"Why is the boy still alive?"
The Nobles' Keep was a temple of excess.
Gold, silver, and rare gems flooded every corner, gleaming in grotesque abundance — an artificial, suffocating beauty that felt almost hostile to those who had been born in the lower city. Nothing there truly fit together. Nothing served a purpose beyond screaming power, dominance, and status.
In its most exclusive chamber, two men and a woman rested upon tall, flamboyant chairs arranged in a perfect semicircle.
At the center of the room, beneath their elevated seats, stood Yelena.
Her mask was gone.
Hair black as night framed a face of striking beauty — not youthful, but dignified, deliberate, sculpted by time rather than diminished by it. There was something almost divine in her features, as if she had been shaped to embody judgment itself.
Her eyes — feline, sharp, alive — pierced through those who now judged her.
The question from the man at the center caught her off guard.
Not because of doubt.
But because of its persistence.
So many events during that ritual had defied precedent. So many fractures in the order demanded attention.
And yet…
They chose to focus on a limping boy.
"Boris did not allow further interference."
The three figures shifted in their seats.
"What do you mean he didn't allow it?"
The growl came from the man at the center, thick with disbelief.
"That boy was selected three times. And three times I intervened. You must understand… even Boris has limits. And you know this."
Silence collapsed over the chamber.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
The Gatekeeper's patience was not invoked lightly.
Unlike other bears — creatures bound to their tamers so completely that death claimed them both — the Gatekeeper was different.
He was not bound by the life of his companion.
No one living knew how old Boris truly was.
No one knew the full extent of his power.
Boris had once been Yelena's partner.
Before that, he had belonged to her predecessor.
And before that… to her master's master.
A chain of generations.
A constant presence.
What was undeniable — what no one in Medved dared question — was this:
Nothing could defy Boris, the Gatekeeper.
No law.
No ritual.
No sovereign.
And that truth sat heavily upon the Triad.
Because the most powerful being they knew…
Was also the only one who did not answer to them.
"But… that child wasn't supposed to leave alive."
The man at the center insisted, his voice laced with venom.
Yelena lifted her chin.
Her reply cut like a blade.
"He was chosen. And the creature formed the bond.
Do you expect me to disrespect the ritual even further?"
The man finally rose from his seat. He pointed at her, finger trembling — not with fear, but with rage.
"If you don't do something, I'll be forced to reveal what happened.
And I'm certain you don't want that."
The woman seated beside him — eyes narrow, posture rigid — finally showed irritation.
Yelena did not lower her gaze.
"You think I fear the truth?
That truth is exactly what allowed you to rise where you now sit."
Her voice remained calm. Precise.
"And honestly? I couldn't care less about you or your titles."
A pause.
Sharp. Deliberate.
"But if you believe I will violate the ritual just to satisfy your ego…
you are gravely mistaken."
Her eyes hardened.
"If I do that, Boris will kill me anyway."
The words landed like stone.
"Now let me ask you something."
She took a single step forward.
"What do you think the people of the North will do when they learn what I did?
Do you truly believe it will end with me?"
Silence swallowed the chamber.
"You already have everything," she continued.
"I suggest you keep it."
Another pause.
"And stay quiet."
Her gaze shifted — dismissive now.
"The boy will be gone in a few days.
The bear is neither strong nor healthy.
Let him die somewhere forgotten."
Yelena remained physically below them, standing at the foot of the semicircle.
Yet her words stripped them bare.
The three figures shifted in their chairs — powerless serpents hiding behind masks of authority.
"You are dismissed."
Yelena turned on her heels.
She would not waste another breath among cowards who had never felt the bite of battle, yet delighted in naming enemies from the safety of marble halls.
"Cowards."
The word pulsed in her mind, trapped behind her lips.
She knew the rot in that chamber better than anyone.
And yet — despite her contempt — a seed of curiosity took root.
"Who is this child," she wondered,
"to inspire such fear and such disgust in those meant to lead the North?"
The thought dissolved beneath the rhythm of her breathing.
With a dry snap, she shut the door behind her.
