Alys Karstark sat huddled in the dim light of the crude wooden cage, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The Freefolk camp was a chaotic sprawl of tents and fires, the air thick with the smell of smoke and unwashed bodies. She had been captured days ago, dragged from her home by wildlings who spoke in a harsh, guttural tongue she couldn’t understand. They had shown her bits of dirt, rocks, and strange plants, demanding she tell them something—anything—about how the nobles made their crops grow. But Alys had no answers. She didn’t even know what they were talking about.


    The boy sitting beside her was Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s bastard. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old, with dark hair and calm, piercing eyes. He had been captured days before her, but unlike Alys, he showed no fear. He sat quietly, his expression serene, as if the chaos around them didn’t touch him.


    Alys glanced at him, her blue eyes filled with a mix of fear and disdain. “We’re doomed,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “Of all the people to be stuck with, it had to be a bastard. Useless.”


    Jon turned to her, his dark eyes calm but firm. “Don’t be afraid,” he said softly. “Help is coming.”


    Alys stared at him, her frustration boiling over. “Help? What help? We’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wildlings. No one’s coming for us.”


    Jon’s expression didn’t change. “You’ll see,” he said. “Just wait.”


    Alys shook her head, her fear turning to anger. “You’re delusional,” she snapped, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.


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    Then, without warning, the lights went out.


    The campfire was extinguished as if by an unseen hand, plunging the encampment into darkness. Alys gasped, her heart pounding as she strained to see through the blackness. The boy beside her was gone—vanished as if he had never been there.


    Screams erupted around her, wild and panicked. The wildlings shouted in their harsh tongue, their voices filled with fear. Alys pressed herself against the back of the cage, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps. What was happening?


    Suddenly, a hand gripped her arm. She nearly screamed, but Jon’s voice cut through the chaos. “It’s me. Come on.”


    Before she could protest, he pulled her to her feet and guided her out of the cage. The camp was in disarray, wildlings running in every direction as flames erupted from the ground, consuming tents and supplies. Jon moved swiftly, his small hand gripping hers as they darted through the chaos.


    Alys stumbled, her legs weak with fear, but Jon kept her upright. “Keep moving,” he said, his voice calm but urgent.


    They reached the edge of the camp, where the forest loomed dark and foreboding. Alys glanced back, her eyes wide as she saw the flames spreading, the wildlings’ cries growing faint behind them.


    “Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling.


    Jon didn’t answer. Instead, he led her deeper into the forest, his movements sure and confident. Alys followed, her fear slowly giving way to awe. This boy—this strange, calm boy—had saved her.


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    As they walked, Alys couldn’t help but stare at him. In the dim light of the moon, he looked almost otherworldly, his dark hair framing a face that was both young and ancient. She felt a strange flutter in her chest, a mix of gratitude and something else she couldn’t quite name.


    “You’re... amazing,” she said softly, her voice filled with wonder.


    Jon glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I’m just doing what needs to be done,” he said.


    But to Alys, he was more than that. He was her savior, her prince. And as they disappeared into the safety of the forest, she couldn’t help but feel that her life had just changed forever.


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