Wolf King of Oblivion

Chapter Four: The Prisoner's Path

The cell was damp and cold, the air thick with the stench of mildew and despair. Jon Snow sat on the edge of the rough stone cot, his head bowed, hands clasped loosely in his lap. Chains no longer bound him, but the weight of guilt shackled him more tightly than any iron ever could.

He stared at the blood-stained fabric of his tunic, his mind replaying the horrors of Vehlmor over and over. The screams, the flames, the smell of charred wood and death—it all lingered, vivid and unrelenting.

It's all my fault. The thought tore through him again, an unending mantra. If he had been faster, stronger, better prepared, perhaps Duris and Alenya would still be alive. He had been their hope, their family. And he had failed them.

His head tilted back against the cold wall, his grey eyes unfocused as he stared at the ceiling. How had it come to this? Once, he had been an outcast in Winterfell, despised by Catelyn, ignored by the world. Vehlmor had given him purpose, a life worth living. And now, it was gone—reduced to ash and memory.

The clang of iron broke the heavy silence. Jon's head snapped toward the sound, his muscles tensing instinctively. A heavy door creaked open at the far end of the hall, and armored footsteps echoed in the corridor. A faint murmur of voices followed, too low for Jon to discern.

Moments later, three figures emerged into view. The first was an older man, his regal bearing and ornate robes marking him as someone of great importance. Behind him came two warriors clad in the gleaming armor of the Blades, their movements precise and alert.

Jon frowned as they approached, his confusion growing with each step. These weren't the guards who had arrested him, nor did they bear the insignia of the Legion.

As they reached his cell, the older man stopped and regarded Jon with a piercing gaze. His face was weathered but kind, his eyes holding a wisdom that seemed to pierce through Jon's very soul.

"You," the man said, his voice deep and measured. "I've seen you in my dreams."

Jon blinked, his confusion turning to unease. "What?"

The man stepped closer, and Jon could see the faint glimmer of something otherworldly in his eyes. "Fate has brought us here, stranger. There is more at work in this world than we can possibly understand."

"Your Majesty," one of the Blades interjected, her voice tinged with urgency. "We must move. The assassins will not wait."

The man—an Emperor, Jon realized belatedly—nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on Jon. "This cell holds a secret passage, one that leads beyond the castle walls. We must use it to escape."

Jon frowned, his mind racing. "What does that have to do with me?"

The Emperor studied him for a long moment before speaking. "Your presence here is no coincidence. The gods have woven you into the tapestry of this moment. Will you walk the path they've set before you?"

Jon hesitated. He had no love for gods—not the Old Gods of Winterfell, nor the strange forces of Oblivion that whispered in his dreams. But there was something in the Emperor's gaze that compelled him, something that felt like a faint spark of hope in the shadow of his despair.

The Blade who had spoken earlier unlocked the cell door, the iron creaking as it swung open. She stepped aside, motioning for Jon to follow. "We don't have time for questions. Either you come with us, or you stay here."

Jon hesitated for only a moment longer before rising to his feet. If this path could lead him away from the weight of his grief, even for a time, then it was worth following.

The secret passage was dark and narrow, the air stale and oppressive. Jon moved in silence, his senses alert as the Emperor and his guards led the way. He still didn't fully understand what was happening, but instinct told him to stay close.

As they descended deeper into the castle's hidden depths, the Emperor spoke again, his voice calm despite the tension in the air. "This is not the end, young one. For you or for me. Our paths are intertwined, though we walk them for different reasons."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked, his voice low.

The Emperor paused at a rusted gate, turning to face Jon. "The gods speak in riddles, but their purpose is clear: you have a role to play in the fate of this world. As do I."

Before Jon could respond, a sharp cry echoed through the passage. Shadows shifted, and figures emerged from the darkness—assassins clad in crimson, their daggers gleaming. The Blades reacted instantly, drawing their swords and moving to shield the Emperor.

"Stay back!" one of them barked at Jon. But Jon didn't listen. The instincts honed in Vehlmor surged to the surface, and he drew the small blade one of the guards had missed during his arrest.

The assassins lunged, their movements swift and deadly. The Blades met them head-on, their swords clashing in a flurry of sparks. Jon moved with them, his blade darting toward an attacker's exposed flank. The assassin fell with a choked cry, but more emerged to take his place.

Jon felt the familiar rush of magic coursing through him, and he raised his free hand, summoning a burst of fire that sent another assassin stumbling back. The Emperor watched him with quiet approval, even as he moved to stay behind his protectors.

The battle was brief but brutal. When the last assassin fell, Jon stood amidst the bodies, his chest heaving. Blood spattered his face and hands, and for a moment, he was back in Vehlmor, standing over the ruins of his home.

The Emperor's voice broke through his thoughts. "You fight well."

Jon turned to him, his expression hard. "What now?"

The Emperor smiled faintly, his gaze unwavering. "Now, we continue. There is still much to do."

As they pressed deeper into the passage, Jon felt a strange sensation stirring within him—a faint glimmer of purpose, fragile but real. He didn't know where this path would lead, but for the first time in weeks, he felt like he was moving toward something rather than running from it.

