Every word Viserys spoke carried a heavy weight in his heart.
Styr's eyelid twitched as he listened, a habit he had developed while tracking a Shadowcat in his youth. Whenever danger approached, his body would instinctively react in some small way.
"The Others have already awakened," Viserys continued, lowering his voice further.
"Perhaps you've never seen them yourself, or you've hidden deep enough in the Frostfangs to think they're only stories meant to frighten children. But someone in your camp must know about them, or have seen them firsthand. Otherwise, why do you think they abandoned their tribes, came here, and now want to head south?"
His gaze swept over the Free Folk slowly gathering around them, their faces haggard and frightened in the firelight.
Some pulled their fur coats tighter around themselves. Others lowered their heads to avoid his gaze, as though merely mentioning that name could bring disaster down upon them.
Styr listened in silence, but his fingers unconsciously tightened around his weapon.
He had killed many enemies with that axe, yet now Viserys's words sent an unfamiliar chill creeping slowly up his spine.
"In any case, I've seen them myself."
Viserys's voice sounded icy now. "Outside Caste's keep, I cut down several with my own hands. They were all Others, not those mindless Wights. Their weapons are made of ice. When they strike your weapon, yours shatters. Their skin is as blue as a corpse's, and blue fire burns in their eyes."
He paused, the expression on his face making it seem as though he were reliving that night.
Silence fell over the camp. Viserys drew a deep breath and continued, "It was a moonless night. We reached the outskirts of Caste's keep, and at first, everything seemed fairly normal. But soon they came, for Caste's child."