KING OF THE NORTH

Ten years ago

Rain hammered the cemetery like fists on a coffin. The sky was dark with storm clouds that wouldn't stop weeping. 

Navine Garrett stood at his mother's grave, his soaked through clothes, clinging to his thin frame. His arm was wrapped tight around his little sister.

Lyanna’s face was buried in his side as her small body shook with sobs she tried to muffle.

"Why won't she wake up?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain.

Navine stared at the fresh mound of dirt before them and the cheap wooden cross someone had stuck in the ground. 

There was no headstone, no flowers, no priest. Nothing.

His father didn't even show up.

Hudson Garrett was too busy with her – Francine Hale. 

The woman who'd smiled at the funeral from a distance, standing under a black umbrella like she'd just won some sick competition, who'd whispered poison in his father's ear until he threw them all out into the streets like garbage.

Navine would never forget that night. He would never forget the sight of his mother on her knees at the gate, rain pouring down her face, mixing with her tears as she begged.

"Please, Hudson. They're your children. Let them in. Just let the children in."

But the gate stayed locked.

His father never even came to the door.

Three weeks later, his mother jumped off a building – or maybe she was pushed. Navine would never know for sure. All he knew was that Francine's people were there, as always.

Now his mother was on the ground, and the world kept spinning like nothing had happened.

Navine's jaw tightened. His fists shook at his sides, nails digging into his palms until they bled. He crouched down in the mud and pulled Lyanna close.

"Listen to me, Lyanna. No matter what happens from here on out, you survive. You hear me? You stay alive."

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I'm going to leave for a while and when I come back, I'll make sure you never have to be afraid again."

"Promise?" she whispered.

Navine pulled her into a tight hug, "I promise."

****

Ten Years Later 

The war room was alive with chaos. Screens lined the walls, showing heat signatures, satellite imagery, troop movements, and enemy positions. Radio chatter crackled through the speakers and officers moved between stations, relaying commands, updating maps, coordinating strikes.

At the center of it all stood Navine Garrett.

He was no longer the broken fourteen-year-old boy standing in the rain. He was a man now. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a presence that commanded respect without needing to demand it. 

His uniform was dark, decorated with medals he never wore outside of formal occasions. 

His hands – those instruments of death – rested calmly on the command table, but everyone in the room knew what those hands could do.

They'd seen him snap a man's spine like a twig.

They'd watched him paint entire battlefields red.

His eyes were cold and sharp; the kind of eyes that had seen too much death and had learned to accept it.

The battle for the northern front was in its final hours.

"Commander Garrett, strike team Alpha reports enemy artillery neutralized," a soldier barked from his station.

"Good," Navine said without looking away from the main screen. "Redirect them to grid seven. I want that supply line cut in the next ten minutes."

"Yes, sir!"

 The officer hurried back to his station.

Navine turned back to the screen, his jaw set.  

Behind him, his assistant and second-in-command, Marcus Kane, approached with careful steps. He was holding a phone in his hand, and his expression was troubled.

"Commander," Marcus said quietly.

"Not now, Marcus."

"Sir, that number called again."

Navine's shoulders tensed but his eyes stayed locked on the screen. "I said not now. I'm in the middle of commanding a battle. I've given you standing orders – no personal calls. I don't care if it's politicians trying to negotiate, oligarchs trying to buy favors, or anyone else. No. Calls."

Marcus hesitated. He knew better than to push. But this time, he didn't back down.

"Sir... the caller says she's your sister."

For a heartbeat, the noise of the war room faded into nothing. Navine's entire body went rigid.

His head snapped around and his hand shot out. He grabbed the phone from Marcus's hand so fast it almost slipped.

He pressed it to his ear.

"Lyanna?"

The voice on the other end was shaking.

"Navine... why didn't you answer? I called so many times..."

His chest tightened like a vice was crushing it. "What's wrong? Where are you?"

"She found us." Lyanna's voice cracked, and Navine could hear her trying not to cry. "Francine... Francine Hale found where Aunt Miriam and I were hiding."

"What happened?" Navine's voice dropped to something deadly quiet.

