[Chapter Size: 5200 Words.]

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  Third Person POV

  Somewhere beyond the Wall, 292 Ae week ter.

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  During the week that followed, Jon was extremely busy, dividing his time between interaining and assisting in the ongoing development of ártica. In the ms, he dedicated himself to honing his bat skills, strategy, and leadership uhe guidance of Brynden and reen-seer masters. Jon not only trained with the sword but also practiced war tactics, learning to and and motivate his troops, a routihey have maintained si began 2 years ago.

  Iernoons, Jon visited different parts of ártica, iing the buildings, talking with the workers, and listening to the needs of his people. He was directly involved in the pnning and execution of projects, from expanding agricultural areas to improving defense and housing infrastructures.

  Jon also spent signifit time with the Children of the Forest, helping tthen the grove of weirwoods around the great tree. At night, he dedicated himself to study and pnning. Surrounded by maps, reports, and advice from his most trusted advisors, Jon outlirategies for the future of ártid the immi expedition beyond its borders. He also spent time alone, irely, because Ghost and Eragon were alresent.

  Throughout the week that preceded his departure, Jon was immersed iiculous preparation of his troops, a diverse tihat reflected the uniqueness of ártica. Each m, he joihe 1500 humans, 500 dwarves, and 500 giants iraining field, where his presenspired and motivated. Uhe watchful eyes of Du and Thor, the soldiers practiced plex maneuvers, simuted bat, and hoheir fighting skills. Jon, with a sword in hand, led by example, demonstrating leadership teiques he had learned not only from Du but from Brynden's visions and his own experiences.

  Today Jon positioned himself in front of his 2500 soldiers, an imposing sight in the vast training area of ártica, where the sound of steel against steel echoed with the troops' incessant practice. The pce was bustling with activity, each soldier moving with determination and precision. The area was meticulously anized, divided into ses for melee bat training, archery, and battle strategy.

  The soldiers were impeccably equipped with Eldeal armor, shimmering uhe sun with a silvery gloiece of armor was a work of art, fed by the skilled dwarves of ártica, designed not just to protect but also to allow agility and fluid movement. The armors were plemented by helmets, shields, and ons also made of Eldeal, eascribed with symbols representing the strength and unity of ártica.

  The giants, imposing and robust, stood above all, their armor specially desigo aodate their enormous bodies. They carried massive clubs and axes, each bloable of knog down a dozen ehe dwarves, in turn, moved with surprisierity, their ons and armor refleg their pride and skill in the fe.

  Jon observed all this with an attentive eye and a heart heavy with the responsibility he carried. He khat each person before him had chosen to follow him, trusting him to lead them to safety and victory. He walked slowly through the area, making eye tact with as many as he could, veying his fidend gratitude for their loyalty and ce.

  When it was time to speak, Jon climbed onto a small improvised ptform, ensuring that his voice reached everyone present. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the Eldeal on his shoulders and the future of árti his hands.

  Jon raised his voice, which echoed strong and clear across the training field:

  "Fellow citizens of ártica, my people, my nation, warriors of the true North! Our nation flourishes, being a bastion of strength and hope in nds once cold ae. But as we rejoi the warmth of our prosperity, we ot, we must not, fet those who still suffer uhe yoke of the relentless winter and the threatening shadows of the White Walkers."

  He paused, allowing his words to pee the heart of each listener. "We are not of cowardly nature nor of spirits that surrehose suffering beyond our nds are our brothers and sisters, fag a on enemy in a world that seldom shows mercy. We were like them once, battling the biting cold, the devastating hunger, ah lurking around every er. The time has e, the time to extend our hand, to be the bea of light that guides the way to a better future."

  Jon raised a ched fist iermination. "We will show the White Walkers and all who doubt our strength who truly rules the North! While the kneelers of the south hide behind their walls and schemes, it will be us, the people of ártica, who fad destroy the darkhreatening to swallow the world. Not because we are wild or because we were born oher side of the Wall. No! But because we are the most powerful people this world has ever seen!"

  A roar of approval aermination grew among the troops, a sound that seemed to shake the very earth beh their feet. "Prepare yourselves, brave ones of ártica," Jon cluded with a voice that promised victory and glory. "Our path will not be easy, but together, as a united and indomitable force, we will ge the course of history. For the North, for ártica, we march!"

