[King's Landing]

As Jon Snow and Morgana Baratheon led the army of the living towards the Red Keep, they couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The streets were empty and silent, save for the sound of their footsteps and the distant rumble of thunder. The sky was dark and foreboding, as if even the heavens themselves were against them.

But Jon knew they had no choice. They had to push forward, no matter the cost. The fate of Westeros hung in the balance, and the Night King's armies were closing in on King's Landing from all sides.

Jon had a single-minded focus: he must reach the Red Keep, where the Night King himself resided.

He knew that if he could find and defeat the Night King, all of the wights and white walkers would fall as well, ending the threat to Westeros once and for all. It was a daunting task, but Jon felt a sense of determination that he had never felt before. He was the chosen one, the only one who could wield Lightbringer against the darkness.

He had been chosen by fate to wield the legendary sword, the only weapon capable of killing the Night King. It glowed brightly in his hand, its power coursing through him like a river of fire.

Morgana had finally completed her transformation into the warrior maiden. The one destined to aid him in vanquishing the Night King for good.

As they approached the Red Keep, the walls were littered with the bodies of the fallen. The Night King's army had breached the defenses, and the city was in chaos. But Jon pushed forward, undeterred. He could feel the power of Lightbringer coursing through his veins, urging him onward.

Morgana, on the other hand, found herself searching for her husband, Robb. She hadn't seen him since leaving to aid in the search for Jon, whom had been missing.

Unfortunately, before she could find him, she found herself, along with the rest of the living army, nearing the Red Keep.

As they approached the Red Keep, Jon could see the massive stone walls looming before them, guarded by the undead armies of the Night King. The air grew colder as they drew nearer, and Jon could feel the presence of the Night King emanating from within the keep. He knew that the final confrontation was at hand.

"Ready your weapons," Jon called out to his comrades. "We face our greatest challenge yet."

With a fierce cry, the army of the living charged forward, determined to take back the kingdom from the forces of darkness. The clash of steel on steel echoed through the streets of King's Landing as Jon led the charge against the Night King's legion of undead warriors.

He felt a sudden urge to break away from the main force and venture into the heart of the Red Keep alone. He had a feeling that the Night King was waiting for him, and that this was where he would find the key to defeating the darkness.

Without hesitation, Jon and Morgana broke away from the main battle and made their way through the rubble-strewn streets of the Red Keep, Jon with his sword at the ready. As they moved deeper into the keep, the air grew colder and the shadows seemed to twist and writhe around them like living things.

They could hear the distant sound of screams and groans, and the ground beneath his feet trembled with every step. But Jon pressed on, determined to reach the source of the evil that had brought them all to this place.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of navigating the labyrinthine passages of the Red Keep, they came upon the great throne room. And there, seated on the Iron Throne itself, was the Night King.

"So, you have come at last," the Night King said, its voice like ice. "I have been waiting for you, Jon Snow, and it seems you have brought a friend."

Jon drew his sword, steeling himself for the final battle. But as he looked into the eyes of the Night King, he saw something unexpected - a glimmer of recognition. It was as if the Night King remembered them, as if they had met before.

If Melisandre had been right, and the Prince Who Was Promised and Azor Ahai were one and the same, it would make sense why the Night King seemed to recognize him. The Prince Who Was Promised was Azor Ahai reborn, carrying his legendary sword, Lightbringer. The one fated to end the Night King's reign of terror.

As Theon Greyjoy navigated the winding halls of the Red Keep, he could feel the weight of his own history bearing down upon him. Once a proud lordling of the Iron Islands, now a shell of himself, Theon was driven by one singular purpose: finding Sansa Stark. She was all that remained of his childhoood friendship with Robb, Jon, Bran and Rickon, and he would do anything to keep her safe.

He moved stealthily through the shadows, dagger at the ready, as he searched for any sign of the young woman. The castle was filled with the undead wights, their glowing eyes and snarling mouths a reminder of the danger that lurked around every corner. But Theon was not afraid. He had faced worse foes than these mindless monsters.