Her heart felt lighter without the whispering presence of snakes at her back.
Still, her eyes — cold, bloodshot — lingered for a brief moment on the dark seam of the doorway.
As if she feared those presences might still slip through the cracks…
And follow her.
Even there.
In the fragile illusion of silence.
Nikolai awoke in a bed unlike any he had ever known.
Strangely, his body did not throb with pain as it usually did. Even his tongue — which he clearly remembered having torn apart — felt whole, intact.
"What happened…?"
Something was wrong.
A suffocating pressure weighed against his chest, as if something heavy rested there. When he lifted his head, the reason revealed itself.
A small creature was curled up atop him, showing only dense, soft gray fur. It was no longer than forty centimeters, its face hidden, its breathing slow and steady.
"Hey, buddy… sorry to bother you, but… who are you?"
The creature stirred.
Slowly, carefully, it uncurled.
A small bear.
Not ordinary.
A brutal scar carved across its face, slicing through the left eye — blue, lifeless, empty. The other eye, however…
Black.
Just like Nikolai's.
The boy blinked, incredulous, then smiled — tired, sincere.
"You… you're beautiful.
And you have the same eyes as mine."
The bear tilted its head, clearly confused by the sound and tone of the words.
Then—
Like silent thunder echoing inside his skull, a single word struck him.
"HUNGER."
Nikolai's heart raced.
It wasn't a foreign voice.
It was his voice.
The bond.
"I get it…" he murmured.
"I'm hungry too.
I just… need to figure out where we are."
Carefully, he sat up and placed the little bear beside him.
The room was simple. Almost austere.
A narrow bed.
A worn feather rug.
A small writing desk.
Everything faced a solid wooden door, beside a sealed window that let no light through.
"I hope I'm not locked up because of what happened…"
He tested the door.
To his surprise, it opened.
Beyond it stretched a wide corridor, long and imposing, lined with identical doors on both sides like mirrored reflections. The ceiling soared more than five meters high, amplifying every sound.
And at the far end, dominating the passage, stood a colossal crest:
A white bear raising a chalice toward the heavens, as if toasting the gods themselves.
A chill ran down Nikolai's spine.
"So… this is the Fortress of Heroes."
His daze was broken by sound.
Voices.
Movement.
Coming from the far end of the corridor.
Nikolai moved forward slowly. Each step was accompanied by the uncomfortable creak of his wooden leg — louder than he would have liked. The sound echoed relentlessly, announcing his presence.
When he reached the crest, the corridor curved gently to the left.
There, revealed at last, stood a colossal door nearly five meters tall.
Black wood.
Heavy.
Ancient.
It looked impossible for any mortal to move.
Yet to his surprise, it stood slightly ajar.
Light spilled through the cracks.
So did sound.
"Okay… help me out here, buddy."
Together, Nikolai and the small gray bear pushed.
The door opened slowly, releasing a deep, metallic groan — as if the very bones of the Fortress protested such audacity.
When the door finally gave way, Nikolai was swallowed by wonder.
The hall beyond was vast — so long his eyes could barely reach its end. The ceiling soared to impossible heights, so distant it seemed to brush the sky itself.
But what stole his breath was the ceiling.
A living sky.
The night above Medved mirrored perfectly — stars blazing, aurora borealis weaving green and lilac veils through the firmament. Snow drifted gently downward, yet vanished before touching the ground, dissolving into light.
Three immense rows of tables stretched in parallel, overflowing with food and drink. Hundreds of floating torches hovered above the guests, small suspended flames casting warm light across polished wood.
Golden goblets.
Silver plates.
Platters that refilled themselves when emptied.
At the far end of the hall, raised upon a platform, stood the table of officers and veterans.
Above it loomed a monumental crest of the White Bear, carved from living marble, sapphire eyes shimmering as if watching every soul present.
The hall buzzed with low voices, muted laughter, and the clinking of cutlery.
Then—
Silence.
The moment the door creaked open, every sound ceased.
Every gaze turned.
Eyes — human and beast alike — settled upon Nikolai and the small gray bear at his side. The weight of those looks pressed down upon him, heavy, measuring.
