The line wasn't long, but it was mandatory. Nikolai waited silently for his turn, his eyes still teary from a well-slept night, fixed on the open window.
The cold wind sliced through the main hall like an invisible blade, forcibly waking the sleepy — and reminding everyone what it meant to live in the North: gray, merciless, and uninviting days.
"Good morning."
The dry voice of the attendant brought him back.
"You must be the Deviant. Welcome to the Fort. From what I saw, your class will be with Ivan. Take this map, this backpack, and the necessary items."
Nikolai extended his hand and nearly staggered under the weight. The backpack weighed at least thirty kilos. The thick leather and metal clasps creaked as he slung it over his shoulder. It was more than a physical burden — it was the first sign that nothing here would be easy.
"Thank you,"
he murmured.
"Good luck,"
the man replied, already turning his attention to the next in line.
The map in his hands was simple, but well drawn. Even without being a skilled reader of cartography, Nikolai could understand the curves and landmarks marked with near-military precision.
After twenty minutes of marching, he finally reached the outer area. A vast field stretched before him, surrounded by cutting wind and the distant echo of shouted orders.
There, about thirty people stood in line, each with their black bear. Some were of respectable size, but most were no taller than sixty centimeters — living shadows beside the newcomers.
Compared to the brown, white, and even some blue ones he had seen the day before, they looked small. Still, at least here, Nikolai knew Ashen would feel more at ease: even if smaller, he wasn't that much smaller than most of the black ones in line.
Nikolai dropped his backpack where several identical ones were stacked. The leather smelled of sweat and iron. He took a deep breath, straightened up, and headed to the last row, beside Ashen, who was watching everything with curiosity and excitement.
"Where's the rest of my class?" he thought, looking around.
They were probably still lost or running late. But deep down, Nikolai knew: being the first to line up was also a way to show he wouldn't give up easily.
After a few minutes, other students Nikolai knew began to appear, one by one, but it was only when Ivan showed up — accompanied by three more figures Nikolai recognized as classmates — that he realized the truth. The commander himself had gone to fetch the lost ones.
"Line up in formation."
Ivan's voice sliced through the wind like steel.
"To the newcomers, I give ten minutes to put on the footwear in your backpacks and get the rest on your backs. Today, we'll march while we talk."
Nikolai, like the others, went back to his backpack and took out the indicated item. What he found was a pair of boots reinforced with thick leather, of a strange and unfamiliar texture. The soles were studded with metal spikes, sharp enough to pierce hardened ice — or flesh.
As he put them on, Nikolai immediately felt the added weight. These weren't just shoes; they were survival tools.
Ivan turned back to the line, his gaze sweeping across each face as if he could read everyone's soul. Then he raised his voice again:
"To last year's veterans, congratulations on your achievement. You may step out of formation."
His eyes gleamed, but his tone remained impassive. One by one, the names were called:
"Pedro."
"Alexandre."
"Nicolau."
"Ksenia."
"Vasilisa."
Five figures stepped out and left the line. They were older, their features marked by exhaustion and winters of training, but there was something clear in their expressions: relief. It wasn't victory, nor glory. Just the certainty that they had survived long enough to receive the letter of freedom granting them entry to Medved.
They left together with their bears, without fanfare, anthems, or speeches. No celebration awaited them — only the dry formality of a discharge. For the bearers of black bears, there was no honor, only usefulness. They would become workers, guards, flesh-and-bone shields so that the true protagonists could shine.
Nikolai watched in silence. The irony burned inside him. Those five had reached the end of the cycle, but the absence of applause and laurels was a cruel reminder that some destinies had been sealed from the very beginning.
"Today we march to that mountain."
In the background, almost fading into the white horizon, stood a small mountain — so distant it looked more like a dream than a destination. The collective silence was answer enough: no one dared complain, though everyone had realized how absurd the challenge was.
Ivan didn't wait for consent. He simply moved forward, his thick cloak whipping in the wind, his firm steps carving deep furrows into the snow.
The newly opened gate was left behind, and soon the novices were crossing a colossal bridge of stone and iron that seemed like an extension of the Fort itself — as if it held up the world. This gate was on the opposite side from where Nikolai and his class had entered, so everything there was new to them, even that structure.
