High atop Mount Medved, but with an excellent view of the ritual, three chairs stood aligned, facing the event that was about to begin.
Made of polished marble, in a serene white hue, they seemed to withstand the ice and snow's cold with stoic tranquility.
In front of them, an open space carved into the rock indicated that this was an ancient place — but also one of rare and restricted use. Only the central chair seemed old enough to have always belonged there. The other two, one on each side, had been built to mimic its appearance, which worked well to the eyes of the untrained.
But to a more attentive, more intelligent gaze, it was clear: those two did not belong there. They had been placed much later.
— So we'll finally see the end of our problems.
Seated on the chairs, three serious faces watched the ritual with the same stillness and rigidity as the stones around them.
Seeing one of them was already rare — all three together was nearly impossible.
In truth, they led everything the North possessed, with an iron hand, always seeking total and unrestricted control.
The North was one of the few known places where power was not held by a single sovereign, but by three.
At that moment, two seemed restless. They tried to understand what was happening below. The one in the center, however, seemed calmer and soon explained:
— In fact, I spoke to Yelena myself. The boy won't survive today.
A terrifying and ambiguous smile appeared on the man's face, still fixed on what was happening hundreds of meters below.
— Brother… how did you manage to convince that witch to help us?
The speaker was a woman with long black hair sitting to his right. Among the three, she was the one who showed the most concern — but was soon reassured by the man in the central chair.
— Dear sister, no need to worry. I have something she needs. And what we're asking is just a small favor.
The man on the left scoffed, as if something unacceptable had been said with a lightness that only a punch could correct.
— I understand your distrust, brother — the eldest continued, ignoring the gesture. — But you need to trust your older brother. I have things that woman would kill to keep hidden. Besides, what we're asking isn't much.
— How can you say that? We're asking to corrupt the ritual!
— It's not corrupting — the woman replied, trying to defend the older brother. — The boy doesn't even have one of his legs anymore. We just want to be sure. That's all.
The one who disagreed fell silent.
He knew that what his brother had done had been set in motion long ago — and that stopping him would be impossible. Even so, the idea of interfering with a ritual that had never been touched weighed on his shoulders.
The thought that this could become a stain on his legacy disturbed him.
But it was the eldest brother who had brought them this far. And if he believed this needed to happen, it wouldn't be him who stood in the way.
In the end, he just wanted to make one thing clear: he didn't like what was about to happen.
Nikolai, like everyone in the ritual, was unaware of what was happening above them.
As he was still searching for the twentieth bear, he didn't notice when the nineteen judges aligned, shoulder to shoulder, in solemn silence, awaiting the blessing of the Gatekeeper.
Their gazes fell upon the youths like invisible blades.
The Whites and the Browns, proud and aloof, made their disdain for most of the candidates clear.
The Silver-Blues, in contrast, kept stoic expressions, but their eyes scanned every detail, attentive to the slightest nuances of their possible choices.
The Blacks — always described as kind, pure-hearted — seemed to deliver their choices with a simple eagerness, almost fraternal, even within the brutality of that moment.
Nikolai couldn't move a muscle. His eyes were frozen, yet still absorbed everything. The silent dance of the judges. The crossing of glances. The subtle realignment of bodies. It was like witnessing an ancient ritual, where beasts and men chose one another.
And then, order was established.
Almost mythically, the bears were released by the giant to take their positions before their chosen ones.
— The White chose Irina. No surprise there. She was smart, fast, sharp.
Nikolai wasn't surprised when Oleg received a Brown, nor when Zoya was granted the other. But the last Brown caused tension. It hesitated, initially setting its gaze on Irina… but the White drove it off with a gesture of pure supremacy.
The Brown retreated, though its eyes lingered on her for a few moments. Then, almost unexpectedly, it turned toward Nikolai.
The beast took two steps in his direction, and for an instant, Nikolai's heart raced.
But the dry sound of the Druid's staff echoed.
The Brown halted, observing the reaction of the masked woman. Its eyes lingered on Nikolai once more — and then it returned to the darkness.
The entire scene burned into Nikolai's mind like a branding iron.
Confusion. Anger.
He knew his own disability better than anyone. He lived with it every day — with every stumble, every fall. But he had never accepted it as a prison. He had never given up. He had always risen through strength, never weakness.
And now, before everyone, he had been marked as unworthy by his own kind.
He wanted to look the Druid in the eyes and understand why she had done what she did — but he couldn't.