All the tamers of the Medved Abyss were there.
Gathered.
Waiting.
Nikolai understood then.
He was not standing before a mere meal.
This was sacred.
A living sanctuary.
A temple where food, magic, power, and bond merged into a single, ancient rite.
Then a voice echoed from the back of the hall — deep, steady, impossible to ignore.
"At last… you're awake. Join us."
Nikolai barely registered the weight of the gazes that fell upon him — heavy, measuring, judgmental. His attention was devoured by the table itself.
The abundance was absurd.
Succulent cuts of meat, golden loaves split open and steaming, fruits glistening as if freshly picked from enchanted orchards. A banquet unlike anything he had ever seen — or imagined.
Before he could take another step, a familiar figure rushed toward him.
"Nikolai! Can you hear me?"
Irina seized his arm, her grip firm, trembling between relief and urgency.
"We made it… we survived. This is our reward!"
She searched his face, eyes bright and intense.
"Quickly, come sit with us. I need to tell you what happened while you were… unconscious."
Nikolai swallowed, his gaze still wandering, overwhelmed.
"This is the Fortress of Heroes?"
His voice came out low, almost reverent.
As he spoke, his eyes drank in everything at once — the chandeliers illuminating the towering ceiling, the flames dancing in harmony with the banners lining the walls, the thick scent of roasted meat filling the air.
Still dazed, he let Irina guide him forward.
She did not release his hand.
The touch made his heart falter — but it also anchored him.
As they walked, familiar faces began to emerge from the crowd. Young men and women like him, survivors of the ritual. Many laughed loudly, devouring their meals as if trying to consume life itself.
But not all.
Across the hall, Oleg stared.
The intensity of his gaze burned — jealousy and disdain etched into every rigid muscle of his face. The mere sight of Nikolai holding Irina's hand felt like an open provocation.
Irina noticed.
She smiled — deliberately.
"Of course," she said lightly, as if nothing were wrong.
"Unfortunately, we leave tomorrow for training… but today—"
She gestured around them.
"Today, we can enjoy this place."
Before she could continue, a bright, cheerful voice rang across the tables.
"They say there's a hot spring here that can heal even the worst illness! I'm dying to try it!"
Zoya.
As radiant as ever.
Beside her sat a massive brown bear, gnawing on a chicken leg the size of a human arm. Nikolai recognized it instantly — the tallest bear from the ritual.
The beast lifted its honey-colored eyes, narrowing them at Nikolai.
A warning.
Then it returned to its meal, dismissing him with calculated indifference.
Zoya laughed softly and ran her hand along the bear's thick neck.
"Don't be upset with him. He's just… very protective. Aren't you, Buyan?"
The bear growled low in its chest — then wagged its back paw rapidly, almost comically, surrendering to the affection.
Irina leaned closer, eyes gleaming.
"This new addition is Buyan," she said proudly.
"And I want you to meet my friend."
She turned slightly.
"Misha… say hello."
From beside the brown bear, another presence emerged.
A white-furred bear stepped forward — smaller, but unmistakably regal. Her black eyes were deep, intelligent. Unlike Buyan's wild intensity, Misha moved with calm grace, every gesture measured.
She inclined her head toward Nikolai.
A respectful bow.
The gesture stole his breath.
Noble.
Fierce.
And then, as if satisfied, she returned quietly to her meal.
Irina turned again, her gaze softening.
"And yours?"
Her eyes settled on the small gray bear padding close to Nikolai's side.
"What's his name?"
Nikolai froze.
He hadn't thought about that.
Truthfully… he hadn't believed he would survive long enough to need one.
His heart hammered as the realization pressed in.
He was here.
Among them.
A Bear Tamer.
One of the Protectors.
Those destined to become legends.
And yet, the feeling was fragile — brittle, as if the illusion might shatter at any moment. Every breath felt borrowed. Every glance from the others reminded him that perhaps he didn't belong.
That maybe he was an intruder.
Occupying a place meant for someone else.
He chewed on the thought slowly — like something bitter on the tongue.
