Bran's Dream

Was I drifting toward the sky, or falling?

Where was this?

Bran sensed the world he was in. Not with his eyes, nor his nose, ears, or skin, but with his intangible mind.

He floated in a blank void with no support, no color, and no substance.

Was this darkness or light?

It seemed as though there was nothing, yet it also seemed filled with everything.

Was I breathing? Could I breathe?

It was a strange feeling. Here, he did not need to do anything. Nothing changed; only his thoughts remained.

Could I create something?

A patch of gray suddenly stained the blank canvas, then in an instant expanded and contracted to fill the whole world.

This place became a world of gray mist.

Bran gradually understood. This was a dream.

Bran did not remember ever having a dream like this before, but he felt that the dim gray mist around him was familiar.

Strangely, he was somewhat afraid of the mist.

Everything was clearly so calm.

Bran did not think he was such a coward. It was only a dream—what danger could there be?

The gray mist suddenly churned and erupted.

Countless clouds of vapor rushed toward Bran at once, drowning him in an even denser sea of fog.

Bran felt dizzy, and then he knew.

He was falling, faster and faster, as though there were no end...

"Fly."

A voice sounded from somewhere unknown.

"Fly now. You must never fall to the ground."

Bran saw a vague stretch of ground emerge beneath the gray mist. Though far away, it seemed to be gradually approaching him.

What would happen if I hit the ground?

Bran began to panic.

"Who are you? I can't fly!"

"I'm here." The voice became much clearer, as though it were right beside his ear.

Bran saw it.

A crow circled around him. He tried to reach for it, but could not get close no matter what he did.

"This is only a dream. I won't hit the ground."

Bran comforted himself.

The crow retorted irritably, "No. If you fall, you'll die. You have to fly."

The ground drew closer and closer. Bran heard the wind roaring furiously. The gray mist lashed his cheeks with pain, nearly suffocating him.

The gray mist before his eyes had become a gray river, even streaks of gray light rushing past him.

So high. So fast.

A thousand times, ten thousand times more dangerous than jumping from the second-floor tower.

Will I die?

He was about to cry. "But I can't fly."

The crow calmly landed beside his hand. "I'm hungry. Do you have any corn?"

Bran hurriedly reached into his pocket and fumbled around. Luckily...

He opened his palm. A handful of golden corn kernels appeared, falling along with him.

The crow hopped onto his hand in two or three steps and began pecking at them.

One bite, two bites, three, four bites.

At last, the crow spoke again. "I have wings, and so do you. You can't see them, but they exist."

"You're too afraid. Fear makes your wings curl up. Stop binding them. Let them spread, and the wind will naturally carry you through the sky."

Bran listened carefully to every word, but still did not quite understand.

The crow said, "Look down."

Bran glanced below, and an indescribable sensation seized every inch of his flesh and blood.

The distant, blurry ground became Winterfell!

Even the Winterfell he had seen from the high tower was not as astonishing as this.

He saw Maester Luwin lying in a pool of blood in the darkness, while a shadowy figure quietly moved away.

No!

The scene changed again, becoming the Godswood beneath the sunlight.

His father was by the small lake in the woods, scooping up black water to wash the blood from Ice. His mother, standing beside him, seemed filled with sorrow and fear.

His father and mother left. The pool of black water once more became a still mirror, reflecting the towering pale image of the Weirwood.

The leaves rustled in the cold wind.

Bran saw the Weirwood's reflection in the black water open blood-red eyes and look toward him.

He quickly looked away.

Then he saw his brothers and sisters sleeping. Deep, dark shadows stood beside their beds: one with a terrifying face, one clad in dazzling golden armor, and another, taller and stronger, a faceless giant.

He looked north again and saw The Wall, gleaming like blue crystal.

Beyond The Wall stretched endless snow and ice, forests, frozen rivers, and silent frozen plains.

He kept looking northward. At the end of the world, a curtain of light appeared. The Heart of Winter within it made his eyes stream with tears.

"Winter Is Coming." The crow perched on his shoulder and whispered, "You have a mission."

"Why me?"

Bran looked at the crow on his shoulder in confusion, and the crow looked back at him. It had three eyes. Its third eye was filled with a terrifying knowledge.

The Three-Eyed Crow merely said, "Fly."

Bran continued falling, falling.

He looked down once more and saw only ice and snow, cold, and death. The frozen wilderness was filled with serrated blue-white ice spikes that shot toward him like flying spears, covered in human bones.

Will I join those bones too? Father, save me!

Desperate terror engulfed him.

"Can a man still be brave when he is afraid?"

He heard his father's voice. "A man can only be brave when he is afraid."

"Now, Bran."

The Three-Eyed Crow urged, "Spread your arms and fly, or fall to your death."

The ice spikes screamed as they stretched their demonic claws toward him.

Bran spread his arms. The cold wind swept across his invisible wings.

He flew.

He soared toward the heavens. The dreadful ice spikes gradually receded, and the world beneath him grew smaller and smaller.

This feels amazing!

"I can fly!" he cried happily.

I know. The Three-Eyed Crow flapped its wings and flew before Bran's forehead.

The Ancient Throne had stimulated Bran's bloodline, and Bran's soul had already begun to awaken. It had no choice but to act ahead of time.

Brandon, we will become one.

Its wings beat against his cheeks, slowing him down and obscuring his vision. He could not help swaying unsteadily in the air.

Bran felt its gaze fixed tightly upon the center of his brow.

Fear came for him again.

Crack!

The boundless sky was torn in half.

Roar—

A colossal beast after the blaze gave a long cry. Howling winds swept across the entire world, carrying towering serpents of fire.

The Three-Eyed Crow beat its wings desperately, yet the tempest still hurled it thousands, tens of thousands of meters away. Red, blue, and white flames burned all over its body.

Yet Bran was completely unharmed.

He raised his head.

A dragon and a giant occupied the entire sky.

A true Dragonrider.

That dragon was more majestic than Baleriion the Black Dread, larger than Vhagar.

The giant wore white armor and white robes, with a pure white mask over his face. In his hand, he held aloft an unparalleled sword, black as smoke and crimson as blood.

Was that Dragonflame?

The Three-Eyed Crow finally extinguished the flames on its body. It spread its wings, and its form immediately grew hundreds, thousands of times larger.

Its voice remained hoarse and piercing. "You should not have appeared."

The giant pointed the tip of his sword at the crow.

"But I am here, Three-Eyed Crow."

The giant lifted his mask, revealing a face Bran knew and trusted.

"Your Highness!"

"It's me."

Bran saw the Crown Prince swing his sword at the crow.

"Don't believe this crow! I know these monsters. It wants to take over your body!"

Bran believed him immediately. It truly was a monster.

The gray mist gradually faded, replaced by pure white rain mist.

The rain mist joyfully swirled around Bran.

He understood. This was my dream world, my power.

The rain mist joined the battle, doing its best to disrupt the Three-Eyed Crow's vision and erode its black feathers.

The Crown Prince's dragon breathed out scorching lava as vast as the sea.

The Crown Prince raised Dragonflame, radiant as the sun. Red light, Blacklight, White Light, and silver light surged into Dragonflame together, shooting toward the bedraggled crow.

The world began to shatter.

The Three-Eyed Crow gave a caw, then turned into dust.

Bran cheered.

The Crown Prince smiled at him. "This is a secret. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

The world vanished.

Bran returned to real darkness.

A few breaths later, he opened his eyes and rolled over. Little Wolves was lying there, staring steadily at him.

That really was a dream... right?