On the other side, the wild South swallowed them without ceremony: the wind cut like blades, snow reached waist-high in some places, and each step demanded twice the effort.
"Today we'll reach the maximum protection point,"
said Ivan without turning around, his voice heavy like thunder.
"If all goes well, you'll get a wonderful view. Hahahah!"
His ironic laughter echoed like steel against ice. To Nikolai, it felt out of place. The white horizon stretched endlessly; there was no life, no trees, no birds. Only the cruel vastness of a frozen desert.
Even so, Ivan moved on without slowing. His height and strength made what was torture for others seem effortless. That was when Nikolai realized what had been bothering him from the start.
Where's his bear?
The question throbbed in his mind. Everyone there had companions at their side… except the Lord of the Fort.
Soon, his thoughts began to churn. Unlike Alexei — who wasn't with his bear for some unknown reason — Nikolai believed it was impossible to get where Ivan had gotten without enough power to sustain himself, let alone leave the safety of the Fort being who he was — whether to defend himself or protect his class.
The hours dragged on. Four, maybe more. Nikolai wasn't tired — after all, the polished metal leg given to him by Sobolev had proven far superior to the wooden ones he had used before.
Whether because of its structure or its fit, it seemed to almost fuse with him, becoming an extension of his own body. Of course, it still hurt and bled, but compared to the wood he used to wear, it was like discovering the wheel.
After nearly five hours of walking, the mountain finally came into clear view. It was closer now, but still imposed a sense of distance — like a challenge made of iron.
Ivan raised his arm and pointed toward a snow-covered rise ahead.
"We'll stop on that slope."
The command brought immediate relief. Many stumbled from exhaustion, others were gasping for air as if they'd carried the weight of an army.
Then, at last, Ivan turned to the line and announced:
"Very well, rookies… you made it."
Ivan seemed satisfied. None of the newcomers had fainted, and even the weakest had endured without giving up. He walked calmly along the row, observing each face, assessing every detail as if he could read their limits just by looking into their eyes.
When he reached Nikolai, he stopped in front of him.
"Boy, aren't you going to loosen that strap?"
He pointed to the boy's leg, where blood was already trickling down the metal again.
Nikolai took a deep breath and replied firmly:
"No, sir. If I take it off now… I'd be defenseless."
A rare glint passed through Ivan's eyes.
"Very good. That's a thought even veterans take a while to learn."
He slowly turned his head, gesturing with his eyes toward some students sprawled carelessly in the snow, lying down, laughing or panting in exhaustion, their backpacks thrown aside like discarded burdens. Then he returned his gaze to Nikolai, and there was something there that was rarely seen: genuine interest.
"You're very interesting, Nikolai."
"Thank you, sir Ivan."
Nikolai hesitated but couldn't hold back.
"What I wanted to know is… how did you manage to reach this position having… a black bear?"
The words fell like a weight into the silence. Ivan's face seemed to harden immediately. For a moment, the northern cold seemed to freeze even more. Then, suddenly, he let out a deep laugh that echoed like thunder across the slope, startling everyone.
"Hahahahaha!"
The sound echoed as if it came from the stones and the mountain itself.
He then looked Nikolai up and down, his eyes shining somewhere between amusement and challenge.
"How did you figure it out?"
Nikolai didn't look away. His stoic face hid the pain of his throbbing leg, but it couldn't conceal the clarity of his reasoning. The others, previously distracted, were now watching him with heightened attention.
He stared at an empty spot in the snow, as if searching for the answer there.
"We're marching toward the battlefront… and even if there are no visible enemies, the risk of being ambushed — or becoming mere collateral damage — still exists."
Ivan raised an eyebrow, as if trying to follow a train of thought that strayed from the obvious.
"Go on…"
His voice carried a tone of challenge, but also of anticipation.
Nikolai took a deep breath.
"Which makes me think you'd hardly trust us — black bear tamers or a Deviant — to protect you."
A murmur ran through the line. Ivan gave a half-smile, like someone savoring rare wine.
"I see."
He crossed his arms.
"But I want to hear the conclusion."
Nikolai didn't hesitate.
