Northern Alliance

The raven's message was stained with blood and torn at the edges, as if its writer had met a violent end. Tormund Giantsbane turned the parchment over in his hands, his brow furrowed. Dark words spoke of darker tidings - fell things moving in the haunted forest, dead men stirring in their graves, a malevolent force gathering beyond the Wall.

A grim pall hung over the great hall of Winterfell as he laid the message before the council. Lords of the great houses sat in tense silence, their faces pale in the flickering torchlight.

"The Lord of House Kraken is dead," Tormund said heavily. "Murdered in the night, by the same evil that sends these omens."

The hall erupted into accusation and argument, houses quick to cast blame at old rivals. Tormund slammed his fist on the table, his voice booming over the rabble.

"Enough! This is exactly what the enemy wants - for us to tear ourselves apart from within!"

Jake Robb, son of the slain lord, rose to his feet, the Ironborn Kraken bag tag clutched white-knuckled in his hand.

"I claim the right to lead this investigation," he said, voice shaking with barely contained rage. "By northern law and the blood in my veins."

Tormund met his eyes, seeing the tempest of emotions within. He gave a solemn nod.

"The hunt begins at first light. May the old gods guide us to the truth."

At dawn, the council gathered at the ritualistic site deep in the godswood where Lord Kraken's body had been found splayed across the weirwood roots, throat slit ear to ear. Derik, EJ, and Skyler fanned out, searching for signs of the killer.

But it was Tormund who picked up the trail, centuries of tracking experience guiding his steps. Faint impressions in the frost, snagged threads of fabric on grasping branches, the lingering stench of death on the breeze.

As they played through the course, each hole became a waypoint in the hunt. A trampled fairy ring marked where the killer had paused. Shards of bone and antler scattered in a hazard spoke to dark rites performed. The wind carried sibilant whispers, a language not meant for mortal ears.

Through it all, Jake Robb battled to keep his emotions in check, the Ironborn Kraken burning cold against his chest. When his disc struck the chains on the seventh hole, he cried out, falling to his knees as visions racked his mind.

Glimpses of the past, of his father's final moments, eyes wide with fear and betrayal. Shadows of the future, of a terrible power rising in the North, poised to snuff out the light of dawn...

"The killer," Jake gasped out, "he stands among us even now. The council is compromised."

Tormund's face darkened as the grim realization took hold. The enemy was already within their walls, stoking discord and betrayal.

As they made their way back to the council, the winds rose to a keening pitch, the first true storm of winter unleashing its fury upon Winterfell. In that moment, Tormund understood with bone-deep certainty that the long night was upon them. The murder had been only the first move in a much darker game.

Before the lords of the North, he raised his voice against the howling gale.

"The enemy thinks us weak, scattered, lost in our petty squabbles. But we are the blood of the First Men, the sons and daughters of winter! We have endured a thousand generations of darkness, and we shall endure a thousand more!"

One by one, the nobles lifted their heads, ancestral pride and cold fury burning in their eyes.

"When the snows fall and the white winds blow," Tormund roared, "the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives! And we are the pack!"

As the hall erupted in shouts of assent, Jake Robb stood tall, the weight of the Ironborn Kraken a reminder of the responsibility upon his shoulders. The path ahead would be dark and fraught with peril, but for the first time in generations, the great houses stood united against the coming storm.

And in the heart of winter, a flicker of hope began to glow.