Blizzards howled across the frozen land.
On the snowy plains of the Everfrost Region, white squalls swept fiercely over the desolate earth, rendering the skies a permanent shade of grey.
Suddenly, a bony hand burst through the snow, reaching out from beneath the frozen surface.
"Ha…" Kael let out a yawn and opened his eyes. Surprisingly, there was no splitting headache—something he had definitely expected. After all, he'd gotten a promotion yesterday and treated his coworkers to drinks. One thing led to another, and he'd clearly had a bit too much.
He figured they'd either carried him home or at least gotten him a hotel room to sleep it off, so he wasn't too worried.
What he didn't expect… was to wake up in a world of ice and snow. No landmarks, nothing recognizable in sight—just a two to three hundred meter stretch of snowy nothingness.
"Those bastards… where the hell did they dump me?" Kael grumbled as he struggled to get up.
And that's when he realized—something was wrong.
The hand he'd stretched out wasn't a normal hand. It was a skeleton's.
Kael stared, wide-eyed and frozen in disbelief. Then he let out a scream so sharp and piercing it could've rivaled a soap opera heroine waking up naked in the villain's bed—while said villain approached with a leather whip in hand.
Then, like that same heroine flinging away the blanket in horror, Kael frantically brushed off the snow covering his body… only to be greeted by pitch-black nothingness.
A while later, he came to again, groaning groggily. Please let this be a dream, he thought desperately. He held up his hands with renewed hope—only to see the same skeletal bones staring back at him.
"This is a dream. It has to be. I just drank too much… if I sleep a little longer, it'll go away…"
He mumbled as he lay back down, shutting his eyes tight.
The reason he was so convinced this was all a dream was simple—despite the snow and wind, he didn't feel even a hint of cold. What else could it be but a dream?
But no matter how he tried, he couldn't fall asleep again. Not even a trace of drowsiness remained.
And then a voice shattered every last illusion he clung to.
It rang directly in his mind—like a psychic whisper—and said only two words: "Assemble."
The voice was authoritative, absolute, brooking no argument.
"Received!"
Kael jumped to his feet on instinct—but then paused, reminding himself that he was still dreaming, and didn't need to obey.
"Goddamn it… been bossed around for so long, I'm still saying 'Received' even in my dreams… Screw management."
Just as he was about to lie back down, a strange rustling sound filled the air around him.
Kael turned his head—and almost had a heart attack.
All around him, ragged skeletal hands were clawing their way out of the snow. One after another, figures just like him—ugly skeleton soldiers—were dragging themselves free from the frost.
It was too real. Too detailed. Aside from the lack of physical sensations, everything was indistinguishable from real life. Kael no longer knew if he was dreaming… or if this was reality.
"This… this…"
He stammered, but couldn't form a coherent sentence.
Fortunately, the other skeletons didn't seem hostile. Instead, they staggered off in a single direction.
At that moment, Kael realized—though he couldn't feel anything physically, there was a strange, almost invisible thread connecting him to something far off in the distance.
That connection gave him strength—let him move freely—and deep within, a voice whispered, "That is your Supreme King. You must follow him, serve him, die for him, give everything for him."
Kael shook his head hard, trying to banish the thought. 'The hell I will. I'm not brainwashed—I live for myself. Why would I die for someone else?'
Still, standing still while every other skeleton marched away made him stick out. Better to go along for now and figure things out.
The snowy plain was vast. As Kael walked, more and more skeletons joined the throng, rising from the ground all around him.
He took a rough count—there had to be over ten thousand of them by now.
They marched all morning. By the time the sun hung high in the sky, Kael finally saw the one they were all heading toward.
His eyes went wide with shock.
"That… that's the Night King from Game of Thrones! What the hell?! I've become one of his skeleton soldiers?!"
Atop a skeletal steed, the Night King stood on a high cliff, imposing and majestic. Beside him were four other mounted figures—just as intimidating, armed with ice lances and clad in frozen armor.
Silent. Towering. Unshakable.
But Kael knew better.
Sure, they looked cool now. But give it some time—once the Night King breaks through the Wall and attacks Winterfell, they're all going to get wrecked.
The Night King ushered his undead army into a massive gorge before turning to leave, fully confident they would stand exactly where he ordered.
And they did.
All except for Kael.
Panic bubbled up inside him. 'I'm a skeleton soldier under the Night King? What kind of twisted karma is this?'
He had no clue how far into the story he'd landed, but one thing was clear—if he just stood around doing nothing, he'd be turned to ash the moment the Night King fell.
That was not an option. Even if he couldn't return to his original world, surviving here was still better than dying.
Even ants fight to live. Kael sure as hell wasn't going to roll over and die.
First things first—he had to find out how far into the story things were. That meant leaving the gorge.
But he had no idea how heavily guarded the place was. If the Night King discovered he had a deserter among his ranks, Kael was certain he'd be executed on the spot.
He looked around. The elite White Walkers that had been watching from the cliffs had vanished with the Night King. Around him, the other skeleton soldiers just stood there, mindlessly unmoving.
Cautiously, Kael took a single step backward, eyes darting around nervously.
Nothing.
He took another step.
Still no reaction.
He exhaled, relieved. With thousands of skeletons standing at random, the Night King probably wouldn't notice one missing.
Kael had seen Game of Thrones. He knew the skeletons were mindless—obedient killing machines bound only to the Night King's will.
But this was his life on the line. No harm in being extra careful.
Slowly, step by step, he edged toward the outskirts of the army. Still no signs of guards or watchers.
Finally, Kael felt safe enough to walk normally—then broke into a brisk stride, heading straight out of the gorge.
The Night King had been too confident. He never imagined that among his legion of the dead, one insignificant skeleton soldier might awaken… with a soul not his own.
And this seemingly unremarkable little skeleton would one day become a force that shook all of Westeros.