"Honestly… I still don't know."
His voice was quiet. Almost embarrassed.
The girls gathered near Zoya lit up instantly.
"No way!" Zoya exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air.
"Then leave it to me!"
She crouched slightly, examining the little bear with theatrical seriousness.
"Just look at that gorgeous gray fur. How about… GRAY?"
She delivered the name with such confidence that applause seemed inevitable.
Instead—
Laughter exploded.
"What?!" Zoya protested, pouting.
"It's a great name! It really fits him!"
"Sure, sure," one of the girls laughed.
"But I think we can be a little more creative than that."
The laughter spread across the table — warm, infectious.
And despite never having spoken to any of them before, Nikolai felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Warmth.
Irina leaned closer, smiling softly.
"Don't mind them. I'm sure you'll find the perfect name… but that can wait."
She gestured toward the food.
"How about we eat?"
Before Nikolai could answer—
Something stirred inside him.
Not a sound.
A pressure.
A deep, resonant echo.
"HUNGER."
His heart nearly leapt out of his chest.
It was the bear.
Not a voice — not really.
An instinct.
Shared.
Raw.
The sensation left him shaken… and awed.
It was strange.
Terrifying.
And impossible to ignore.
Getting used to someone screaming directly into your mind, he realized, would take time.
"Okay… no problem. We'll think about it later.
Let's eat."
Nikolai tried to hide the strangeness in his voice.
No sooner had he pulled out the chair than the little gray bear climbed his wooden leg with surprising agility and settled comfortably in his lap — as if that were the most natural place in the world.
Without ceremony, the cub plunged its snout into the food, devouring everything within reach. Bones clattered. Crumbs scattered. Grease stained Nikolai's clothes.
"Sorry… he's hungry."
The words came out sheepish, almost apologetic.
To his surprise, the girls didn't mind at all.
They laughed even harder.
Irina smiled and leaned closer, pointing discreetly toward another table.
"Don't worry. Look over there."
Nikolai followed her gaze.
At a nearby table, dozens of black and blue bears — smaller in size — were curled comfortably on their partners' laps, tearing into chunks of meat with the same almost childlike hunger as the gray cub resting against his chest.
The contrast was striking.
Claws and fangs.
Blood and bone.
And yet — closeness.
An intimacy that felt almost tender.
Among them, Nikolai recognized Vadim.
The woman stared at him in silence, her eyes glassy, heavy with relief… and pride. Nikolai's heart wavered.
A small gesture.
A brief, timid wave.
It was enough.
Before anything more could be said, Vadim was pulled back into the present — now engaged in a quiet struggle with Olga, both tugging and laughing under their breath over a fat piece of chicken.
Nikolai's chest tightened.
There was more in that fleeting exchange than words could ever express.
Survival.
Pain.
And the unspoken truth that both of them had crossed an abyss from which few ever returned.
The gray bear in his lap was merely following instinct.
But for Nikolai, every bite meant more than hunger.
It was a bond.
A silent declaration that, for the first time, he truly belonged among those who shared the same fate.
Irina sighed softly, eyes drifting toward her own companion.
"Unfortunately… Misha is way too big for that."
There was a touch of childlike frustration in her voice as she watched the white bear devour her meal several meters away, completely unbothered.
Then something lit up in her expression.
With sudden determination, Irina grabbed a piece of chicken, holding it out carefully.
"If you'll allow me… may I feed your bear?"
Nikolai blinked, surprised.
He nodded.
The response was immediate.
The gray bear snapped forward, swift and merciless. The chicken vanished from her fingers before Irina could even react.
The sharp crack of meat tearing echoed across the table.
For a heartbeat, Irina froze — eyes wide, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.
Then laughter erupted.
Warm.
Unrestrained.
Irina stepped back, laughing along with the others, rubbing her fingers in mock offense.
For the first time in a long while, something inside Nikolai loosened.
The pain.
The fear.
The crushing weight of everything he had lost.
All of it lifted — if only for a moment.
The laughter.
The warmth.
The simple act of sharing a meal.
It rekindled something he had nearly forgotten.