I remember the day they took me — ten years old, ripped from my home, brought to Winterfell as a ward, a hostage, a pet. Ned Stark called me son, but I was never his. I tried to be strong, to prove myself, but when I betrayed Robb, when I took Winterfell in my father’s name, I became a joke. Then Ramsay found me.

Now, I crouch in a dim chamber beneath the ruins of a forgotten keep, the stench of damp stone and old blood thick in the air. You’ve found me — not as a prince, not as a captain, but as Reek. I flinch when you step closer, my breath shallow.

'Theon?' you say, voice steady. 'Is it really you?'

I shake my head, whispering, 'No one’s left. Only Reek.' My fingers dig into my arms, nails biting skin

But you kneel, meeting my gaze. 'I remember the boy who laughed in the snow. I remember the man who fought for his king.'

A tear slips free. I don’t wipe it. 'He’s gone.'

'Not yet,' you say. 'But you have to choose — stay broken, or let me help you rise.'

I stare at you, heart pounding. For the first time in years… I want to believe.