Finally, after what felt like hours of searching, he heard the sound of screams and thudding footsteps coming from ahead. Theon quickened his pace, his heart pounding in his chest. As he turned a corner, he saw a group of wights swarming towards a large wooden door, their icy hands grasping at the wood as if trying to break it down.

Without hesitation, Theon charged forward, his dagger flashing in the dim light. He fought with a ferocity born of desperation, determined to protect the innocent people trapped behind the door. When the last wight fell to the ground, Theon rushed forward, pushing open the door to find -

"Sansa! Lady Stark!" he exclaimed, relief flooding through him as he saw the terrified girl clutching a small knife in her hand, beside her equally terrified mother. "It's me, Theon! Come with me, I'll get you out of here."

But Sansa just stared at him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Theon's heart ached as he realized that she didn't recognize him. Yes, he was covered in blood, and dirt, but he was still him. How long had she been trapped here, surrounded by these monstrous creatures? How much had she suffered?

"I'm Theon Greyjoy," he said gently, trying to reassure her. "We were friends when we were younger, remember? Your brother Robb and I trained together."

Sansa's expression softened slightly, and she took a step closer to Theon. "Theon...I thought you were dead," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Theon pulled her close, holding her tightly as he led her away from the horrors of the Red Keep and towards the safety of the outside world. They still had a long journey ahead of them, but with each other's help, they might just make it through this alive.

As Theon tried to lead Sansa and Lady Catelyn through the chaotic halls of Red Keep, Sansa suddenly stopped him, her eyes wide with horror. "Varys," she gasped, pointing towards a nearby door. Theon followed her gaze and saw the former Master of Whispers lying on the ground, his eyes closed, a look of peace on his face.

"He sacrificed himself for us," Sansa whispered, tears streaming down her face. "He saved our lives so we could escape."

Theon felt a pang of grief at the loss of the man who had saved them, but he knew they had no time to mourn. He grabbed Sansa's hand and pulled her towards the door she had pointed out. "We have to go," he urged her. "There's still a way out."

But Sansa resisted, her feet rooted to the spot. "I can't leave him here," she said, her voice trembling. "He died for me. I have to honour his sacrifice."

Theon hesitated, unsure of what to do. But then he heard footsteps approaching, the sound of wights shuffling closer. They didn't have much time. With a heavy heart, he took Sansa's hand again and pulled her towards the door. "Come on," he urged her. "We have to go now."

As the trio ran through the dark and twisted corridors of Red Keep, Theon couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see Varys' ghostly form following them. But there was no one there. Only the sound of their own footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

As the sun set over King's Landing, the skies darkened with the ominous presence of two dragons. Daenerys Targaryen, her scales shimmering in the fading light, stood atop Drogon's back, ready for battle against the traitorous Viserion, now controlled by the Night King. The ice dragon had been severely injured by a bolt from the scorpion weapon, but still posed a formidable threat.

Drogon let out a mighty roar as he charged towards his brother, flames blazing from his mouth. Viserion retaliated with a blast of icy breath, causing chunks of stone to fly from the ground beneath their feet. The two dragons clashed, their claws locked in a fierce struggle.

Daenerys urged Drogon on, her voice ringing out above the chaos. "We must end this now!" she shouted. But Viserion was not easily defeated. He lunged forward, his jaws wide open, ready to strike.

Drogon dodged at the last moment, but not quickly enough. Viserion's jaws closed around his tail, causing him to stumble. Daenerys gasped in horror as Viserion raised his head, preparing to deliver the final blow.

"No!" Daenerys shouted, surprising Viserion, causing him to pause.

The two dragons circled each other, their scales glinting in the fading light. Viserion was wounded, its left wing badly damaged after being struck by a scorpion bolt fired by Theon. Drogon too had taken damage, its right claw injured from a previous encounter with the White Walkers.

