Five years had passed, and the children of Winterfell were growing—each in their own peculiar way. Robb Stark, the pride of Catelyn, was already showing promise with a wooden sword, his movements sharp and confident under Ser Rodrik’s guidance. Catelyn watched him with a proud smile, her voice carrying across the courtyard as she boasted to the gathered household. “Robb will be a great swordsman, a true Stark. Unlike Jon,” she added, her tone sharpening, “who can barely hold a blade properly. And Mary... well, she can’t even speak. A fitting reflection of her bastard blood and that cursed tail of hers.”


    Jon, standing nearby, lowered his head, his dark eyes shadowed with quiet hurt. Mary, perched on a low wall, growled softly, her tail flicking behind her like an agitated cat. She didn’t understand the words, but she felt the sting of Catelyn’s disdain.


    Shadow watched from the edges of the courtyard, his smoky form blending with the dim light. His glowing eyes narrowed as he listened to Catelyn’s words, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned his attention to the magic he had been practicing in secret.


    In the quiet of the godswood, Shadow had begun experimenting with fire and ice magic. He could summon small flames that danced in his smoky hands and create shards of ice that glittered in the moonlight. But each spell left him feeling weak, his form flickering and fading as if the magic drained him. He had discovered, however, that he could recover if Jon and Mary provided a few drops of their blood. It was a strange and unsettling discovery, but Shadow accepted it as part of the mysterious bond they shared.


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    “You’re like a free air conditioner,” Shadow mused to himself one evening, as he conjured a small orb of fire to heat the room where Jon and Mary slept. The magic was weak, barely enough to be useful, but it was a start.


    Jon, ever curious, had begun to ask questions. “Can you teach me magic?” he asked one night, his dark eyes wide with wonder as he watched Shadow summon a flickering flame.


    Shadow hesitated, his glowing eyes softening. “I don’t fully understand how it works myself,” he admitted. “I’m just... experimenting. Magic is unpredictable, Jon. It’s not like swordsmanship or reading. It’s wild, like Mary.”


    Mary, hearing her name, let out a sharp growl and lunged at Shadow, her tail wagging furiously. Shadow chuckled—a sound like the rustle of leaves—and let her playfully bat at his smoky form. Jon watched them, a small smile tugging at his lips.


    As the days passed, Shadow continued his experiments, growing more confident with each spell. He knew that the magic he was tapping into was tied to the ancient forces of the world, forces that were beginning to stir once more. And though he didn’t fully understand it, he knew that Jon and Mary were connected to it in ways he couldn’t yet comprehend.