around. His throat felt tight with anxiety, his voice strained.

"What does that mean? Are we under attack?" Sandor the Hound demanded.

"White Walkers," Owen called back, glancing over his shoulder at the two men.

"Lord Commander, tell your men to ready torches. If I remember correctly, White Walkers fear fire," Owen said, never taking his eyes off the horizon.

"You're right," Jeor murmured. "Some of you—stoke the bonfires! Get the torches ready!" he barked to the rangers nearby.

Soon, torches blazed across the Fist. Every man became a dual-wielder, gripping a sword in one hand and a torch in the other.

Movement stirred on the 上山 path—it was Edd and Grenn.

"Why just the two of you? Where's Sam?" Jeor asked, watching the pair stumble up, gasping for breath.

"He... he's... behind us... didn't... catch up," Edd panted.

"The... White Walkers... they're right behind us," Grenn managed to say, propping himself up with his sword, his words broken by exhaustion.

Both men were too winded to stand at the front lines.