The Sorcerer’s War

The world cracked open beneath them.

The frozen ground split apart as the ice shattered, and the entire group plunged into the abyss below. The cold seized them instantly, a violent force pulling them downward into the darkness.

Harry barely had time to react before the wind was knocked out of his lungs. His wand slipped from his grasp, vanishing into the dark.

He hit solid ice hard, pain shooting through his ribs. The air was thick with falling debris—shards of ice, pieces of stone, and the muffled cries of his companions.

Then, silence.

A freezing mist filled the air, thick and unnatural, swirling around them like a living thing. Harry gasped, his breath misting in front of him. Everything was cold. Too cold.

Something shifted in the darkness.

A deep, resonating sound—not quite a growl, not quite a whisper. It vibrated through the ice beneath him. Something was waking up.

Jon groaned beside him, pushing himself up. His face was pale from the cold, and Longclaw's steel steamed in the frozen air.

"Everyone still breathing?" Jon muttered.

Tormund cursed as he got up, shaking ice from his beard. "I've had warmer nights in the arms of a bear."

Arya was already on her feet, scanning the cavern with narrowed eyes. "Where the hell are we?"

Harry's fingers brushed against the ice, and a shiver of magic ran through him. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"This place…" His voice was barely a whisper. "It's not natural."

The cavern was massive—a cathedral of ice buried beneath the ruins above. Giant frozen pillars stretched toward a ceiling lost in shadows, their surfaces etched with ancient carvings. The symbols looked almost like runes, but older, more primal.

And in the center of the cavern, half-buried in ice, was a door.

A massive, circular slab of black stone, covered in glowing blue veins. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

Jon approached it warily. "This is what Bran saw."

Harry nodded. "This is what the Deathless Ones were hiding."

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The Echoes of the Past

Before they could move closer, the mist swirled, and the air itself shifted.

A voice—deep and layered—whispered through the cavern.

"You do not belong here."

Harry froze. The voice was not human. It was many voices at once, echoing from the ice, from the stone, from the very air around them.

Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened. "Who are you?"

The mist twisted, and a figure emerged from the ice.

It was the same being they had seen above—tall, inhuman, its body translucent like frozen glass. Its hollow eyes burned with a pale blue fire.

But now, there were more of them.

From the shadows, dozens of similar figures stepped forward—each of them silent, watching. Some were taller than giants, their forms shifting between solid and spectral.

Daenerys took a step forward. "What are you?"

The lead figure tilted its head.

"We are the First."

The cavern seemed to tremble with those words.

Harry swallowed. "The First?"

"Before men, before the Night, before the Children. We were here."

Jon's jaw clenched. "And what do you want?"

The figure raised a skeletal hand. The ice beneath their feet glowed, revealing something beneath the surface.

Harry's stomach twisted.

Beneath them, frozen in the depths, was something massive.

A creature unlike anything they had ever seen.

It had the shape of a man, but it was colossal, its body covered in ancient armor, its face hidden behind a cracked obsidian mask. Its arms were bound in chains of pure ice, and black veins pulsed beneath its frozen skin.

It wasn't dead.

It was sleeping.

Arya's voice was quiet. "What is that?"

The lead figure finally answered.

"The First King."

The words sent a chill through Harry's spine.

Jon took a slow breath. "The Night King?"

The figure shook its head.

"No. He was merely a shadow of us."

The cavern trembled again, and the chains on the frozen creature shifted. A deep, resonating pulse echoed through the ice.

Harry felt it in his bones.

This wasn't just an ancient being. This was power itself.

A sleeping god.

And they had just woken him up.

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The Awakening

The First stepped forward.

"Your war means nothing. Your kingdoms mean nothing. The world will return to silence."

The mist swirled, and suddenly—they attacked.

The creatures moved like ghosts, gliding across the ice. Harry barely had time to react before one of them lunged at him, its hand stretching out like a spear of frost.

He threw up a shield charm—Protego!—and the force of the attack sent him skidding backward.

Jon met one of them blade to blade, Longclaw's Valyrian steel sparking against the frozen claws of the creature. Tormund roared, swinging his axe at another, but it passed through the figure like mist.

Arya ducked beneath a strike and drove Needle straight through the creature's chest—but it didn't bleed. It didn't even flinch.

"THEY'RE NOT SOLID!" Arya shouted.

Daenerys raised a hand—and fire erupted from her palm.

The flames hit the creatures directly—and for the first time, they reacted.

One of them screeched, its body burning away into smoke.

Harry's mind raced.

"Fire. They can be burned."

He grabbed his wand, heart pounding. "Incendio Maxima!"

A blast of blue fire erupted from his wand, slamming into another creature—this time, it screamed.

"Use fire!" Harry yelled.

Jon, realizing the same, turned to Daenerys. "We need dragonfire!"

Daenerys's eyes flashed. She raised her hands, and flames erupted from her fingertips, sweeping across the battlefield.

The First shrieked as they burned, their mist-like bodies dissolving in the heat.

But then the ice rumbled.

And the chains snapped.

Harry's blood ran cold.

The thing beneath the ice… moved.

Its massive hand shifted, fingers curling. The obsidian mask cracked, revealing a sliver of pale blue fire beneath.

And then—it opened its eyes.

A blinding blue light exploded from the frozen tomb, consuming the cavern.

The First King had awakened.

And the world would never be the same.