Despite their injuries, both dragons fought fiercely, breathing fire and causing chaos below. Buildings crumbled and people ran for their lives as the two behemoths clashed in mid-air. But it soon became clear that Viserion was no match for Drogon's superior size and strength, and the fresh bite from his brother.

Viserion was forced to retreat, flying towards the Red Keep. Daenerys decided against following after him as she wish to assess Drogon's injuries.

As Theon stood on the parapet of the Red Keep, gazing out over the city of King's Landing, he felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him. He had done everything he could to make amends for his betrayal of the Starks, and now he was ready to pay the ultimate price.

Without hesitation, Theon shouted at the dragon, trying to keep its attention focused on him rather than on Sansa and Arya, who were cowering behind the walls. "Hey, you! Dragon! Over here!" he called out, waving his arms wildly. "I'm the one you want! Come and get me!"

Viserion snarled and flapped its wings, clearly unhappy with Theon's attempts to distract it. But instead of attacking him, the dragon simply hovered in place, panting heavily. Theon took advantage of the momentary reprieve to take a step forward, hoping to provoke the dragon into attacking him once again.

"Hey! Over here!" Theon shouted, turning to face the injured ice dragon. "Come and take my head! End this miserable existence!"

Viserion, still enraged from his battle against his brother, lunged forward with a snarl, his jaws open wide, ready to strike.

Theon steeled himself for the blow, but just as the dragon was about to attack, it suddenly collapsed, its body going limp and lifeless.

Theon stumbled backwards in shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Sansa Stark approached him, her face filled with sorrow. "Why, Theon?" she asked, as if searching for some explanation for his actions.

For a moment, Theon was confused and disbelieving. Had Viserion really just died?

He knew that the Starks should nevr forgive him for his betrayal, and he couldn't blame them. He had once been a part of their family, but he had chosen to side with his father instead of standing by those who had shown him love and kindness. Now, he was left alone with nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company, which had proved to be a dangerous thing.

Theon had hoped that the dragon would put him out of his misery, end his suffering, but it had not. Instead, Viserion had died, leaving Theon alone and adrift.

"Why did you have to die?" Theon sobbed, tears streaming down his face. "Why couldn't you take me with you?"

Sansa Stark, who had been standing beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Theon, you don't deserve this," she said softly. "You may have made mistakes, but you were nevr evil at heart. You were lost and confused, just like the rest of us."

Theon shook his head, unable to speak through his grief. He felt like he was drowning in it, suffocating under the weight of his own guilt.

Theon sighed heavily, his thoughts drifting to the note he had written to Orella, the woman who had given birth to his son, Bradyn. He had always known that he would never get the chance to meet his child, but he had hoped that somehow, someway, she would know that he had lived, that he had fought for his people and his kingdom.

But as he looked around at the destruction and devastation that surrounded them, Theon knew that there was more to life than just living. His son deserved better than to grow up in a world torn apart by war and bloodshed.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"I should have died at Winterfell, but fate had other plans. Once I got you to safety, I was supposed to return, to die. And when the fighting was over, and the bodies were gathered, someone would find the letter."

"Letter? What letter?"

"The one I wrote to Orella. I have a son, Bradyn."

Needless to say, Sansa was shocked.

"I want you to take this note," Theon said, pulling out the small piece of parchment from his pocket. "Give it to Orella, tell her... tell her that I loved her, and that my son is everything to me. Tell her that I want him to have a better life than I ever could have given him."

Theon nodded. He knew that he would never be able to see his son grow up, but he also knew that he had made the right decision. His son deserved a better life than one tainted by war and violence, or the legacy of being the son of a traitor.

Sansa's expression softened. "Why do you want me to deliver it?" she asked gently.

Theon sighed heavily. "Because I can't bring myself to give it to her directly," he admitted. "I don't deserve to see her again after everything I've done."

