After a few hours, the march resumed.
This time, Zvezda was resting on Ivan's shoulder.
The small obsidian shadow observed every detail of the snow and rocks with the silent precision of a predator. Her eyes gleamed intensely, and her movements were alert — like a wolf sniffing out invisible threats. Despite her diminutive size — no more than fifteen centimeters — the ancient markings on her fur revealed a past of battles. Furrows of scars, where no fur grew anymore, marked her body — traces of confrontations that, even if untold, made it clear she had faced more than her appearance suggested.
Nikolai, walking just behind, couldn't avoid the question that kept hammering in his mind:
What must Vybor's ritual have been like for him?
It was inconceivable to imagine Ivan going through the ritual with such a small black bear. Even being a Deviant, reality was harsh — black bears were neither admired nor respected. The boy tried to picture it in his mind: a young giant, forced to prove his strength without the support of a monumental beast at his side. The image alone already seemed impossible… and yet, there was Ivan, absolute commander of the fortress, with a presence that silenced even the wind.
Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he had won by sheer brutality and discipline. Perhaps it was madness.
Or maybe, as Nikolai was beginning to suspect, the Deviants didn't seem to follow the rules of the other castes.
"We'll camp on the mountain slope, heading south."
Ivan's voice cut through the cold. He didn't look back, just kept marching forward, relentless.
"We won't make a fire. It won't be necessary. Consider this a challenge."
The words fell like ice on the hearts of the rookies. Camping in the snow without fire was a sentence of discomfort, and many frowned, anxious and fearful. But no one dared to protest.
Nikolai noticed he wasn't the only one with eyes glued to Zvezda. Even veterans poorly disguised their curiosity. It was impressive how that tiny bear could steal everyone's attention just by existing. And even stranger was the fact that Ivan didn't mind revealing his secret. There was no shame, no pride. Just a cold acceptance, as if that mystery were part of his flesh.
Maybe madmen have very exotic ways of thinking… thought Nikolai, with a shiver.
Hours later, when the wind finally began to ease, the sight of the mountain took shape before them. The peak seemed to slice the sky — a white, endless wall that crushed the hope of anyone who stared at it for too long.
Ivan raised his arm and pointed to a solid hill, covered in compacted snow.
"We'll stop on that slope."
The relief on the rookies' faces was immediate.
"Set up your tents and meet me here in forty minutes."
Ivan remained still, his back to everyone, like an iron statue embedded in the snow. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, while behind him the sound of backpacks being opened and inexperienced hands struggling with stakes and soaked fabric echoed like a clumsy chorus.
Nikolai wrestled with every knot, every piece of poorly fitted rope. In theory it seemed simple; in practice, it was chaos — frozen fingers and uncooperative materials. Still, determined, he used every minute of the forty they'd been given to raise something that — although crooked, unstable, and doomed to collapse with the next gust of wind — still resembled a tent. It was enough. And to him, enough was victory.
Wasting no time, he walked back to the spot where Ivan stood. The giant didn't turn, but his deep voice echoed:
"Congratulations. You're the first to set up something that almost serves its purpose."
Nikolai didn't reply. The recognition, even if cold, made his heart race.
It took another twenty minutes for the last of the rookies to drag themselves back. Most returned with their heads down, aware that what they'd built would barely protect them through a mild night — let alone a real storm.
The older ones, on the other hand, seemed to understand that being first didn't matter; what mattered was managing to build something that wouldn't fail them in the middle of the night — when visibility was scarce and effort was harder.
Ivan finally turned. His eyes were as cold as the wind slicing through the valley.
"Since most of the rookies failed, there will be no punishment."
He paused, and the silence seemed heavier than the piled-up snow.
"But congratulations to the only one who succeeded."
All eyes turned to Nikolai, who felt the weight of that attention like a blade at his neck. Ivan, indifferent to the discord he had just sown, raised his arm and pointed to the south, trying to downplay what he had said by redirecting focus to something that, to him, was truly important.
"I want you to look closely at the valley below. What do you see?"
Night was falling like a thick veil, and the clouds hid the stars, making it impossible to see anything for miles around.
But then, a light appeared.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
The flames spread like a living mosaic, dancing in the darkness.
"There."
Ivan spoke, his voice almost a whisper that still resounded like thunder.
"That's our army."
Then, in the distance, even farther south, other lights appeared. Far more numerous, like an erupting sea.
"And those… are the Empire."
Between the two armies stretched a deep valley, wedged between mountains that rose like endless walls, leaving only a single passage. The sight was, at once, beautiful and terrifying.
"Their fires are ten times greater than ours. And yet, for decades, they've stared at us from that distance, without advancing with full force."
Ivan turned to the youths, and his eyes shone with the intensity of a riddle.
"Why?"
