The Forest’s Chosen

The morning air was sharp but clear as Kael and Vale made their way through the snowy forest. The path they followed wasn't marked—just faint instincts and memories tugging Kael forward, drawing him toward the clearing where he had first awakened.

Though he still didn't fully understand what had happened to him—or what kind of world he'd been thrown into—he couldn't deny the strange peace that wrapped around him whenever he walked beneath the towering trees. The snow-covered branches whispered overhead, and somewhere within the silence, Kael could almost feel the woods listening back.

Vale trotted beside him, silent and alert, his paw prints a dark trail in the snow.

Kael tugged his coat tighter and exhaled into the cold. "You feel it too, don't you?" he murmured.

Vale didn't answer, of course. But Kael liked to believe he understood.

They moved quietly, deeper into the forest, until Kael began to recognize the terrain. The ridge. The old stones peeking through the frost. The crooked trunk of a birch tree half-swallowed by ivy.

They were close.

And then, through the thinning trees, the clearing appeared.

It was exactly as he remembered it: the wide circle of untouched snow, ringed by evergreens and ancient oaks, and at its center—the Weirwood Tree.

Its pale white bark glowed faintly in the morning light, and its blood-red leaves swayed in a breeze Kael could not feel. The carved face, so ancient and solemn, looked as though it had been weeping.

Kael stepped into the clearing.

Everything went silent.

No birdsong. No wind. Not even the crunch of snow underfoot.

It was as if time itself had paused.

Kael's heart thudded in his chest. Something stirred inside him—not fear, not exactly awe, but something heavy and old, like standing at the edge of something massive.

Then, all at once, the sounds returned: the wind rustling through leaves, the distant creak of trees, a low murmur like the forest itself was singing.

He moved forward without thinking.

Drawn.

The song grew louder—leaves brushing, snow falling, birds in the distance. Not quite a melody, but close enough that his skin prickled.

He reached the tree.

The bark was smooth and cold under his hands. He laid both palms flat against it and leaned forward until his forehead touched the wood.

Something shifted.

Kael blinked—and suddenly, he was somewhere else.

He was in the air, soaring high above the North.

No wings, no body, just… flying.

The land spread beneath him like a frozen map: mountains, forests, rivers winding through snow. He saw the Wall—enormous and endless—and for a moment, just a flicker, Winterfell.

Then he wasn't flying anymore.

He was watching himself. Small, standing in front of the Weirwood. His own back. His own stillness.

Then another shift. He was in the eyes of birds. A murder of crows wheeling above the trees, dark feathers slicing through the air.

Then—closer to the ground now—he was inside Vale. The wolf's senses flooded his mind: snow crunching under paws, the smell of cold earth and pine, every sound sharp and clear.

Kael gasped.

He understood.

The tree—it had helped him connect.

To the forest. To the animals. To something ancient.

"I'm a warg," he whispered to himself, back in his body now, the Weirwood's bark rough beneath his fingertips.

From the outside, Kael stood frozen. His eyes had gone completely white, lifeless and glowing, just like he'd seen in the show. Like Bran. Like the Three-Eyed Raven.

When the trance passed, his knees buckled. He stumbled back, almost fell, but Vale pressed against him to steady him.

Kael looked up at the tree, breathing hard. Then he laughed—just once, but it was real.

"Okay. Okay, this is real. This is actually real."

He ran a hand through his long black hair, still grinning, even though he felt like he might fall over.

"I'm in Westeros. And I have magic."

He should've been scared. And part of him was. But another part—the part that used to lie in bed at night bingeing episodes and imagining what he'd do if he were there—was quietly thrilled.

"At least I've got something going for me," he muttered, giving Vale a crooked smile.

The wolf blinked up at him.

Kael looked back at the Weirwood, still feeling its presence humming under his skin.

This world was terrifying.

But maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be powerless in it.