Am I floating towards the sky, or am I falling?
Where is this?
Bran felt the world he was in. Not with his eyes, nose, ears, or skin, but with his untouchable mind.
He was floating in a baseless, colorless, objectless void.
Is this darkness or light?
It seemed like nothing, yet it seemed to contain everything.
Am I breathing? Can I breathe?
It was a strange feeling. Here, nothing needed to be done, nothing changed, only thoughts remained.
Can I create something?
The blank canvas suddenly became stained with a gray patch, and in an instant, it expanded to encompass the entire world.
This place became a world of gray mist.
Bran gradually understood. This was a dream.
Bran didn't remember having such a dream before, but he always felt that the gray mist around him was familiar.
Strangely, he was somewhat afraid of these mists.
Everything was so peaceful, after all.
Bran didn't think he was that timid. It was just a dream, what danger could there be?
The gray mist suddenly surged and rioted.
Countless air masses rushed towards Bran all at once, and he was submerged in an even denser sea of mist.
Bran felt a dizzy spell, and then he knew.
He was falling, faster and faster, as if there was no end...
"Fly."
A voice sounded from somewhere unknown.
"Fly quickly, you must not fall to the ground."
Bran saw a blurred ground appearing beneath the gray mist. Although it was far away, it seemed to be gradually approaching him.
What would happen if he fell to the ground?
Bran was a little panicked.
"Who are you? I can't fly!"
"I am here." The voice was much clearer, as if it was right next to his ear.
Bran saw it.
A crow was circling beside him. He wanted to reach out, but he couldn't get close to it no matter what.
"This is just a dream, I won't fall to the ground."
Bran comforted himself.
The crow retorted annoyingly, "No, you won't. You'll die if you fall. You must fly."
The ground was getting closer and closer. Bran heard the roaring wind, and the gray mist blew against his cheeks, making them ache, almost suffocating him.
The gray mist in his eyes had turned into gray river water, or even fleeting gray streams of light.
So high. So fast.
Ten million times more dangerous than jumping from the second floor of a small tower.
Will I die?
He was about to cry. "But I can't fly."
The crow landed calmly beside his hand. "I'm hungry. Do you have any corn?"
Bran fumbled in his pocket in a panic. Fortunately, he did.
He opened his palm. A full handful of golden corn kernels appeared, falling with him.
The crow hopped onto his hand in a few steps and began to peck.
One peck, two pecks, three or four pecks.
The crow finally spoke again, "I have wings, and you have yours too. You can't see them, but they exist."
"You are too scared. Fear makes your wings curl up. Stop restraining them, let them spread, and the wind will naturally carry you to fly."
Bran listened carefully to every word, still somewhat confused.
The crow said, "Look down."
Bran glanced down, and an indescribable feeling seized every inch of his flesh and blood.
The distant, blurry ground had become Winterfell!
Winterfell seen from the tower was not as astonishing as it was now.
He saw Maester Luwin in the darkness lying in a pool of blood, and a shadowy figure was quietly moving away.
No!
The scene changed back to the Godswood under the sunlight.
His father was by the small lake in the woods, scooping up black water to wash the bloodstains on Ice, while his mother, standing beside him, seemed full of worry and fear.
His father and mother left, and the black pool became a calm mirror again, reflecting the tall, pale reflection of the Weirwood.
Leaves rustled in the cold wind.
Bran saw the reflection of the Weirwood in the black water open its blood-red eyes and look over.
He quickly dodged away.
Then, he saw the sleeping faces of his brothers and sisters. Deep, dark shadows stood by their beds, one with a terrifying face, one wearing dazzling golden armor, and another taller and stronger faceless giant.
He looked north again and saw The Wall, shining like blue crystal.
Beyond The Wall was endless ice and snow, forests, frozen rivers, and a silent ice plain.
He kept looking north, and a curtain of light appeared at the end of the world. The Heart of Winter within the light curtain stung his eyes, making them water.
"Winter Is Coming," the crow perched on his shoulder whispered. "You have a mission."
"Why me?"
Bran looked at the crow on his shoulder in confusion. The crow also looked at him. It originally had three eyes, and the third eye was filled with a terrifying knowledge.
The Three-Eyed Crow only said, "Fly."
Bran still kept falling, falling.
He looked down again and saw only ice, cold, and death. The frozen wasteland was filled with jagged blue and white ice needles, which shot towards him like javelins, covered with human skeletons.
Will I join these skeletons? Father, save me!
Desperate fear enveloped him.
"Can a man still be brave when he is afraid?"
He heard his father's voice: "A man can only be brave when he is afraid."
"Now, Bran,"
The Three-Eyed Crow urged, "Spread your arms and fly, or fall to your death."
The ice needles shrieked and extended their demonic claws towards him.
Bran spread his arms. The cold wind blew through his unseen wings.
He flew.
He flew towards the sky, the terrifying ice needles gradually receded, and the world below became smaller and smaller.
This feels great!
"I can fly!" he happily shouted.
I know. The Three-Eyed Crow flapped its wings and flew in front of Bran's forehead.
The Ancient Throne stimulated Bran's bloodline, and Bran's soul had begun to awaken. It had to act early.
Brandon, we will become one.
Its wings flapped against his cheeks, slowing him down and obscuring his vision. He couldn't help but sway in the air.
Bran felt its gaze fixed tightly on his brow.
Fear returned to him.
Crack!
The boundless sky was torn in half.
Roar~
The giant beast after the fire let out a long cry, and the howling wind, carrying ten thousand feet of fire snakes, swept across the entire world.
The Three-Eyed Crow tried hard to flap its wings, but it was still blown thousands of miles away by the storm, its entire body burning with red, blue, and white flames.
Bran, however, was unharmed.
He raised his head.
The dragon and the giant occupied the entire sky.
A true Dragonrider.
That dragon was more majestic than Baleriion the Black Dread and larger than Vhagar.
The giant wore white armor and a white robe, and a pure white mask on its face. In its hand, it held a peerless sword as black as smoke and as red as blood.
Was that Dragonflame?
The Three-Eyed Crow finally extinguished the flames on its body. It spread its wings, and its size immediately increased by hundreds or thousands of times.
Its voice was still hoarse and grating, "You shouldn't be here."
The giant's sword tip pointed at the crow.
"But I am here. The Three-Eyed Crow."
The giant lifted its visor, revealing a face that Bran knew and trusted.
"Your Highness!"
"It's me."
Bran saw the Crown Prince swing his sword at the crow.
"Don't trust this crow! I know these monsters, it wants to take over your body!"
Bran immediately believed him. It was indeed a monster.
The grey mist gradually receded, replaced by pure white rain mist.
The rain mist joyfully surrounded Bran.
He understood, this was his dream world, his power.
The rain mist joined the battle, trying to interfere with the Three-Eyed Crow's vision and corroding the black feathers.
The Crown Prince's dragon spewed out molten lava as vast as the sea.
The Crown Prince raised the Dragonflame, as bright as the sun. Red light, black light, white light, and silver light all poured into the Dragonflame, shooting towards the struggling crow.
The world began to shatter.
The Three-Eyed Crow let out a cry, then turned into dust.
Bran cheered.
The Crown Prince smiled at him, "This is a secret, don't tell anyone."
The world vanished.
Bran returned to the real darkness.
After a few breaths, he opened his eyes, rolled over, and the little wolves were lying there, staring intently at him.
It was indeed a dream, wasn't it?
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