The dead have breached the walls. Winterfell is falling. The living fight desperately, their weapons dulled, their strength fading. Screams echo through the cold night as the endless tide of wights crashes over the last defenders. The great halls burn, the crypts are no longer safe, and hope is slipping away

Then—amidst the chaos—a sound. Distant at first, barely heard over the clash of steel and the howls of the undead. But it grows louder. A rhythmic, thunderous pulse, cutting through the darkness

Something is coming