---
Chapter 2: The Flame in the Snow
The fire cracked softly in the Lord Commander's chambers. Jon—no, Shinji—sat alone, stripped to the waist, staring at the faint scars that marred his chest. He traced each one with calloused fingers, remembering the way those blades had torn into him.
Westerosi steel. It lacked elegance, but it did its job.
Shinji exhaled slowly and pressed his palm to the wooden floor. He closed his eyes.
Focus. Feel. Channel.
For a moment, he felt it: a flicker of warmth in his gut, a thread of chakra curling through his chest like smoke. He grabbed it with the precision of someone who had trained for years in silence and shadows. It sparked—then sputtered.
Gone.
He grimaced. Chakra here was weak. Faint. Like a river nearly dried up. It clung to his soul, yes, but the world didn't feed it like his old one did. There were no flowing leylines of energy, no dense chakra networks. Just… fragments.
So this is my limit now.
He could still mold it. Barely. But ninjutsu beyond the simplest techniques would bleed him dry. Genjutsu would demand precision. The Sharingan... that was a different matter.
He walked to the dusty mirror by the hearth and stared into his reflection. Pale. Haunted. He looked like Jon Snow—but behind the grey eyes, something pulsed.
He focused. Chakra flared faintly in his eyes.
And there it was.
The Sharingan.
One tomoe, spinning slowly in each eye. Not much. But enough to see.
His vision sharpened, edges crisp, the world seeming to slow just slightly. Even the snowflakes falling past the window traced beautiful, precise arcs in the air.
But it came at a cost. Chakra drained fast. Too fast.
He let it fade with a hiss of frustration. His breathing was shallow now, his body exhausted from only seconds of activation.
I'm weaker than I've ever been.
Still, it was something. A tool. A weapon.
A knock came at the door.
He turned, instincts on edge. Old habits.
Melisandre stepped in, robed in red, her eyes glowing faintly like embers under ash. She didn't flinch at his gaze.
"I felt it," she said.
Shinji stared back, cautious. "Felt what?"
"The fire within you," she said. "You've been touched by something greater. Something ancient." She stepped closer, eyes flicking down to his bare chest. "Death claimed you… and yet here you stand. You are no longer the boy you were Jon snow".
He said nothing. She wasn't wrong.
"I serve the Lord of Light," she said, voice quiet now. "He brings people back for a reason. Perhaps you are his chosen."
Shinji didn't answer. , he thought. Maybe. Or maybe something worse.
"I've seen you in the flames," she continued, stepping closer. "A man with eyes of blood, walking through fire and snow. The North will burn… unless you stand against the cold."
He met her gaze. "I'll stand," he said.
Not for gods. Not for destiny.
But for himself.
Because if this world was going to try and break him again—
—he would break it first.
---