  The thunder of war cries, "RUUUUH RUUUUHU RUUUUH!" from the 2500 soldiers and the howling of 200 wolves filled the air, resonating with a force that vibrated in the chest of each present. Jon, atop Ghost, his 2.6-meter wolf, dressed in armor fit for a king, felt a wave of satisfa. Eragon, though small, expressed his excitement with sharp cries, sharing the fervor of the moment.

  "FORWARD NOW SOLDIERS!" Jon anded. His army began to move, but not before hearing the roars and appuse of the nation. Jon always cultivated the philosophy of making his people believe they were the stro in the world, a belief he himself embraced as truth. He saw in his people and in himself the most powerful for the world.

  Jon had meticulously anized an army that was the bae of ártica, a well-structured and disciplined force, refleg the order and efficy he desired. At the top, generals of each race - humans, dwarves, giants, and Children of the Forest - ensured unity and uniong the diverse fas of his varied army.

  For every group of 500 soldiers, an Artirian ander was designated, leading what Jon called an "artirion." These anders were the direct liween high-level strategy and the soldiers in the field, responsible for exeg orders and adapting them to the circumstances of the battlefield.

  Within each artirion, the structure became even mranur, with a leader for every 100 men - the squad leaders. These leaders were Jon's eyes and ears on the ground, ensuring that each soldier kheir role and was ready to act quickly and effectively.

  Jon instituted this system to ehat ands were quid clear, avoiding the chaos that could arise from a slow, tralized voice. With leaders at every level, the army of ártica could promptly respond to any situation, whether a pnned battle or an ued surprise attack. The efficy of this system had already been proven in smaller battles, and Jon trusted it would be the key to the strength and survival of his kingdom in the fights to e.

  This army, specialized in fighting White Walkers, had already proven its strength and efficacy. Jon had trained each soldier specifically to face this a and deadly threat. The st White Walker who dared enter his territory never returned, and sihen, no ht dared approach. They were more than an army; they were a symbol of strength, determination, and the unwavering power of ártica.

  "It's time to go." Jon ented, and Du at his side looked at him with a nod. Du would not participate in this excursion; he is the best general of ártica, and leaving him in the realm was the best option should an emergency arise from an attack, be it from the free folk or the dead, ártieeded someoo and its forces.

  "Good luck, Jon, stay safe. Otherwise, I'll never five you," Du spoke in a serious tone.

  "Don't worry, you too. Protect Artica while I'm away." With that, Jon mounted his wolf.

  Ghost carried Jon with pride, both in armor dispying bd red colors with designs of Ghost and Eragon. Even with the paint, a greenish hue was visible underh, a reminder of the power Jon shared with his creatures, and his armave him a status of leadership.

  As the army of ártica prepared to march south, the atmosphere was charged with discipline as everyone began to march with the leadership of Jon and others. There were 2,500 soldiers aligned in impeccable formation, a vision of power and disciplihat reflected Jon's meticulousness and pnning. Each soldier, adorned with shimmering Eldeal armors, bore the weight of their prote as a badge of honor and duty.

  At the front, Jon rode Ghost, the gigantic wolf of more than 2.5 meters, an imposing sight that anded resped admiration. Beside him, a pack of 200 Giant wolves, each about 2 meters tall, marched with a fierce grace that could only be found in the creatures of the true north.

  As they advahey carried not only armor and ons but also essential supplies - food, clothes, alcohol, and cigars - ensuring they would be prepared for auality. Thus, with the supply wagons and the army itself, they left the Artids.

  Three days after the start of the march, the army of ártica, posed of 2,500 meermio head south, had no immediate pns for recruitment or visits to tribes but were ready for diplomacy should they enter any group along the way.

  As they advahey began to enter remaining peoples to the south. Oribe in particur, he path of the army, watched with a mix of fear and admiration as the imposing march approached. The shining armors, sharp ons, and the load of supplies, including food, clothes, alcohol, and cigars, were an impressive sight for those aced to a simpler and harsher life. The initial caution of the tribe gave way to curiosity, and, motivated by the non-hostile approach of the army, they decided to approach.

