The Godswood

If the heart of the North was Winterfell,

then the heart of Winterfell was undoubtedly—

the Godswood!

This three-acre Godswood was said to have existed for over ten thousand years.

With the help of the Giants, Brandon the Builder had built all of Winterfell around this ancient Godswood.

The entire Godswood was surrounded by a wall. To reach it from the Great Hall, one first had to cross the training yard, follow a gallery to the guest rooms, and then take the passage beyond them to the iron gate at the entrance to the Godswood.

At that moment, the moon was bright and the stars were sparse, and the night air was as cold as frost.

The wind howled through Winterfell at night, making Garon shiver.

In the dim training yard, he tightened his clothes and continued on.

Along the way, Garon ran into Winterfell guards on patrol several times.

But Ned Stark had already given the order, so Garon was able to make his way unimpeded to the iron gate at the entrance to the Godswood.

A torch hung on each side of the wall.

Standing beneath one of them, Garon peered into the Godswood by its flickering light, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

But the place was dark and primeval, so quiet it seemed to swallow every sound.

The night was dim. Thick black trunks crowded together, and twisted branches wove a dense canopy beneath the night sky.

At a glance, the entire Godswood looked like a monstrous giant, waiting for someone to arrive.

"Is the Three-Eyed Crow really here?"

Garon watched for a long time but saw no sign of the crow.

Of course, the Three-Eyed Crow might be hiding deep in the Godswood, watching Garon through the Weirwood.

"Whatever. I'm already here."

"Let the Old Gods decide whether this brings fortune or disaster!"

A sharp glint flashed in Garon's eyes. He made up his mind, laid his right hand on the hilt at his waist, and strode into the Godswood.

The thick darkness swallowed Garon's figure in an instant.

He followed a path through the trees toward a pool of black water in the heart of the Godswood.

A thousand years of rotting leaves lay beneath his feet. With every step, the sound seemed to be absorbed by a thick carpet.

All that remained was a muffled, oppressive silence.

The strange sensation unsettled Garon.

He quickened his pace.

A few moments later, Garon reached the Weirwood at the center of the Godswood.

Standing beside the black water, he stared at the human face carved into the trunk. Its sunken eye sockets, filled with dried red sap, looked especially bizarre and terrifying in the night.

Garon even imagined that the face's red eyes were staring right back at him.

The dark surroundings, the eerie atmosphere, the Three-Eyed Crow hidden somewhere nearby—

All of it had his nerves taut.

He shifted his gaze, searching for the Three-Eyed Crow, but in the thick darkness, all he could see overhead was black.

At last, Garon could only stare at the sorrowful face on the Weirwood and ask tentatively,

"I came here as agreed!"

"Who are you? Isn't it time you showed yourself?"

His voice echoed between the black water and the Weirwood, but no one answered.

It was as if Garon were the only living person in the entire Godswood.

Garon furrowed his brow and looked around again. "If you still don't appear, I'm leaving!"

The surroundings remained unchanged.

Garon couldn't help wondering, "Could it be that tonight wasn't the right time?"

He circled the Weirwood once, but found nothing.

After hesitating for a moment, Garon decided to head back and return the following night.

But before leaving, he followed Northern custom and knelt on one knee to pray before the Weirwood.

That very act brought several caws to Garon's ears.

The next instant,

countless green lights rose from the ground, drawing Garon into the vision once more.

Whoosh—

Space turned over. Time ran backward.

The familiar sensation surged over him again.

This time, Garon needed only a few breaths to adjust. He straightened his back.

He surveyed the same green space and said coldly, "I've come as invited. It's time you showed yourself."

At once, green lights gathered, and the figure of an aged man appeared.

Garon looked closely—

The old man's skin was deathly pale, and he was emaciated. One eye was a hollow black, the other a blood-red orb. His left leg was whole, but his right was missing from the knee down.

He leaned on a cane made of weirwood and stared quietly at Garon for a moment before speaking.

"Glo...ver..."

His voice was slow and dry, as if the old man had not spoken in a long time.

Garon's heart tightened. He recognized the old man before him as the Three-Eyed Crow—

Brynden Rivers!

On high alert, he carefully tried to draw out more information.

"Who are you?"

"Why did you invite me here?"

The Three-Eyed Crow seemed to see through Garon's intentions. An inscrutable smile appeared on his pale face.

He didn't answer Garon's questions. Instead, he lightly tapped the ground with his cane.

In an instant, the entire space froze.

To Garon's horror, his body was pinned in place. He couldn't move at all.

Then the vision of Winterfell appeared throughout the space.

The next instant!

At the Three-Eyed Crow's command, Winterfell's history raced backward, along with the people who had lived there.

Ned Stark in his prime, Ned Stark as a boy, Rickard Stark...

The violent shifts in the vision made Garon's head spin like a bowl of porridge. Nausea churned in his stomach.

Just as he was about to throw up, a cool sensation came from his eyes, dispelling his discomfort.

His red eyes glimmered faintly, and the magic binding him vanished without a trace.

Garon staggered, then regained his balance.

He instinctively looked at the vision, which was still moving backward.

This time, Garon saw every change clearly!

Boom—

Winterfell disappeared, replaced by a hill in a primeval forest.

"The Wolfswood..."

Garon recognized at once the Wolfswood where he had lived for half a year. He looked at the Three-Eyed Crow in alarm, but the crow raised a finger to his lips, signaling him to keep watching.

Then,

a tall male First Man with dark brown hair appeared on the hill. Beside him, a short female Child of the Forest with red eyes appeared.

They clasped hands and raised them high atop the hill.

Then countless First Men and Children of the Forest appeared below.

They stood apart from one another, shouting excitedly in an ancient tongue.

The piercing, clanging voices echoed in Garon's ears, but their meaning appeared in his mind—

King of the First Men! And...Greenseer!

"What is this...?"

Some unconscious part of Garon told him that the tall male First Man before him was the ancestor of House Glover.

But what was the female Child of the Forest beside him?

Garon was utterly confused. He couldn't understand why the Three-Eyed Crow was showing him this scene.

He lifted his eyes. His red gaze, identical to that of the female Child of the Forest, fell on the Three-Eyed Crow. He wanted an answer from him.

This time, the Three-Eyed Crow didn't keep him guessing.

Leaning on his cane, he slowly approached Garon. His one remaining red eye turned toward the vision, and his voice was dry and hoarse.

"Descendant of House Glover, your guess is right!"

"The First Man and the Greenseer before you are the ancestors of your line!"

Garon was utterly astounded. He hadn't imagined that the rumors of House Glover carrying the blood of the Children of the Forest were true.

The Three-Eyed Crow passed through the vision, his long-drawn voice continuously stirring Garon's thoughts.

"For countless years, you are the only Glover to be born with the red eyes of a Greenseer!"

"And so..."

The Three-Eyed Crow gazed at Garon, the corner of his mouth curling in an unreadable smile. In a strange tone, he revealed the prophecy of fate.

"You are the one who must fulfill the pact between House Glover and the Old Gods!"