Noa staggered out of the training grounds, his steps echoing down the frozen corridor. Every movement felt like dragging boulders across ice. His breath rose in pale clouds, and the tremor in his legs refused to cease.
At his door, he reached for the handle. The iron was biting cold, slicing across his bloodied palm. His fingers shook, his wrists weak. He pulled once—the door did not budge.
For a heartbeat he simply stood, staring at his stained hands. His fingers, nearly frozen stiff, no longer obeyed him. Clenching his jaw against the pain, he mustered every ounce of strength and wrenched the handle once more.
The door groaned open.
It should have been a victory. Yet Noa's face betrayed no triumph. He stepped into his quarters, burdened not by the cold but by the weight of his own exhaustion.
The room was plain: a narrow bed, an old table, a chair. Not a prison cell, and yet not freedom either. For the soldiers, a shelter. For Noa, another extension of the battlefield.
He reached for a strip of cloth from the desk drawer and wrapped his bleeding hands. Pain spread through his body, but he sat silent, eyes searching for something in the emptiness.
He sank onto the bed. His breath shuddered, his body quaking.
In a whisper that was more plea than thought, he asked:
— How much longer will this last? How much more must I endure…?
No answer came. Only the trembling of his body, carrying him into uneasy sleep. Even in slumber, his fists clenched tight in pain.
---
Dawn broke, and this time it was Noa himself who woke. His muscles screamed with stiffness, his arms felt carved from stone. Yet he did not see torment—he saw a sign. A sign that his body was changing, straining toward strength.
He rose slowly and made his way to the mess hall.
---
The soldiers lined up for rations. When Noa's turn came, his tray was filled with only a chunk of hard bread and a cup of icy water.
He stared.
— This… is it? — he murmured.
The soldier beside him chuckled, a cruel spark in his eyes.
— What, were you expecting warm meat and soft loaves? This isn't a palace, boy. Here, only hunger and hardship are your tutors.
Laughter rippled through the hall. Some muttered, "The prince still hasn't woken."
Noa said nothing. He only lifted the bread, its hardness stinging his sore fingers. He did not turn from the pain—he consumed it.
Under his breath, he whispered:
— Even from bread and water, I will draw strength. Because I must live.
His teeth ached as he bit into the stone-like loaf. The icy water burned down his throat. Yet to him, these were not punishments. They were lessons.
And though the soldiers laughed under the torchlight, a glimmer burned in Noa's eyes—silent defiance, quiet fury, a hidden spark of power.
---
After breakfast, the soldiers marched back into the courtyard. The wind cut like blades, the snow shimmered under the merciless dawn. Noa still trembled, his body worn by yesterday's trials, but in his heart, something heavier than fatigue burned—an unyielding resolve.
The officer's voice thundered from the platform:
— Today, weakness will find no place to hide. Whoever deceives themselves, the ice will devour.
The ranks shouted in unison. From the crowd, voices jeered:
— The little prince will vanish in the snow today!
— He can't even lift a weapon!
Noa turned his gaze away, lips sealed. Their scorn no longer pierced him. Within, another voice spoke: Mock me. Laugh. But my silence will one day drown out your shouts.
— On the ground! — the officer barked.
— Breathe against the ice. Let it judge your flesh.
The soldiers sprawled onto the snow. The frost bit like a thousand needles. Some leapt up gasping within moments, their breaths spilling white into the air.
Noa, too, shivered violently. His teeth ground together, his toes numb. But he told himself: If the ice consumes me, my spirit will freeze as well. I must remain alive.
He pressed deeper into the snow. The laughter around him blurred, the harsh breaths faded, until there was nothing but the silence of the cold.
The officer's eyes fell on him. He studied Noa for a long while, neither pity nor hatred in his gaze. Only fire wrapped in frost—a look that said: Rise. Endure. Fail, and I will forget you.
When the drill ended, lips were blue, hands raw and swollen. Noa staggered to his feet, but he did not fall.
— Final trial! — the officer thundered. — Pair up. In the water and on the ice, show me who you are.
From across the yard, Garn stepped forward. A smirk curled his lips.
— This time, you'll drown in the cold, pampered boy.
They waded into the pool, steam rising off its black surface. Garn plunged in with a mocking laugh.
Noa followed. The water struck like knives, piercing bone and crushing breath. His body convulsed, yet inside he whispered:
— I will not break. I will live even on the ice.
---
When the exercise ended, the soldiers clambered out, wrapping themselves in shimmering mana—glows of crimson, gold, and blue dancing like flames around their bodies. Each shielded themselves, holding back the deadly cold.
Noa stumbled from the water, his skin numb, his hands trembling. He stared at the others, bewildered.
— What… is this?
The officer barked:
— What are you waiting for? Cloak yourself—or do you intend to fall sick?
The laughter began again:
— He can't even weave mana around himself!
— So much for the prince raised in luxury!
The officer stepped closer, his voice sharp as steel.
— Picture your body. Envision wrapping it in your inner force, as if sealing yourself in armor. Guide it with your hands. Do it—and the cold will no longer touch you.
Noa nodded faintly, whispering:
— All right…
He closed his eyes, drew a long breath, and imagined his body wrapped in warmth. He waited. But nothing came.
Opening his eyes, he looked helplessly at the officer.
— Sir… I feel nothing.
For a moment, the officer froze. Then he pressed a hand against Noa's chest. His eyes widened, pupils narrowing like a predator's.
His voice broke into a whisper:
— Impossible… You have no mana?
Gasps rippled through the ranks—then erupted into laughter.
— Hahahahahaha!
— He doesn't even have mana!
— Our prince was born without the dragons' gift!
Their laughter shook the courtyard.
Noa staggered back, words trembling from his lips:
— W… what did you say, sir?
The officer's gaze was a blade of ice.
— Every child of the dragons awakens with mana—an inner spark, the soul's trigger. It is what shields, what transforms cold into flame, fear into strength. But in you… there is nothing. You are an empty shell.
Noa's heart hammered. His vision blurred.
— No… no, that's not possible. I… I must have…
The soldiers howled with laughter, some doubling over in mirth.
— The so-called prince is nothing but a hollow! A weakling without mana!
The officer's roar silenced them at once:
— Enough! He is manaless. And here, there is only one path left to him: prove himself through strength alone.
In Noa's ears, only one word echoed, louder than the cold, louder than their mockery:
Manaless… Manaless…
Inside, he screamed:
No! It cannot be true! Without mana, how can I survive? How can I overcome this frozen world?!
For the first time, Noa's heart truly cracked: the truth struck him like a blade of frost — the mana, the gift bestowed upon every child of dragons, did not exist within him.
Now, dear reader, I leave these questions to you:
— Why is Noa the one born without mana? Is this the cruel jest of fate, or is there a hidden reason yet to be revealed?
— When Slvya called him "different," what did she truly mean?
— Or… was it nothing more than the boundless love of a mother?
How long do you believe Noa can endure in this frozen world? ❄️🔥
Leave your thoughts behind — your words may become the very spark that fuels the next chapters.
---
🪨 Power Stone has been cast!
📚 Saved into the Library.
And as promised: Chapter 2 and Chapter 3 will be released tonight. May fortune walk beside you, Noa! 🌌