Finally, after another hour of careful riding, I find a suitable spot—a rocky outcrop overlooking a narrow deer trail. It is sheltered enough to keep me from the worst of the wind, but high enough that I can spot movement below. I slide from the saddle and lead my horse behind the rocks, ensuring she is as concealed as I am.
I don't light a fire. The cold will be bitter, but warmth isn't worth the risk of being seen. Instead, I wrap my cloak tighter around me, take a small bite of bread and cheese, and settle in. My sword rests across my lap, my ears straining for any sound beyond the wind.
I am alone.
But that is what I chose.
Tomorrow, I will push farther west, deeper into the woods, and closer to the coast. Closer to Flint's Finger. Closer to whatever future I carve out for myself.
I close my eyes, listening to the wind as it whispers through the trees. I am no Stark. I am no Snow. I am just Jon now. And for the first time, I wonder if that might be enough.
The journey had stretched on far longer than I had anticipated, and the cold clung to me like a second skin. Each step felt heavier, each mile further from Winterfell another step into a future where I had no place. I had left, but I wasn't sure where I was going. My horse had been taken from me by those bandits days earlier, leaving me alone, cold, and with no other choice but to walk. The only things I carried with me were my sword and a handful of coins, neither of which seemed worth much in the grand scheme of things.
The northern woods had swallowed me whole, and the deeper I ventured, the more oppressive the silence became. The wind howled through the trees, the branches creaking in the wind like the groan of some ancient creature. It was unnerving, as though the very earth was aware of my presence, scrutinizing, indifferent. Every step took more energy, and I could feel the frost creeping into my bones, freezing me from the inside out.
The original plan, to find the Free Company near Flint's Finger, seemed like a distant memory now. I was just moving forward, driven by the need to get away. To escape. To survive.
But the woods seemed endless, and the cold was unbearable. Even when the sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the snow, it didn't provide much relief. I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep this up.
That's when I heard it.
A low growl at first, a deep, guttural, and very much real. My heart slammed against my ribcage as I froze, instinctively reaching for the sword at my side. My breath came in sharp bursts, and my body tensed as the sound repeated, now unmistakable. Something was out there.
I didn't see it right away—just the ripple of movement through the snow-laden trees. But then, emerging from the shadows, it was there. A direwolf. Not just any wolf, but one of enormous size, its coat a deep, shadowed black. Its eyes gleamed with hunger, burning with a fierce golden hue.
I knew there was no time to hesitate. I pulled my sword free with a practiced motion, though my hands felt unsteady from the cold. But this wasn't the time for fear. I had no choice but to fight.
The wolf lunged before I could fully ready myself, its massive weight crashing into me with such force that I was sent sprawling across the snow. The sword flew from my hand, useless in the chaos. I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me as the beast's claws raked across my chest. The pain was blinding.
Before I could fully recover, the wolf was on me again, this time sinking its fangs into my arm. The blood welled up in my veins like fire, the searing heat spreading outward. I gasped, struggling beneath the creature's weight. The wolf growled in my ear, its breath hot and foul against my skin. I had to move. I had to do something.
But the strength was draining from me. The cold was already creeping in, and my limbs felt heavy.
With a surge of adrenaline, I reached for the hilt of my sword, forcing myself to grip it with shaking fingers. My arm, already torn open, screamed in protest, but I didn't care. I had to fight. With a brutal swing, I drove the blade into the beast's side. It yelped in pain, staggering back.
But the creature wasn't done. It circled around me, blood dripping from its side, its movements slower but no less dangerous. I tried to stand, but my body refused to cooperate. The world tilted beneath me, the sharpness of pain blurring into a distant throb. My heart raced, pumping blood I couldn't afford to lose.
And then, with a final lunge, the wolf was on me again. Its teeth found my throat this time, and the world seemed to stop. I could feel the pressure building, the weight of the wolf's jaws sinking deeper. The air left my lungs in a ragged gasp, and I could feel the cold slowly taking over.
I don't remember what happened next, just the sharp, brutal pain before everything went black.
The wind was bitter, slicing through the trees, but I couldn't feel it anymore. The last thing I remembered was the direwolf, its weight crashing into me, its claws raking across my chest. I had tried to fight back, my sword in my hand, but I was losing. The wolf had me. I was done for.
Then there had been darkness.
Now, I was awake.
I could taste the cold on my tongue, the tang of blood, and the acrid scent of something metallic in the air. My chest was whole, untouched, no sign of the gaping wound that should've been there. The bite marks, the scratches—the wolf's last attack—they were gone. I could feel the energy rushing through me, a strange sensation, not like any I'd felt before. It wasn't just healing; it was... faster. My body had mended itself, and I didn't know how or why.
I pushed myself up, the snow beneath me crunching with the movement, my muscles sore but whole. My sword lay nearby, stained with blood. The wolf's body was a few feet away, the creature dead, its eyes wide in frozen agony. It had been large—larger than any wolf I had ever seen, and I could still feel the pain of the battle, the sharpness of the teeth in my throat, the weight of the beast on top of me. Yet now it seemed so distant, like a dream I couldn't remember fully.
I stood, my legs unsteady but firm. I was alive. But I wasn't the same.
The world around me felt sharper, more real. I could hear the faint rustle of the trees in the distance, the light scrape of the wind against the snow. It was as if my senses had been heightened, everything more vivid. And then there was the feeling—a strange, unfamiliar presence at the back of my mind. Something was there, like a shadow I couldn't quite shake, a voice without sound. It was subtle but insistent, like a part of me that wasn't mine, yet it was.
I could feel the shift inside me, a change I couldn't explain. It wasn't just my body that had healed—it was my mind, my very being. There was a new awareness, a depth to everything. I wasn't just Jon Snow anymore. I was... something else. The memories, the instincts—everything was still there, the life I had led, the pain, the choices, but beneath it all, there was something different.
Who would have thought transmigration was possible?
I knew, without understanding fully how, that I had died. The wolf had killed me. But I hadn't stayed dead. A part of me was still Jon Snow, but now, there was more. I was someone who had died but hadn't stayed gone. Someone else—someone... new—was with me. And I couldn't quite place it.
The strange thoughts, the awareness, it wasn't like a foreign entity had taken control. It was more like... a merging. Like a second set of memories, of instincts, had been grafted onto mine. My mind felt fuller now, but it wasn't as though I had forgotten who I was. I was Jon Snow, but now there was this other... thing, and it was growing, blending into me.
I looked at the wolf, still lying motionless, its body frozen in death. My gaze lingered, and I felt nothing for it. The primal feeling of survival, of having fought and won, took its place. The pain was gone. I shouldn't have been here. I shouldn't have survived.
But here I was.
I took a step forward, feeling a strange pull within me. My sharpened, heightened senses told me there was something more out there, something beyond the woods, beyond the snow. But it didn't matter. I was alive, and that was all that mattered.
I reached for my sword, picking it up from the snow, feeling the weight of it in my hand. It was a familiar comfort, but I knew that something had shifted. I wasn't the same Jon Snow who had left Winterfell. Something in me had changed. Something far beyond just the injuries.
Who would have thought transmigration was possible?
But here I was. Alive, changed, and unsure of what came next.
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PowerStones!!!!!!!!!!!
Major changes are coming hope you guys enjoyed the bonus chapter another chapter should be up in the following day or 2 due to me focusing on my other fanfic Natures Deviation(check it out if you enjoy The Vampire Diaries) See you guys next time.