In the depths of the haunted woods beyond the Wall, where the branches of ancient weirwood trees twisted like gnarled fingers against the starless sky, a girl wandered, drawn by an unseen force Known for her fierce spirit and deep connection to the natural world, she had hair the color of raven feathers and eyes like pools of ice Always feeling a bond with the land, tonight that bond pulsed with an urgency she could not ignore.

As she roamed deeper into the forest, she stumbled upon a clearing bathed in ethereal moonlight At the center stood a colossal weirwood tree, its pale bark glowing faintly, and its carved face seeming to watch her with an ancient wisdom She approached, feeling an inexplicable pull toward it, when a voice echoed in her mind—deep, resonant, and chilling.

"Come closer, child of the wild," it beckoned, reverberating through the stillness of the night.

Hesitating, she stepped forward, her heart racing with curiosity and fear "Who speaks?" she called out, though she knew it was not a voice that came from the mouth of a living man.

From the shadows, a figure emerged, cloaked in darkness His white hair cascaded down his shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight, and his mismatched eyes—one red and one clouded—gazed at her with a blend of sorrow and intrigue It was Brynden Rivers, the Bloodraven, a legend spoken of in hushed tones among the free folk, a sorcerer who had walked the realms of the living and the dead.

"Why do you trespass in this sacred place?" he asked, his voice a whisper that felt like a cool breeze brushing against her skin.