  At the ter of this formidable force was Jon, an 11-year-old boy whose preseop Ghost, his giant wolf, ahe attention and respect of all. Ghost, surprisingly tall even for his species, and everyone k at first good at 2.6 meters, a stature that made him appear a mythical creature.

  Jon's authority was uioo anyone who looked at him, even being a child, different from 2 years ago, he had a much more authoritative aura than before, a result of his 2 years of training and his potions, where he anded not only by his status as king but by the fidend ability with which he led. His enter with the local tribe was marked by calm and an offer of peace, demonstrating that although they were prepared for battle, their greater goal was to establish alliances and offer a new path for those who wished to joihriving nation of ártica.

  The leader of the unknown group looked at Jon with a cautious gaze, his expression mixing curiosity and suspi. "Are you Mance? I thought you were older. Are you pnning to attack the Wall?" he asked, trying to uhe young figure before him. Jon, whose posture and gaze no longer reflected the innoce of a boy but the determination of a king, remained unshaken, fidence emanating from him like a cloak, a wisdom beyond his years, acquired from the visions of a kings.

  Jon smiled, a smile that not only disarmed the tension but also infused a sense of camaraderie among his men. "Hear that, boys? They think I'm Mahe ughter that followed from his soldiers, especially from the nearby dwarves. The visiting group, in turn, was visibly unfortable and fused by the exge and the mockery from this group, particurly by that bunall men armor and looking at the free folk as if they had found prey.

  Wishing to formally introduce his people, Jon raised his voice, anding everyone's attention. "My people, why don't you introduce yourselves to our visitors?" he shouted. The response was instant and thunderous. "WE ARE áRTICA!" echoed the voice of 2500 soldiers, apanied by the metallic sound of shields being struck. The dispy of strength and unity left the visiting group shrunken, wide-eyed, deeply impressed, and perhaps a bit intimidated, as they had never seen anything like it in these nds.

  Jon, maintaining his calm and authoritative posture, respoo the leader of the unknown group. "No, we do not io attack the Wall. They have given us no reason for such a," he said calmly. The leader observed him, clearly perplexed and intrigued by the response.

  "You're not going to attack? Then, how do you io protect yourselves from the darkhat is ing the North?" the man insisted, seeking to uand the logic behind the thoughts of this child. Jon, in turn, fixed his gaze ohe fiden his void posture unwavering.

  "Do you refer to the White Walkers with their blue eyes? Why should we run?" Joioned, raising an eyebrow with a mix of challenge and nonce. Internally, Jon allowed himself a moment ance, wishing to demonstrate the strength and ce his nation possessed.

  Jon, fag the unfortable sileook the word fidently. "Let me ask my people," he said, turning to his soldiers. With a voice that resonated with authority and expectation, he shouted: "áRTICA, WHAT ARE WE?"

  The answer came in a deafening roar: "WE ARE NORTHERN!" The soldiers of ártica replied with a fervor that echoed through the air.

  Jon, not satisfied, shouted again, seeking to reaffirm the identity and strength of his people. "áRTICA, WHAT ARE WE?" And the answer came loud and clear: "WE ARE DESDANTS OF THE FIRST MEN!"

  For the third time, Jon challenged his men, "áRTICA, WHAT ARE WE?" and they responded with an equally powerful roar: "WE ARE THE MOST POWERFUL PEOPLE!"

  ging the question, Joed the ce of his people: "áRTICA, WHAT DO WE FEAR?" And, proudly, he heard the answer: "WE FEAR NOTHING, BUT THE WRATH OF ODS!" The religiosity and respect for the old gods were evident in the fervent response.

  Finally, Jon addressed the issue of the White Walkers: "áRTICA, WHAT DO WE DO WITH WHITE WALKERS?" The answer came with a ferocity that left the visiting group stunned: "WE DON'T RUN! WE KILL THEM, WE EXTERMIHEM, THEY ARE THE ONES WHO FEAR US!"

  Jon smiled broadly, proud of his people and the war cry they had rehearsed. They were prepared, traio faumerous enemies and win. Discipline and ce were their greatest ons. The men of the tribe, faced with this demonstration of strength and unity, were visibly shocked. They had grown up hearing horror stories about the darkhat killed everything in its path, but here were the soldiers of ártica, ready and willing to face the most feared evil of the North. The se before them, with an army dressed in never-before-seen armor, apanied by giants and a great number of small men with other northerners, and led by a child who emanated authority, would forever ge the way they saw the world.

