Chapter 2: Chapter 1 : Unleashed Chaos
General PoV
The children looked at the member of the first man in front of them, his groans stopping. Then it was there, His eyes, They were no longer human eyes but shards of ice, a chilling blue that seemed to pierce the very soul. He rose from the forest floor, his body now encased in a suit of crystalline ice. The Night King had been born.
The Children of the Forest stepped back, their task complete. Leaf gazed upon the being they had created with a mixture of solemnity and dread. She knew that they had unleashed a force that could bring about the end of the world, but they hoped they could control him, for what he truly was…a weapon, save it from a different darkness.
He stranded forward tearing through his bounds and gag, just was about to tear his makers, he was stopped, as if his own body was not listening to him. He was stunned, fearful.
Leaf approached him, he kneeled as if his entire being was screaming to do it.
"You will be our weapon against your accursed species. You will make your kind regret killing my brothers and sisters, burning our sacred forest. You will haunt them in their nights, so we can live in daylight. For, your kind will know rest, warmth and joy."
As the Night King stood amidst the ancient weirwoods, a cruel gaze filled his eyes. He was reborn, not as a man, but as a harbinger of death and winter. The world of Planetos would never be the same.
---
Ten millennia before our familiar tales of Westeros unfolded and death of supposed Night King, in the heart of the Age of Heroes, a land untamed by the passage of time, a ritual of ancient and perilous magic took place. The Children of the Forest, guardians of the land, stood in front of weirwood trees, their expressions cautious.
At the center of the sacred circle lay a figure, not yet the Night King, but a man consumed by darkness. The psychopath's mind was a cacophony of malevolent thoughts, but he was bound, unable to resist the ancient magic that surrounded him. The Children chanted in their ancient language, their voices intertwining with the wind's whispers, and their hands moved with precision, weaving a web of enchantment on his mind and body.
As the ritual unfolded, the psychopath's form began to change. Ice crept up his limbs, and his skin turned as pale as the snow. His eyes, once filled with the madness of a human monster, became shards of icy blue. He gasped for breath of air, but inhaled a breath of magic, his very essence rewritten by the Children's power.
With a final surge of magic, the transformation was complete. The man who had entered the circle was gone, replaced by a being of ice and death. The Children of the Forest had succeeded in creating a weapon, a protector of their 'ancient' ways.
Children made sure to control the consciousness of the abomination they created. It was not something that can be unleashed in the world.
The Children stepped back, their task fulfilled. Leaf, the eldest among them, regarded the Night King with a mixture of sorrow and determination. She knew the sacrifice that had been made, the darkness that had been harnessed, but the survival of her people depended on this weapon.
The Night King rose from the ground, his newly transformed body emanating an aura of cold, power, and an unyielding sense of purpose. He was now their instrument, a harbinger of doom to the First Men who threatened their existence.
He had been brought here by the Children, his twisted desires harnessed by the ritual for a purpose that would shape bring upon such an cursed being, and the fate of the realm. But Children failed to consider his change of soul, just moments before ritual.
The one currently incarcerated in his mind and body may have more twisted desire far beyond what Children bargained for. But the one currently incarnated in his mind may have twisted desire far beyond what Children bargained for.
Thus, the Night King's consciousness remained intact, a whisper in the back of his mind. He was aware of his new form, his powers, and his purpose. He knew that he was 'now' a weapon controlled by the Children, a force to be unleashed upon their enemies—the First Men. But he will be able to defy his nature, soon he will become whole, and the one in control.
---
The Children of the Forest had successfully transformed the psychopath from another world into the Night King, a weapon of ice and death, not that know how he was.
For over two millennia, the Children used the Night King as their ultimate defense against the encroaching First Men. They controlled him like a puppet on strings, guiding his actions, and amplifying his powers. With each passing year, the Night King grew stronger.
Under the veil of secrecy and the cover of perpetual winter, the Night King carried out the Children's will with ruthless efficiency. He raised his icy blade, and he brought forth the creation of new White Walkers. These beings, once living men themselves, were now his lieutenants, bound to his will, and sharing in his power, undying.
The Children watched from the shadows as the Night King led his army of White Walkers against the First Men. Battles raged across the land, and the Night King's mere presence struck fear into the hearts of the invaders. He was a force of nature, a harbinger of doom.
One by one, the First Men's strongholds fell. The Night King's powers knew no bounds; he could freeze entire armies with a glance, summon blizzards that buried entire villages, and turn the mightiest warriors into wights—mindless, obedient servants of his dark will.
The Children of the Forest had unleashed a monster, and they were now entitled to stop, as he reaped havoc upon their foes, now turned neighbours and allies.
But as the centuries turned into millennia, in what was an unending war, the Night King's consciousness (psychopath, from now refered as Night King) remained trapped within his icy prison.
He was always aware of his actions, He realized the extent of his manipulation by the Children, the loss of his identity, and the darkness that had consumed him, but his thoughts were clouded by the Children's control.
As he grew stronger, reaping the souls of men he killed, the more subordinates he gathered. His prison started thinning, escaping the control of his makers. But he remained vigilant, At times, a glimmer of his old self would surface—a fragment of the psychopath he had once been, and gain slight control over his being. With time, the magic on his mind dissolved. He continued following the whims of Children, for them making him stronger, he used their own desire for revenge against First Men for his gain.
There sitting in an imagery prison of ice, he was sitting with a twisted grin of his face, chain locked around his limbs, as if looking at his action in a third person perspective. One can sense an undying anticipation in his ever emotional less eyes, he muttered and laughed like a madman.
"Soon enough. I will be in control. I will see this 'Game' for myself. Hahaha."
END.
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