A void.
That was what rose before Nikolai.
No bear dared remain in front of him. First the Brown, then the Blue, finally the Black — all interrupted by the dry sound of the Druid's staff, all equally confused, as far as one could tell.
With each strike, the creature hesitated and retreated into Vybor's darkness, as if an invisible force had decreed that he was not worthy of any choice.
No one understood what was happening. But the outcome was inevitable: an empty space before Nikolai. A void heavier than any sentence.
The silence was broken only by the muffled groans of the others who, like Nikolai, shared the empty space in front of them. Trapped in their paralyzed bodies, they could not scream, cry, or flee — only groan, like animals about to be slaughtered.
"So this is what Marina meant when she said we wouldn't be able to move."
Nikolai's mind boiled. What kind of magic was this, capable of turning men into prisoners of themselves?
Then, the groans grew louder. The first stage was over, and the true horror — the part no one dared to describe — was about to begin.
The Gatekeeper stepped forward. His eyes fell upon a girl with dark hair and green eyes. A childlike gleam still lived in her, but within seconds it was consumed by terror. A warm stream ran down her legs, turning into a fetid puddle on the frozen ground.
Nikolai, watching from the corner of his eye, didn't feel pity. He felt anger.
Anger because the Gatekeeper seemed to revel in it — like an executioner who not only kills but savors every moment of the sentence.
The bear opened its mouth. Slowly, inevitably, its jaws closed over the girl's head. Many looked away. But not Nikolai. He stared. He wanted to witness it.
In her final breath, her voice broke the spell of silence:
— Mother…
And then, nothing.
A wet crack echoed as her skull was crushed, spraying blood and fragments like an overturned chalice. The Gatekeeper drank the crimson liquid with grotesque pleasure, as if it were the most precious wine ever served. After a few seconds, it seized the rest of her body and tossed it unceremoniously into a pit near the cave entrance.
Nikolai knew that place. The Drip Hole.
They called it that because it was where rainwater seeped in, slowly trickling into the abyss below. But water was not the only offering. The dead were thrown there too.
In Medved, there were no cemeteries. The earth never received bodies.
Death did not become a grave, but a tribute.
All corpses — animal, warrior, or rejected — ended up there, in Vybor, offered to the depths.
They were given to the so-called Rulers: bears that never surfaced, but were said to rule even over the Gatekeeper.
It was also said that these bears were different — akin to nobility itself — and that only the remains of the weakest were offered to them during the rituals. The strongest, the most capable, would never lower themselves to be subjected to mere humans.
This idea, however, was not reinforced by anyone in Medved. Often, speaking it aloud was considered blasphemy. After all, it was an ancient and powerful pact, and neither side could afford to deny it.
But when one looked at the Gatekeeper — and his sheer size — it all seemed more plausible.
After all, would the Rulers really offer the best in this ritual of submission?
Honestly, Nikolai found that impossible.
The truth was, no one had ever returned after daring to enter that hole.
It was a sacred, untouched territory — and those who had tried to cross it… never came back.
An abyss of secrets and echoes, where only bones and memories piled up like forgotten offerings.
That day, the Drip Hole would be fed once more.
With the blood and carrion of youths who would never become citizens.
One by one, the torn, lifeless bodies were dragged and tossed into the void.
The sound was low, yet unbearably clear.
The cracking of bones. Flesh being torn. The muffled delight of an underground feast for hungry mouths.
And even without being able to move a single muscle, Nikolai felt every fiber of his body tremble.
Eight corpses — seven men and one woman — were thrown into the abyss with the same carelessness: headless, honorless, as if they had never existed.
Soon, silence took over the valley. A strange, uncomfortable silence.
The Gatekeeper, used to weeping and panic, lifted his snout, confused.
Where was the despair? Where were the wide eyes, the sweet taste of terror?
He turned to the last one. A frail one, marked by the disability that everyone saw as a sentence. The bear stared at him with disdain. Maybe, he thought, it would be enough to approach slowly. Maybe just a hint of false hope would be enough for that look of dread to appear, for fear to consume the body and make the flesh taste even sweeter.
But as he drew near, something threw him off.
The small one raised his head and looked him in the eye — but not with fear.
He stared back with a raw, living, palpable rage, so intense it seemed to burn the air between them.
"How… How is he resisting my magic?"
That's when he saw the blood. Dripping from the mouth.
And he understood.