  "Who-Who are you!?" They couldn't help but excim with fear in their eyes.

  "I am the King of ártica, known as Jon Artica!" Jon had ged his name by the sel of Brynden a year ago. He was no longer a Stark bastard from the south; he then took the name of his nation, as this name would be perfect for the royal family. Jon tinued as he looked at the group of free people.

  "We are looking froups seeking shelter in our nation. My people are protected, they do not suffer from hunger or cold; the only thing they need is to work for ártid respect its ws in exge for all that the nation offer," he said calmly. He didn't know what to say, however, the freefolks are always sensitive about kings, and one of them said.

  "We are not kneelers!" As expected, one of them excimed. Jon smiled at this, already having a clear answer for this situation, theuro his army again and shouted.

  Jon raised his voice, making a rhetorical question that reverberated with strength and vi: "DOES THE PEOPLE OF áRTIEEL?" The expectation hung in the air as he awaited the response.

  Then, like a thunderous unison, the soldiers of ártica responded: "THE PEOPLE OF áRTICA ARE NORTHERN, WE ARE FIRM, TOUGH, AND STRONG, WE DO NOT KO ANYONE, NOT EVEN TO THE KING; FOR THE KING OF áRTICA, RESPECT ALONE SUFFICES!" Their decration was a testament to the strength and independehat defiheir people.

  The response left the freefolk group visibly stunned. Shocked expressions spread through the group, and even the air seemed teh the resonance of the unified shouts.

  Jon decided to break the small silehat had settled among them at that moment, as they were still too surprised to speak.

  Jon, rising with the dignity of a born leader, spoke to the men who watched him with curious and suspicious eyes. "My brothers," he began, his voice resonating with authority and calm, "we share the blood of the first men in our veins. We are northerners, and eae of you must make your own decisions. We will not surrender or flee; this is our nd, and we will defend it against the creatures with blue eyes."

  His speech was eloquent and clear, leaving a choice for those who listened: "If you wish to join us and submit to the ws of ártica, you will find shelter and safety in our nation, the stro in the world. The decision is yours." With a firm look and a resolute posture, Jon began to move away from the group, but not without leaving a final message. "ending matters at the Wall and then we will go west in search of tribes seeking refuge. If you decide to join us, you know where to find us."

  They just watched us leave, never having seen a freefolk speak like this roup be so proud and coordihey began to have hope in their hearts after seeing this demonstration.

  "We ake a decision now, but we will follow you if necessary," the leader of the group gave his response, and Jon nodded before tinuing the journey.

  For three weeks, Jon and his army traversed ids, entering tribes scattered throughout the true North. At eater, the se repeated: the initial amazement of the locals at seeing the orderly march of 2,500 Arctic warriors, all in shimmering eldeal armors, apanied by giants, and led by a boy atop a gigantic wolf. The iations, always led by Jon with a mix of firmness and fairness, ended up each tribe the same choice: join ártica, the nd where cold and hunger were legends of the past, or maintain their autonomy.

  Jon, with his eyes on the sky, had mapped the region with precision that only greenseers could achieve after mapping the area with their birds. He knew every curve of the terrain, every possible hideout, making the journey not only safe but strategid now, at the end of the three weeks, they arrived at Hardhome.

  Hardhome ce of despair aion, an improvised camp where hope seemed to have loreated. Tattered tents and sm fires dotted the ndscape, while hooded figures moved silently among them. The sea incessantly beat against the rocky shore, a stant reminder of the unexplored vasthat stretched beyond them.

  The arrival of Jon's army was like a meteor breaking the gloomy monotony of Hardhome. People emerged from tents and gathered in the dusty streets, watg with peing eyes the arrival of these strangers. The Arctic warriors, imposing in their shiny armors, stood firm and silent. Ghost, with his thick fur arating red eyes, moved gracefully with Jon, his presence veying a serenity that trasted with the chaos around.

