Wolf of the Shattered Realms

The Last Night At Winterfell

Jon was dreaming again. Again with the same damn dream. Since his 15th nameday, he had suddenly started having a weird dream sequence, one so bizarre and fantastical that he almost chalked it up as a stray fragment of imagination. The dream had always started the same way. It was bright, so very bright. The brilliant golden light shone through the sky like a luminous beacon, guiding all forsaken souls to its gentle cradle. Jon's purple eyes adjusted to the light, revealing a paradise of no measure. It was beyond exquisite; it was perfect. No paradise could compare, from the hanging gardens of the Tyrell city to the vast sea of the Dothraki. A ginormous and ethereal golden tree illuminated the horizon, covering the sky like a grand umbrella.

Scattered across the gorgeous greenery were the ruins of a great age, ruined by war and corruption. Craters littered the fields, and the memories of a recent battle could still be seen. Two great armies had clashed in the great field. The first army had donned red and green banners, lions, and great trees decorating each, respectively. The second army, with its bannerless iron sentinels, donned heavy metal armor covering them from head to toe, decorated by crimson red capes.

A grand castle sat on top of a hill, dwarfing Winterfell in size and grandeur. At its foot lay two figures. One, a woman, stood over what could only be described as an abomination, her sword threatening to end its life. She wore light chain mail armor, decorated with intricate designs, and her red cape billowed wildly in the wind. She wore an ornate, golden helmet with two swept-back wings and intricate swirl patterns. And in her metal arm, she held a great curved blade, sharp enough to slice mountains. The abomination grovelled and cried for mercy like a child crying at his mother's feet.

The scenery quickly shifted to another great site of battle, this one on a great dune. Thousands of bodies and blades of different sizes were scattered around like ash in the wind. Jon had always mentally gagged at the sight. It was something straight out of Old Nan's terrifying tales, tales of the Andal invasion and the great tragedy his ancestors suffered. On top of the great dune lay two figures akin to gods. The same woman from earlier was on her knees, panting hard from fatigue. Her metallic arm was detached from her body, posing a struggle to attach it back on. In front of her stood the most horrifying and marvelous sight he had ever seen. There, in front of her, stood a man whose only description could be a champion of the gods. Standing at a staggering 20 meters, the man towered over the woman, who, in her own right, was relatively tall. His hair was akin to a great lion's mane, the red flowing down his back like waves of fury. He donned a golden lion-shaped helmet, and two sharp teeth protruded from the helmet like fangs. His ebony black cape fluttered in the wind as he stood proud and strong, his arms crossed as he looked down at her, giving her a chance to adjust her arm. Two great black blades were impaled into the coarse sand next to him. He stood upon a steed that appeared to be relatively relaxed despite the massive weight it carried.

As the woman locked her arm back into place, the large man crossed his arms over, causing the ground to shake as his swords launched into his arms violently. He held them with such might and vigor that Jon was starstruck. Suddenly, the woman kneeled back down. At first, Jon thought she was surrendering, but when he saw the instant concern on the man's face, he knew something untoward was happening. In an instant, the man was accelerating towards her, his horse's tiny, fragile legs running as fast as they could. Jon looked at the woman, only to gasp in shock. Her back had transformed into a massive scarlet flower. The flower looked both beautiful and terrifying at the same time, its orange tips as beautiful as summer marigolds, while the scarlet base near her back looked like the blood of a thousand wailing men. The man lept towards her, his greatswords and horse long abandoned, covering her with his giant stature, almost shielding her from something...or shielding something from her? Suddenly, a giant explosion erupted, the man taking most of it to his core, with only small residues escaping into the environment around them.