Hers Is The Fury

Set Her Free

[Isle Of Faces]

The Isle of Faces was a place of mystery and intrigue, its very existence shrouded in legend and superstition. Even those who had never set foot upon its shores spoke of it in hushed tones, as if the very air around it was charged with some ineffable power. It was said that the island was home to the spirits of the dead, their ethereal forms etched into the stone like the petrified memories of lives once lived.

It was also once home to the Children of the Forest.

Their civilization, long since fallen to the ravages of time and conquest, had left its mark upon the Isle of Faces. Runic symbols adorned the statues and carvings that dotted the landscape, their ancient magic still pulsing with energy, if only on the faintest level. It was said that the Children had built a great temple atop the highest peak of the island, a place where they could commune with the spirits of their ancestors and perhaps even glimpse into the future.

Bran and Sam followed the map that Bran had seen in one of his visions, a map etched into the very stone of the island. The path led them through dense forests of twisted trees, their branches entwined in an eternal embrace, their roots twisting and turning through the earth like the veins of a great beast. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the calls of unseen birds, and the soft rustle of leaves beneath their feet was almost hypnotic.

As they continued deeper into the island, they began to notice strange markings on the trees, crude drawings of faces carved into the bark. Some were smiling, others frowning, and still others showed expressions of terror and pain. The faces seemed to watch them as they passed, their empty eyes following their every move. The further they went, the more the faces seemed to multiply, until it felt as if they were being watched by an unseen army.

The path eventually led them to a clearing surrounded by massive standing stones, each etched with runic symbols. At its center was a frozen lake, its surface as smooth and mirror-like as glass. In the center of the lake, an iceberg floated, its shape distorted and twisted like the grotesque dream of something beautiful. As they drew closer, they realized that the iceberg was not natural, but rather the tomb of a woman entombed in ice.

The woman's features were chiseled with a regal dignity that even the cold had not erased. Her eyes were closed, her expression peaceful, as if she were merely sleeping. But Bran knew better. He had seen her in his visions, seen her fight and struggle against the forces of darkness. He knew that she was the key to defeating the Night King and restoring balance to the world.
As they drew nearer, Bran could feel the power emanating from the iceberg. It was as if the very essence of the woman had been trapped within it, waiting for the day when she could be freed. He glanced over at Sam, who looked equal parts awe-struck and terrified.

"What do we do, Bran?" Sam whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of their own hearts pounding in their ears.

Bran hesitated, his mind racing. He could sense the power within the iceberg, but he wasn't sure how to release it. The map in his vision had shown them the way, but it had left out the specifics. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses, trying to feel the woman's presence, to understand what she wanted him to do.

The air around them seemed to grow still and quiet, as if time itself had slowed to a crawl. Bran felt a tingle at the nape of his neck, a prickle of energy that seemed to flow from his fingertips to his toes. He opened his eyes, meeting Sam's nervous gaze.

"We need to free her," Bran said softly. "But we can't just break the ice. We need to find a way to release her spirit, to let her go."

Sam nodded, his expression grave. "How do we do that?"