  As they advahe residents stopped and watched, with fear and admiration, while whispers spread like wildfire. Jon's giant wolf, Ghost, now known as the biggest wolf many had ever seen, walked with a dignity that reflected his master's. And Jon, high on his mount, looked at Hardhome not as a queror, but as someone who wao speak with these people.

  As they approached the heart of the camp, the crowd gathered, f a sea of curious and cautious faces, many fearful of an armed army arriving here. With a wave of his hand, Jon signaled his army to stop, preparing to speak to the people of Hardhome, to offer them the same choice he had offered to so many others: join ártid embrace a promising future or remain in the shadow of the White Walkers.

  As Jon surveyed the crowd, his eyes met those of an old man, whose wriold stories of many winters. The elder, leaning on a staff, watched Jon with a mix of curiosity and hope. Around him, children peeked out from between the legs of adults, their dirty faces and wide eyes fixed on the giant wolf and the young king it carried. Womeheir children a little closer, and men versed amongst themselves, casting cautious goward the newly arrived army.

  Jon dismounted from Ghost, a gesture that in itself silehe crowd. He walked a few steps forward, his eyes sweeping over the crowd, his posture veying a fidehat seemed to calm the tense air. He extended his hand in a gesture of pead respect toward the old man who had first observed him. The elder, after a brief hesitation, stepped forward, his staff eg on the ground as he moved.

  "Who are you?" the old man's voice sounded, carrying a mix of caution and curiosity that reflected the se of the crowd.

  "I AM THE KING OF áRTICA, KING JON áRTICA!" Jon procimed again, his voice rising above the growing murmurs. "I WANT TO SPEAK WITH YOUR LEADERS. WE WILL NOT ATTACK YROUP UNLESS PROVOKED!" His statement, clear and direct, resohroughout Hardhome.

  The elder remaiill, his gaze weighing on Jon as the young king spoke. The crowd, whitil then had been whispering among themselves, fell into a thoughtful silence upon hearing Jon's authoritative decration. The mention of ártica, a hat resonated with mystery, caused a frisson of curiosity and surprise among the onlookers. The whispers among the tribes transformed into open versations, each person, each family, each warrior p the meaning of Jon's words.

  Jon waited for the people to finish talking and whispering; during this time, the boy saw a man approag from the crowd. Jon noticed his red hair and his size much rger than his peers, but his eyes were cautious as they poio Jon, Ghost by his side, and his army all armed like he had never seen.

  The rge red-haired man decided to break the silence before Jon, "My name is Tormund, the leader of the tribes of the west, if you are not here to attack us, then why are you here with your army of metal?" he decred, his voice denoting both curiosity and caution. Jon nodded in aowledgment.

  "Pleased to meet you, Tormund, I'm short on time so I'll be brief. We are from the nation of ártica, the only nation we reize irue north, and we will always open our doors to people who submit to our ws and tribute to our nation's growth. We offer shelter, food, and warm clothes in the winter, we are weling those willing to ehe realm under my ditions, and we will also fight against the cold shadows!" Jon decred.

  The man, with an expression of cautioched on his wrinkled face, looked at Jon and his army. "I've never heard of such a pce," he murmured, "Do you think you survive the monsters with blue eyes? Mance is ing south with an army of 60,000." His tone indicated a mix of distrust and a thread of hope, as Jon and his army of 2500 did not seem like a group that killed freefolks or members of the Night's Watch.

  Jon, hearing the mention of the dreaded White Walkers, allowed a fident smile to spread across his face. He khe power that ártica possessed, the strength and ce that ran in the veins of his people.

  "HEARD THAT, MY PEOPLE?" Jon shouted, turning to his troops, "HE ASKED IF WE WILL SURVIVE THE BLUE EYES. TELL ME, áRTICA, WHAT HAPPENS TO THE MONSTERS WITH BLUE EYES?"

  The answer came like thunder, 2500 voices united in a powerful and defiant roar: "WE DO NOT FEAR THEM, THEY FEAR US!" The procmation reverberated through the air, filling the space with palpable energy.

  Tormund, along with everyone in Hardhome, was visibly impressed by the demonstration of strength and unity. The shod admiration were evident in their eyes. Here was a group that would not run, a people who would rise to fight against the darkerrorizing the North.

