Reborn as Jon Snow with God System

**296 AC**

## Ned Stark POV

It had been six long years since Jon had disappeared.

Six years of uncertainty. Six years of regret. Six years of waiting, hoping, and wondering if I had made the worst mistake of my life by allowing a six-year-old boy to leave home.

I could still hear his last words to me before he left. They haunted me on quiet nights, whispering in my mind like a ghost refusing to leave.

Every year, a raven would arrive with a single letter, always written in the same way. **I am alive.**

Nothing more. No location, no details of where he was or what he had become. Just those three words, reigniting the fragile hope in my heart.

But what if one year the letter never came?

What if something had happened to him?

If I ever stood before Lyanna in the afterlife, how could I tell her I failed to protect her son?

And yet, I believed—no, I knew—Jon was no ordinary boy. From the moment he was born, he was different. Unique. He was quiet but always thinking. Observing. Calculating. He never showed his full potential, but I had seen glimpses of it.

He had bested me in swordsmanship. At Seven years old.

That memory still burned in my mind. A child—barely more than a babe—outmatched me, the Lord of Winterfell, a veteran of wars and battles. He had not just fought well; he had fought with precision, strategy, and skill no six-year-old should have possessed. I had hidden my shock then, but the truth remained.

Jon was something else.

I could only imagine what he had become now.

In the beginning, after he left, Robb, Sansa, and even little Arya had asked about him constantly. "Where did Jon go? When is he coming back?" But as time passed, so did their questions. He was fading from their memories, a shadow slipping into the past.

Bran and Rickon had never even met him. Arya was just a baby when he left.

Robb had grown strong, a capable swordsman, often sparring with Theon Greyjoy. Sansa dreamed of a fairytale life, a noble prince sweeping her away. Catelyn had filled her mind with stories of chivalry and kings in shining armor. Arya, on the other hand, was wild—so much like her aunt Lyanna. She had no interest in being a proper lady, much to Catelyn's dismay.

Life in Winterfell continued.

But I missed him. Gods, I missed him.

---

## Jon POV

The wind howled around me as I soared through the sky, my giant eagle carrying me effortlessly over the snow-covered lands of the North.

It had been six years since I had left Winterfell. Six years of learning, growing, and becoming more than I ever thought possible.

And now, I was returning.

Perched on my eagle's back, I carried six direwolf pups, gifts for my siblings. I had spent years watching over the direwolves, understanding them, forming a connection stronger than mere bonds of master and beast. They had pledged themselves to me. They followed my command, protected me, and in turn, I guided them.

But it wasn't just the direwolves.

Shadowcats, bears, eagles—countless creatures of the wild now answered to me.

I had become something more than just a Stark.

Winterfell appeared in the distance, a dark shape against the snowy expanse. A fortress I had once called home.

I closed my eyes and reached out, skinchanging into the body of a nearby squirrel. I scurried through the castle grounds, my vision shifting to the training yard.

There he was.

Father.

Ned Stark stood on the training grounds, sparring with Robb. Arya, Bran, Rickon, Theon, and Sansa stood nearby, watching. Ser Rodrik Cassel observed from the side, his trained eyes assessing Robb's every move.

A smile played on my lips.

It had been too long.

I pulled back into my own body and straightened. Time for a grand entrance.

With a sharp command, my eagles dove toward Winterfell, their piercing cries echoing through the castle.

---

## Ned Stark POV

The clash of steel rang through the training yard as I parried Robb's strike. His skill had improved over the years, and though he was not yet a master, he was well on his way.

Then, a deafening screech split the air.

The ground trembled beneath us.

We all looked up.

Two massive eagles circled the skies above Winterfell, their wings casting dark shadows over the castle.

Men shouted in alarm. Guards scrambled, drawing swords, raising shields.

"What in the Seven Hells…?" Ser Rodrik whispered, his hand tightening around his hilt.

And then, it happened.

From the back of one of the eagles, a figure leapt from the sky.

He fell fast.

The wind howled as he plummeted toward the ground.

Then—

Boom!

Dust and dirt exploded outward as the figure landed hard in the center of the yard, the ground cracking beneath his feet.

The entire training yard froze.

The man stood up slowly, rising from the debris. He was dressed in dark clothing, his face hidden behind a cloth mask. Two swords strapped to his back.

A stranger.

A warrior.

The guards reacted first. Swords drawn. Shields raised.

"Surround him!" someone shouted.

Within moments, dozens of soldiers encircled the masked man.

I placed a hand on my sword, stepping protectively in front of my children. Ser Rodrik stood beside me, his face grim.

The man raised his hands as if surrendering.

Then, in a flash, he drew his twin swords.

---

## Jon POV

I had waited long enough.

The soldiers lunged.

I moved.

I was faster than them—far faster.

My blades sang through the air, parrying, dodging, striking.

Ten soldiers came at me from all sides. Too slow. I twisted, my blades knocking weapons from their hands, my movements a blur.

One by one, I disarmed them. With quick, powerful strikes, I sent them sprawling to the ground.

Gasps echoed around the yard.

Twenty more men charged.

I smiled.

I danced through them like a shadow, outmaneuvering, overpowering, overwhelming.

Forty men.

Then fifty.

All defeated.

Not a single one dead.

They lay groaning, clutching their bruises, staring at me in shock and fear.

Then came the archers.

From the fortress walls, ten archers loosed their arrows.

I moved before the arrows even reached me.

My twin swords spun like a blur, slicing the arrows mid-air, the splintered shafts raining down around me.

The entire yard stood frozen in horror.

To them, I must have seemed unkillable.

I sheathed my swords.

Then, I spoke.

"That's enough."

The voice sent a shockwave through the yard.

Ned Stark stiffened.

Slowly, I lifted my hands, pulling back my hood and mask.

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the crowd.

And then, silence.

I met my father's eyes.

"Father," I said. "It's been a long time."

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