Reborn as Jon Snow with God System

The cold winds of the North whispered through the towering walls of Winterfell as I stood before my father, Lord Eddard Stark. His sharp, gray eyes locked onto mine, searching for the truth in my face. The man before him—taller, broader, and undeniably stronger—was nothing like the seven-year-old boy who had once left these walls.

"Father," I spoke, my voice calm yet filled with emotion. "It's been a long time."

Ned Stark remained motionless, his expression unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes. Beside him, Ser Rodrik and the guards remained wary, their hands resting on their weapons, ready to act if needed. Even Robb, Sansa, and Arya, who had been standing among the onlookers, seemed too stunned to move.

Then I saw it—the flicker of recognition in my father's eyes. A part of him had already pieced together the truth. He had thought of me as lost to the world, yet here I stood before him, no longer a boy but a man.

Ned took a cautious step forward. "Jon?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.

A small smile tugged at my lips. "Yes, Father. It's really me."

A breath of relief escaped him, and then, without warning, he pulled me into a tight embrace. It was firm, almost desperate, as though afraid I might vanish if he let go. For the first time in years, I felt the warmth of my father's embrace—not as a distant figure of authority, but as a man who had deeply missed his son.

"How is this possible?" Ned murmured as he pulled away, his hands gripping my shoulders. "You were only seven when you left. How can you be… like this?"

I chuckled softly. "Perhaps the gods truly have blessed me, as people once said." I met his gaze and added, "Or maybe time has simply worked differently for me."

He searched my face, trying to comprehend my words, but in the end, he sighed. "You shouldn't have put yourself in danger today, Jon. The way you fought… those arrows could have struck you."

I nodded, letting him scold me as much as he wanted. I knew he was speaking out of concern.

By now, the entire courtyard had fallen into murmurs. The name Jon Snow spread among the people like wildfire. The bastard son of Winterfell had returned—no longer a boy, but a warrior who had bested seasoned men in battle.

Robb, who had been watching from the side, finally stepped forward. His expression was a mix of happiness, shock, and something else—jealousy, perhaps? He was the heir to Winterfell, yet our father had spoken to me with a kind of respect he had never shown before.

Sansa, standing nearby, looked oddly flustered. One moment, she seemed happy, and the next, she averted her gaze as if unsure how to act. I didn't understand women very well, but something about her behavior puzzled me.

Arya, on the other hand, had no hesitation. She ran straight toward me, throwing her arms around me. "Jon! You're back!" she cried, her voice full of excitement.

I laughed, ruffling her hair. "Yes, little wolf, I'm back."

"I'm not little anymore!" she huffed, crossing her arms.

I smirked. "Of course, you're not."

Then, I noticed the two youngest boys—Bran and Rickon—standing beside our father. They were staring at me with wide eyes. I had never met them before, as they were born after I had left, yet the sight of them filled me with warmth.

"These are your brothers," Ned said, his voice softer now.

I crouched down slightly to meet their height. "It's good to finally meet you," I said gently.

Bran seemed more curious than anything, while Rickon hid slightly behind our father's leg, unsure of what to make of me.

While my family gathered around me, Theon Greyjoy stood at a distance, his expression uneasy. He looked nervous—perhaps afraid. He should be. I had never liked the Greyjoys, and he knew it.

As we made our way inside Winterfell, I finally saw Lady Catelyn. Her face was unreadable, but I could feel the conflicting emotions within her—relief, hesitation, and a lingering trace of resentment. Though she said nothing, the way she looked at me made it clear that she was both wary and unsure.

Women were complicated. One moment they smiled, the next they glared. I had long since stopped trying to understand them.

Instead of dwelling on it, I continued talking with my siblings, recounting my travels and experiences. They listened in awe, asking questions, laughing at my tales, and marveling at how much I had changed.

By evening, I called them all together.

"I have something for you," I announced.

Excitement sparked in their eyes as they gathered in the courtyard.

I let out a sharp whistle, and within moments, two enormous shadows darkened the sky. The sound of mighty wings beating against the air filled the courtyard as two massive eagles descended. The sight of them sent waves of awe and fear through the gathered crowd.

The eagles, larger than any horse, landed gracefully. My family and the guards tensed, unsure of whether they were safe.

"They are my companions," I reassured them. "You have nothing to fear."

Even so, the eagles' piercing gazes made many uneasy. I walked forward, running a hand through their thick feathers, and one of them lowered its head. Tied to its back was a large wooden box.

Carefully, I lifted the box and turned to my siblings. "This is a gift for you all," I said.

Everyone gathered closer, curious about what lay inside.

I unfastened the lid, and immediately, small yips and whimpers filled the air.

Gasps echoed through the courtyard as six small direwolf pups emerged from the box. Their fur was thick and wild, their eyes sharp and intelligent. They were no ordinary wolves—these were the rare and legendary direwolves, the sigil of House Stark.

Ned stared in shock. "Direwolves…"

"Yes," I said. "There are six of them—one for each Stark child. They were meant to be born near Winterfell in a few years, but fate had other plans."

I reached down and gently lifted a small white pup with piercing red eyes. The moment I touched him, a deep connection sparked between us. Ghost.

Sansa, Arya, Robb, Bran, and Rickon each took a pup of their own, their faces glowing with excitement. Even my father seemed amazed by the gift.

"What do you say, Father?" I asked. "Let them raise and train their direwolves as their own?"

Ned hesitated, glancing at the hopeful faces of his children. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "Very well. They are the sigil of our house, and they have come to you. Raise them well."

A chorus of cheers erupted.

As the excitement continued, I leaned against one of my eagles, watching my family with a quiet satisfaction.

I had changed the timeline. The future was no longer set in stone.

Damn the timeline, I thought. I have the power of a god now—I will do as I please.

And with that, I smiled, knowing that this was only the beginning.

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