  Jon observed the reas, his heart filled with pride. He khe challenges would be great, but ártica was not a nation of cowards. They would face the winter and its horrors head-on, ready to protect their nd and their people, no matter the cost. It was this bravery and indomitable spirit that Jon believed would lead ártica to bee a legend and a bea of hope in the darkest of winters.

  A woman with the posture of a warrior stepped forward, curiosity aermination marking her expression as she held a spear. "And are you heading to your try?" she asked, her i clear in her voice. It was evident that, if there was a group willing to fight, she would join without hesitation.

  "No," Jon replied calmly, "we have some busio resolve at the Wall. We'll camp for a while and sort out some matters, then we'll travel through the western region, and from there, we'll return to ártica, which is in the southwest of the true north." His expnation geed murmurs of surprise and curiosity among the onlookers.

  "Are you going to meet with the crows?" A man with a grim expression and disdain interrupted, spitting on the ground with evident disgust at the mention of the Night's Watch. Jon faced him, a mog smile appearing on his lips.

  "Yes, any problem with that?"

  "You're one of them?! Crows kill us all the time, how you simply say yoing to meet them?!"

  "And you wao hate the Watch just because you wish it?" He retorted, raising an eyebrow. "I won't listen to insults from someone like you," Jon said, maintaining his provocative smile.

  "Shut up, kid! You might hide behind your men, but you'd be the first to die in a fight," the man growled, his anger palpable in his voice.

  Without hesitation, Jon stepped fripping his Valyrian steel sword, Dark Sister, surprising all present. His steps were fident, and he began to approach the man, his presenanding the attention of all 20,000 people in the camp. As he walked, his voice echoed loud and clear:

  "áRTICA, ARE WE COWARDS?" He shouted, and the response came as a deafening roar from his men:

  "NO, WE FACE OUR CHALLENGES HEAD-ON!" The procmation reverberated through the camp, and Jon tinued his march, ready to front any challenge and prove his people's worth.

  "I will face this man, if anyone else besides this fool attacks, sider this camp ned!" Jon roared authoritatively, and instantly, his 2500 soldiers assumed attack stahe threat transformed the camp into a whirlwind of chaos. People ran in panic, fearing that a simple frontation could lead to their annihition. The bald man who had challenged Jon was visibly shaken, realizing that his aight have deadly sequences. With hesitation, but driven by Jon's challenge, he advanced.

  "I hope you don't regret it, kid!" The man approached with an axe, having no choice but to e closer.

  Jon, with the calm that distinguished him even in the face of danger, uhed Dark Sister, the precious on Brynden had given him. He waited patiently for the man's approach, and wheack came, he dodged the bronze axe with a fluid sidestep and advanced. With a single and powerful strike, he cut the oppo in half, demonstrating supernatural strength along with his sharp and magical Valyrian steel bde. The man fell, screaming in his final moments of life, while Jon tinued, indifferent to the fate of the one who had challenged him.

  Arriving before the paralyzed group, Jon faced them with an indifferent expression and decred: "Let this be a lesson. In ártica, we face our enemies with ce aermination. Do not seek our wrath." His voice, though calm, carried a weight that silehe camp. The looks of fear and respect mingled as everyone absorbed the truth in Jon's words and the reality of ártica's power.

  "My business with the crows is my own, and I owe no one an expnation," Jon tio decre firmly, his gaze fixed and challenging. "Whether you are alive or dead, on this side of the wall or the other, if you dare threaten my people, you will meet your end. Those who think they dictate the as of ártica, listen well: we fe our own path. If you believe you challenge us, then e and face our strength!" His voice echoed, den with an implicit threat and an unwavering promise. No one moved; their gazes mixed with fear, anger, and a palpable curiosity.

  Jouro his wolf, and at his and, the troops rexed from the battle formation. They proceeded toward the Wall, leaving behind a camp in a state of shock. The 20,000 people present were still trying to prehend the in of that child who anded such a powerful and disciplined army.

  The army's journey tinued for another week, stopping every afternoon in an open area, as Jon avoided the forests, and they set up a no-camp, Jon tinued his journey south until he began to see the structure of the Wall in the distan the horizon.

  "Uncle, I'm finally arriving," Jon thought, a mix of determination and anticipation to see his retives after years of isotion.

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