Chapter Four (continued): The Emperor's Mission

The air grew colder as they delved deeper into the passage. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the stone walls, their echoes of hurried footsteps bouncing back like whispers of dread. Jon stayed close to the Emperor and the Blades, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

The Emperor walked with an air of calm resolve, even as danger pressed in around them. Jon couldn't help but admire the man's composure, though it only deepened his questions. Who was this Emperor? Why had he spoken of fate and gods? And what role was Jon meant to play in all of this?

"Your Majesty," Jon ventured, his voice low, "why are they trying to kill you?"

The Emperor glanced at Jon over his shoulder, his expression serene despite the tension. "The threads of fate are frayed, my boy. The Empire is in turmoil. Without leadership, the realm will fall to chaos. These assassins serve a greater darkness, one that seeks to unmake what little order remains."

"But why involve me?" Jon pressed. "I'm just a—"

The Emperor cut him off with a knowing smile. "You are more than you realize, Jon Snow. The gods placed you in my path for a reason."

Jon frowned, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had spent most of his life as the unwanted bastard of Winterfell, dismissed as nothing more than a shadow of Ned Stark's shame. To hear this man speak of gods and destiny felt as far-fetched as a maester's tale.

Before he could question further, a loud crash echoed through the passage. The group froze, their hands instinctively going to their weapons. From the darkness ahead, the faint glint of steel emerged, followed by the soft shuffle of approaching footsteps.

"They've found us," one of the Blades muttered, drawing her sword.

The Emperor placed a hand on Jon's shoulder, his grip firm. "Stay close to me. No matter what happens, remember my words."

The assassins struck like shadows, their crimson robes blending with the darkness. The Blades surged forward, their swords clashing in a cacophony of sparks and steel. Jon fought alongside them, his blade cutting through the chaos with precision. Fire and lightning erupted from his free hand, forcing back the attackers with bursts of raw energy.

Amidst the fray, Jon caught glimpses of the Emperor. The man stood calm and unyielding, his presence almost otherworldly. Despite the danger, he seemed utterly unafraid, as though he had already accepted the inevitability of what was to come.

After what felt like an eternity, the assassins were defeated. The bodies of the fallen littered the ground, their crimson cloaks soaked in blood. The Blades regrouped, their faces lined with exhaustion.

"Your Majesty," one of them said, "we must keep moving."

The Emperor nodded, but before they could continue, his gaze fell on Jon. There was a strange intensity in his eyes, a quiet urgency that made Jon's stomach tighten.

"Jon Snow," the Emperor said, his voice low but firm. "There is something I must ask of you."

Jon blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

The Emperor stepped closer, his presence filling the space between them. "My time is short. I have seen it in my dreams. But before I fall, you must take up a task of great importance."

Jon's breath hitched. "What task?"

The Emperor's gaze bore into him, as if he were looking not at Jon but through him. "I have a son, born of blood but hidden from the world. A bastard, like yourself. He is the last of my line, the only hope for the Empire's future. You must find him, Jon. Protect him. Guide him."

Jon's mind raced. The words cut deep, stirring memories of Winterfell, of Catelyn's glares and the weight of his own illegitimacy. "Why me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Because you understand what it means to be cast aside," the Emperor said simply. "And because the gods have chosen you. I see it in your eyes—the fire of purpose. Do not let it burn out."

Jon opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the passage trembled with a new presence. A low, menacing chant echoed through the air, and the flickering torches dimmed. The assassins had returned, and this time, they brought with them something far darker.

The Emperor's face hardened. "Go, Jon. Protect the future."

The next moments were chaos. Shadows poured into the chamber like living nightmares, their forms twisting unnaturally as they attacked. The Blades fought valiantly, their swords flashing in the dim light, but the numbers were overwhelming.

Jon stood his ground, his magic surging in defense of the Emperor. Flames roared from his hands, illuminating the dark passage in bursts of light. But the shadows were relentless, their power fueled by something far beyond mortal understanding.

Amidst the battle, Jon heard a strangled cry. He turned just in time to see one of the assassins break through the line of Blades, dagger in hand. The blade plunged into the Emperor's chest, a red stain spreading across his ornate robes.

"No!" Jon screamed, rushing forward.

The Emperor fell to his knees, his breathing labored. The assassin fled into the shadows, leaving the scene as quickly as he had struck. The Blades fought on, their faces twisted in grief and fury.

Jon dropped to the Emperor's side, his hands trembling as he tried to stem the bleeding. "Stay with me," he begged. "Please."

The Emperor's hand reached up, grasping Jon's arm with surprising strength. His eyes met Jon's, calm even in the face of death.

"Do not grieve for me," he said softly. "The gods have already written my end. Focus on the task I've given you. Find him, Jon. Find my son."

With those final words, the Emperor's hand fell away, and his eyes closed for the last time.

Jon knelt there, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a storm. The Blades regrouped around the fallen Emperor, their expressions a mix of sorrow and resolve.

"We must move," one of them said, her voice tight with emotion. "The assassins will return."

Jon stood slowly, his grief giving way to a simmering determination. He had failed to protect the Emperor, just as he had failed Duris and Alenya. But this time, he wouldn't let it end in ashes.

"I'll find him," Jon said quietly, his voice steady. "I'll find your son."

The Blades nodded, their loyalty unshaken even in the face of their Emperor's death. Together, they turned and began the long journey out of the darkness.