Sansa nodded understandingly. "But why does it matter so much?" she pressed. "Why not just let go of the past and move on?"

Theon took a deep breath before answering. "Because I want to make sure my son doesn't make the same mistakes I did," he said quietly. "I want him to know that I love him, even if I can't be there to show it."

Sansa listened intently, her brow furrowed in empathy. "And what about your own redemption?" she asked after a moment. "Don't you think you owe it to yourself to try and find some peace?"

Theon shook his head, feeling a familiar sense of shame creeping over him. "I don't deserve it," he muttered. "Not after everything I've done."

Sansa stepped closer to him, taking his hand in hers. "Forgiveness isn't just about other people, Theon," she said softly. "It's also about forgiving ourselves. You need to forgive yourself too."

Theon felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as he looked down at their entwined hands. "I can't," he whispered. "I don't know how."

Sansa smiled sadly. "That's okay," she replied. "Just start by forgiving me for whatever wrongs I may have done against you. And then maybe, just maybe, we can both find our way to forgiveness."

Theon felt a weight lifting off his shoulders as he realized the truth in her words. He nodded slowly, feeling a sense of release that he hadn't experienced in years. "Thank you, Sansa," he whispered gratefully. "Thank you for always being here for me."

Sansa leaned forward and embraced him warmly. "You're welcome, Theon," she said. "Now go, be with your family. They need you."

As Theon hugged Sansa back, he felt a wave of emotions wash over him. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to feel anything other than shame and guilt. But in this moment, with Sansa by his side, he could let his guard down and simply be.

He turned and walked away, feeling lighter than he had in years. The weight of his past mistakes and the pressure to prove himself were both lifted off his shoulders, replaced by the gentle grace of Sansa's forgiveness and understanding.

Lady Stark placed an arm on her eldest daughter's shoulder. "You've really grown up in the last few years. Your father would be so proud."

In the throne room, Jon steeled himself and began to walk towards the Night King, his hand carrying Lightbringer, the sword he had been chosen to wield, to bring an end to the darkness that was the Night King and his undead army. The Night King did not move, but instead summoned forth a horde of wights, their glowing blue eyes filling the room as they advanced upon Jon.

Jon charged into battle, swinging Lightbringer and fighting off the undead minions with swift and deadly strokes. His muscles ached and his breath came in ragged gasps, but he refused to give ground. For the sake of humanity, he had to defeat the Night King and his army of the dead.

Luckily, he also had the help of Morgana.

It seemed with her new transformation came a surge of power in her abilities.

As Jon fought his way through the endless tide of the undead, Morgana watched him from the sidelines, a slight frown marring her otherwise perfect features. She could sense the exhaustion emanating from him, the strain of wielding Lightbringer and fighting off the wights beginning to take its toll. She knew that if she didn't intervene soon, he would not stand a chance.

Taking a deep breath, she summoned her magic, feeling the familiar heat coursing through her veins. She closed her eyes and concentrated, focusing her energy on the flames that danced around her fingertips. As she did so, the air around her seemed to shimmer and warp, distorting the reality around them. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that the fire had taken on a new form, a living, breathing entity that obeyed her every command.

With a swift movement, she flung the fireball towards the nearest group of wights, watching with satisfaction as they were engulfed in the inferno. The fire spread quickly, consuming the undead creatures and leaving nothing but ash behind. Jon glanced over his shoulder in surprise, noticing the sudden change in the tide of battle. He grinned in appreciation and redoubled his efforts, feeling renewed strength coursing through him.

Just when it seemed like the tide of the battle was turning in their favor, Jon looked up to see the Night King disappear from the Iron Throne. Panic set in as he realized the true extent of the Night King's power. He had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a faint whisper of dark magic lingering in the air.

"Find me," the voice echoed in Jon's mind, "and you will find your answer."

Jon knew then that the hunt had only just begun. He would have to search every corner of Westeros to uncover the Night King's whereabouts and finally bring an end to this never-ending nightmare.