Maria Snow wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something strange about the way her baby brother looked at her. She had never had siblings before, never known the feeling of being watched with such quiet intensity. Jon Snow, so small, so innocent, seemed to fix his eyes on her far too often, as though he was searching for something hidden deep inside of her. It made her uneasy, a tight feeling settling in her chest that she couldn’t explain.

  She had lived many lives, experienced countless deaths and rebirths, but this... this bond with Jon was new. Uncharted territory.

  At first, Maria thought it was merely the curiosity of a child. But the way Jon stared — it was more than that. His gaze wasn’t innocent. He seemed to be trying to see beyond the surface, as though he could peer through the layers of her soul and see something she had yet to fully understand herself. He was different. She could feel it. Just like her.

  Was he like her? A hunter. Reborn into this world, just as she had been. She considered mentioning it to him, speaking of great ones and hunters, of things she could sense but could not yet explain. But every time the conversation drifted near that territory, Jon grew confused. His brow furrowed, his little face twisted in bafflement, and she could see the growing frustration in his eyes.

  Instead, he asked something simpler.

  "Are you cursed?"

  The question hung in the air between them, so soft and innocent, and yet it felt like a dagger to the heart. Maria wasn’t sure how to answer, but after a moment of reflection, she spoke.

  "I suppose I am," she said softly. "Cursed as a bastard."

  It wasn’t the answer Jon was expecting, she could tell. His expression shifted, and for a moment, the confusion on his face deepened. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. He seemed satisfied with her answer, or perhaps he simply didn’t understand enough to press further. Either way, the silence stretched between them once again, but this time it was less tense.

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  It wasn’t much of a conversation, but it was still a strange one. It was something she had never experienced before. In all her lives, she had never shared such a fragile exchange with anyone. Not like this.

  And yet, as odd as it was, it felt better than the forced conversations she endured with their cousins. The Stark children. They were cold and distant, their eyes full of judgment whenever they looked at Maria and Jon. To them, the two of them were nothing more than reminders of Ned Stark’s betrayal, the consequences of a past he was trying to bury.

  Maria didn’t care for their treatment, but she was still a child, and she couldn’t help but feel the sting of their disdain. Sansa’s sharp tongue, Robb’s distant gaze, Arya’s cold indifference. They didn’t want Maria or Jon around, and Catelyn Stark, their mother, made it clear they were unwelcome.

  It was different with Eddard Stark, though. Maria could see that he tried. She could see the care in his eyes when he looked at them, the quiet love he carried for his children, even the ones who were not truly his. But his duties as Warden of the North kept him preoccupied. He was often far too busy to give them the attention they needed. Maria and Jon were left to navigate this strange, cold world alone.

  And so, they resorted to mischief. Stolen food from the kitchen, little trinkets from their cousins’ rooms. It was childish, yes, but it was their way of rebelling, their way of asserting their existence in a world that sought to erase them. It only made things worse, though. Every time they were caught, the divide between them and the rest of the Stark children grew wider.

  Maria couldn’t help but feel defenseless. She had no weapon here, no Rakuyo, no Evelyn. The tools that had been her constant companions in her previous life were nowhere to be found. This world was too primitive, too backward for something like Rakuyo to exist. Maria had been strong once, wielding weapons of great power, but here? Here, she was just another child, another bastard, with no way to defend herself.

  She couldn’t even make a weapon. The materials here were all wrong. The metals too crude, the tools too primitive. But Maria was clever, and she would find a way. She had no choice but to adapt, to think outside the box. She would gather materials, perhaps forge something of her own, something to protect herself and Jon.

  But for now, all she had was her wits.

  And maybe, just maybe, the strange connection she felt with her brother.