"Aunt Miriam... she hid me in the attic. She tried to buy time, to distract them, but they –" A sharp sob escaped her lips, "They broke her legs, Navine. I heard her screaming. They said... they said they sewed a tracking device into her body so she can never run.  They said Francine wanted to make sure we'd never disappear again."

Navine's hand tightened around the phone so hard the plastic creaked.

"Where are you right now?" He asked.

"I'm still at Aunt Miriam's house," Lyanna whispered. "But it's too late, Navine. I can hear them downstairs. They're breaking through the door. They're coming for me."

"Lyanna, listen to me. You hide. You stay quiet. I'm coming –"

"I know you spent all these years trying to get stronger," she said, her voice trembling with resignation. "I know you did everything you could. But Francine is too powerful. There's no stopping her."

"Lyanna, don't –"

"I just wanted to tell you that I love you," she said, and her voice broke completely. "I wanted to say it one more time before –"

Her scream tore through the phone.

It wasn't a scream of surprise. It was raw terror and pain. 

"Lyanna!" Navine shouted, his voice cracking. "LYANNA!"

The line went dead.

The phone slipped from his hand. It hit the floor with a hollow, empty crack.

For a moment, the entire war room was silent. Everyone turned to stare at their commander.

Navine stood there, staring at nothing. His hands trembled at his sides.

Then the explosion came.

A massive, earth-shaking boom rattled the building. Coffee cups fell off desks and the lights flickered. 

On the main screen, a pillar of fire erupted from the enemy headquarters. The missiles had hit dead center. The building collapsed in on itself, consumed by flames and smoke.

For a moment, there was stunned silence, followed by cheers.

"We did it!"

"Enemy command is gone!"

"The war's over! Finally peace!"

"All thanks to Commander Garrett!"

Soldiers clapped each other on the back. Officers shook hands. Someone popped open a bottle they'd been saving. 

But Navine didn't move.

He stood in the center of the chaos, radiating a bone chilling coldness  His eyes were distant and empty but beneath that emptiness was something far worse.

Rage.

"To Newton. Now.”

Tue celebration stopped.

"Sir?" Marcus said carefully. He'd served under Navine for five years. He'd seen him in battle, seen him give orders that meant life or death for thousands. But he'd never seen him like this.

"My sister's in trouble," Navine said, his voice low and lethal.  

****

The supersonic fighter jet screamed through the sky at speeds that turned the world below into a blur. The engines roared, tearing across two thousand miles of continent in a fraction of the time it would take a commercial flight.

Navine sat in the cockpit, hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles had gone white. 

Behind him in the main cabin sat Marcus and a squad of Navine's best soldiers—eight men who'd fought beside him through hell and back. They sat in tense silence with their weapons secured, ready for anything.

"Commander," Marcus said carefully, leaning forward. "We'll get there in time. Newton is only thirty minutes out now."

Navine didn't answer.

His mind was somewhere else. Somewhere ten years in the past. 

After his mother died, it was just him and Lyanna. Two kids with nothing – no home, no money. No one cared whether they lived or died.

Then Aunt Miriam found them.

She wasn't really their aunt – just their mother's closest friend from childhood. But when she heard what happened, she came looking. And when she found them sleeping in an alley behind a restaurant, starving and filthy, she didn't hesitate.

She took them in and gave them hope.

But Francine Hale didn't forget. She sent men after them. 

Aunt Miriam moved them six times in two years. She was always one step ahead. Always looking over her shoulder. 

Navine clenched his fists, the memory burning in his mind.

He'd spent a decade becoming something more than human. He'd fought in wars and led armies. He'd earned the title King of the North. 

He'd done it all so that Lyanna would never have to be afraid again.

He'd planned to come home a hero. To walk through the door and tell Aunt Miriam and Lyanna that they were safe. That Francine Hale and everyone like her could never touch them again.

And now…

"Commander, we're approaching Newton airspace," the pilot announced from the front.

Navine opened his eyes.

"Faster," he growled.

"Sir, we're already at maximum velocity. The engines –"

Navine turned to the man with bloodshot eyes, "Go faster!"