"I was sure your bear must be nearby. But the fact that it hasn't appeared in the snow or around us points to only two possibilities: it's either blue… or black. Those are the only ones small enough to hide."
"Blues, everyone knows, are the most arrogant — incapable of blending into the shadows. Even though they're clearly weaker than the whites and browns, they're favored by the nobility, precisely because of that almost intrinsic trait. Even when weak, they refuse to fade."
He paused, eyes fixed on Ivan.
"But blacks… are different. More humble. More honest. They're seen by all as the weakest — even cowardly. But it's precisely they who give the most strength to their tamers."
"And for that reason, in my opinion, they're the bravest — because they believe in their partner so deeply that they give all their power to them, choosing to become fragile creatures. They choose to strengthen their ally instead of themselves."
Ivan tilted his head slightly, attentive.
"Strength… is that what you see in them?"
"Not just strength."
Nikolai clenched his fists, feeling Ashen beside him snort in agreement.
"Physical strength, yes… but also the ability to turn their bearer into something beyond human. There are records, sir, of blacks who not only enhanced muscle or stamina, but who… shaped the warrior until he became practically a god."
The students' breath around them caught in their throats. Many seemed skeptical of the boy's statement, but there were those who seriously pondered the true power of a black bear. After all, all bears were strong in something — how could black not be good at anything?
The cutting wind seemed to pause to listen.
Ivan took two steps forward, and the shadow of his massive figure fell over Nikolai.
"What are you implying, boy?"
His voice sounded like restrained thunder.
Nikolai held his gaze, even as his heart pounded.
"I'm saying… that the black bear shouldn't necessarily be considered weak. To me, there are only tamers who don't know how to use it."
Silence. A silence so heavy even the snow seemed to soften its fall. Then, Ivan burst into a guttural laugh, the sound reverberating like thunder across the icy slope.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
His laughter echoed, startling some and leaving others intrigued.
"You… you really figured it out."
"You're easily two meters thirty tall… we've been walking for hours, and even cutting a path through the snow, you're not even sweating. Not to mention the fact that you're currently the highest authority in the Fort — above even the Sobolev."
Nikolai's voice came out firm, but there was genuine respect in it.
"To me… you're as strong as a—"
"What? A god?"
For a few seconds, only the wind replied. Then, Ivan smiled. A broad smile, which quickly faded into something more restrained, weighted with gravity.
"Boy…"
He let out a short, hoarse laugh that echoed among the veterans like distant thunder.
"You're smarter than you look. No wonder you scored the highest marks of your year — and many others before you."
Ivan's expression darkened, his narrowed eyes looking at Nikolai with something close to accusation.
"But coming from your family… that's the least one would expect, right?"
The words hit like a hidden blade. Nikolai felt his stomach freeze. Family? He didn't remember anything that could be called that. His confused look didn't go unnoticed, and Ivan quickly shifted the subject, as if he had gone too far.
The giant took a deep breath.
"Since you figured it out… there's no point in hiding it anymore."
Then, from within his heavy robe, something moved. A flicker of black — so subtle many thought it was just a fold in the fabric. But soon a small creature emerged: a bear with fur black as obsidian, tiny — no bigger than the palm of a large hand.
The creature settled on Ivan's shoulder, its fur shimmering under the cold sun. Its eyes sparkled like stars trapped in the night.
"This little one is called Zvezda,"
said Ivan, his voice laced with contained pride.
A nearly religious silence took over the line. The students widened their eyes, some even choked. A black bear… that size? It was something no book had ever described.
Nikolai broke the silence, not realizing he was speaking aloud:
"A… Deviant?"
The word dropped like a stone into still water. The icy wind seemed to pause, as if even the snow wanted to hear the answer. Everyone knew the weight of that term.
A Deviant wasn't just an unusual bear. It was a Singularity — creatures that appeared rarely, defying all known classifications. Colors, sizes, forms, abilities — there was no pattern. What defined them was one thing only: anomaly. The impossible made flesh.
All eyes turned to Ivan. The giant, unmoving, let the silence stretch. Until, at last, an intense light burned in his eyes — not anger, but something deeper. Pride. Respect. Recognition.
He leaned forward slightly, his deep voice rumbling like restrained thunder:
"Yes… just like yours."