Far beyond the Wall, the Night King moved.
His army was endless. White walkers strode atop skeletal horses. Giants with blue eyes crushed forests underfoot. The dead did not eat, did not sleep, did not halt.
They walked.
Bran Stark, watching through ravens, saw the truth. "They will reach Winterfell before the snows melt."
Jon urged Daenerys and Andrew to hurry. But Andrew felt something deeper.
"They are drawn to me," he whispered. "To my fire. As if they remember it."