He had bitten his own tongue. Not just bitten — shredded it, torn it into strips, until it became dead flesh inside his mouth. The pain should have been unbearable, enough to kill from shock, to make him faint on the spot.
But he hadn't fallen. He was still standing. Still staring.
Decades. Decades without seeing someone break his chains. Decades without meeting a gaze that looked at him not with pleading… but with defiance.
The Gatekeeper stirred, and his colossal expression shifted. First hatred, then curiosity, then a sick, almost childlike joy, before returning to hatred once again. The youths, still paralyzed, didn't dare breathe.
Irina, her heart racing, tried to see past the silhouettes to distinguish the last one. She wasn't sure… but deep in her chest, she feared the worst.
"How… dare you."
The thunderous voice reverberated through the mountain as if evoking a long-forgotten god. It wasn't just sound — it was a blow against reality itself. The air quaked. The ground shook. Even hearts seemed to skip their rhythm.
Everyone was confused. The Druid, who had never lost her composure in nearly a century, froze. Beneath the ritual mask, her eyes widened.
She had never known that the Gatekeeper could speak human words. Not the ancient records, not even the oldest legends mentioned such a thing.
None of this had ever happened. Until now.
The year had already proven unusual, but this went beyond any boundary. She had never dared interfere with the ritual. Never. Yet this time, she had been forced to.
Not once.
Not twice.
Three times.
And still, she didn't understand the reason. What could be so dangerous about a boy missing one of his legs? What in him demanded such a break in the order?
The Gatekeeper, for his part, seemed indifferent to her interruptions. Or perhaps… not.
Perhaps he accepted them, as if he too were searching for some answer in that boy. Something no one else could see.
"What do I do…?" — the Druid murmured to herself, doubt corroding her for the first time in decades.
No one dared answer. No one even breathed.
The officers knew something was wrong, but didn't dare interfere. Marina, in silence, overflowed with fury — not against the boy, but against the forces that seemed bent on corrupting the sacred ritual.
Something — or someone — wanted that boy dead at any cost.
The great Bear seemed indifferent to what was happening among the humans — in that moment, his feelings mixed between surprise, outrage, and disbelief. But none of them grasped the truth behind his emotion, and that was precisely what made the silence even more unbearable.
Suddenly, a faint yet intense growl reverberated in the darkness.
The White Bear raised his head — not in arrogance, but in confusion and fear.
Something no one noticed, but if they had seen it, they would never have believed such a thing possible in that colossal creature.
The Druid, meanwhile, was even more stunned by the arrival of a new bear.
And Nikolai… fell to his knees.
His body trembled, his skin pale as snow, blood dripping from his mouth in red threads. Pain consumed him entirely, but he refused to give in.
He refused to faint.
He refused to die.
His eyes locked onto the ground, covered in a thin layer of snow from the night before. But his mind… his mind drifted, dragged into a memory buried in time:
"Come catch me!"
"Mom… stop… I can't reach you… mom!"
The woman bent down and held him — that little being with those distinct eyes.
"Your mother will always be here. I'll never leave you."
The childish tears dried. The smile appeared.
And now, almost a decade later, all who could see Nikolai — kneeling, bloodied, and exhausted — could also see the delirious smile on his face.
Then the cave's darkness opened.
From the void, a bear emerged that no one had ever seen before.
It was no larger than a common black bear, but its presence was imposing.
A massive scar marked its face, snaking down its body — starting at the lost left eye, descending to the shoulder, and trailing along the ribs.
And still, it walked proud, indifferent to the scar, carrying itself like a wounded king.
The Gatekeeper, in silence, simply stepped back and gave it space. No challenge. No dispute. Only acceptance.
In front of Nikolai, the gray bear settled down.
A bear marked by the scar that had taken the sight from one of its eyes.
A boy mutilated by life, unable to run properly.
But no one dared make any kind of mockery. Only silence.
The Druid raised her staff, ready to intervene, but the Gatekeeper's gaze struck her like thunder — a severe look that made her understand she had gone too far.
Nikolai, submerged in memories and pain, lifted his clouded eyes. His blurred vision brought him the image of that magnificent and broken creature.
And in that instant, the bond was born.
It was not something learned from books, nor taught in temples.
It was an unbreakable bond — the very essence of being chosen.
A bear… gray.
"I did it, Mom."
The sound followed him as his body fell to the side.
Nikolai had finally fainted.