Silence fell immediately. Everyone knew it wasn't strength. It wasn't power. It wasn't victory. For the cruel truth was plain: the people of the North had lost the war a long time ago.
Each of the rookies searched for an answer, but every word felt wrong. Strength? Capability? Strategy? All felt empty before the overwhelming glow of those enemy flames.
Ivan smiled, and for the first time that night, he didn't seem to smile out of pleasure, but out of challenge.
"The terrain and our climate saved us, sir Ivan."
The firm voice came from an older girl, her austere expression breaking the silence that weighed on everyone. Ivan slowly turned his face in her direction, and a brief smile — almost imperceptible — crossed his lips.
"Very good, Miss Durova."
His voice echoed like muffled thunder.
"But can you explain to us how, exactly, the terrain benefited us?"
Sofia lowered her gaze, but not in defeat. Her eyes flickered restlessly, reasoning, searching through a thousand memories and hypotheses for the right way to put into words what everyone knew, but few had the courage to say.
"They can't attack us from this side. Their Winged ones are useless against the cold of our land, and even though we are fewer, our individual strength is far greater.
Limiting the battle to a narrow passage gave us the advantage. After all…"
The girl tried to push her reasoning further but hesitated.
"I don't think the effort would be worth it."
A murmur ran through the young ones, as if the mere mention of Winged ones were enough to evoke the weight of ancient stories. No one needed to say the enemies' name. It was almost taboo. It was said that speaking it aloud brought bad luck — like lighting a flame in the darkness and drawing the attention of what lurked beyond.
They weren't there, among the distant campfires, but if they were… if they could cross the valley… it would be the end.
Ivan nodded slowly, his expression hardened by the memory.
"That is a good answer, Sofia."
He paused, looking at each face half-covered by the cold.
"But would anyone like to add something?"
The silence didn't last long. Another student raised their voice, this time heavy with bitterness.
"In the end… we're trapped.
What's left is this endless, eternal cold — which protects us and, at the same time, condemns us.
But that doesn't mean we've given up. It means we resist. And that we strive to get better each day.
Only… that also means they won't leave us in peace forever — not as long as they know we haven't given up."
The words hung in the air like sharp blades.
And then, as if responding to the boldness of that statement, the distant campfires stirred.
On the enemy's side, some flames began to move, descending toward the narrow pass.
On the northern side, other torches advanced in response, as though two ancient choirs resumed the eternal dance of provocation.
The sound came soon after.
First, screams.
Then, explosions.
The echo rolled through the valley like thunder tearing the silence.
Ivan didn't avert his gaze, not once.
"Most of you, black bear tamers, will probably never have to go down there.
Many of you will be sent to intelligence, others perhaps to the Great Tower of Svarog.
But honestly, I believe most will end up back in Medved. There, you'll have work and some income — not much, but enough to survive… and without ever having to raise a sword..."
He paused, his voice steady but cold as the snow around them.
"But I brought you here to show you why we fight.
Protecting our history and our legacy is the only thing that matters in the end."
His voice returned, sharper, cutting through the wind.
"I want you to remember this when you make your choices.
Remember that even the strongest of the Browns or the most talented of the mages — whether White bears or Blue — will still face lives just as difficult as yours.
Maybe even more.
Let this be a reminder: never grow complacent.
Never believe you are failures for carrying black bears instead of those from other castes.
To the other castes, there is honor and glory — but also war… and death."
Night fell heavy over the camp.
The wind howled across the slopes, making the canvas walls of the tents tremble as if ready to rip apart.
The cold was so intense that the sound of students' chattering teeth could be heard from half a mile away — a brittle symphony of fear and endurance.
And even so, all listened, fascinated, to truths they had never been told — truths only a black bear tamer could speak.
The cold night finally made Ivan allow everyone to go to their tents — after all, the real trial was surviving the night.
Still, as for everyone, the mission proved harder than it seemed. Even wrapped in everything he had for warmth, Nikolai couldn't sleep.
His eyes remained fixed on the distant silhouette: Ivan, unmoving, upright against the wind, like a statue sculpted by the very gods of the North.
His feet buried in the snow up to his ankles, the heavy cloak whipping like a flag, his beard and hair tossed by the freezing wind — nothing seemed to touch him.
The black bear, Zvezda, was no longer visible, swallowed among the folds of his robe.
And yet, Ivan's mere presence radiated a brutal strength, as if he were the very guardian of the wall, untouched by the cold and the darkness.
Nikolai squinted, trying to force himself to sleep, but couldn't. He felt the soft weight of Ashen curling up against his belly, seeking warmth, as if trying to protect him from the inside out.
"Sorry, Ashen,"
he whispered.
"I was watching Commander Ivan."
"SLEEPY."
The word exploded in his mind like a sharp, simple, firm beat.
Nikolai smiled, stroking his companion's ears.
"Alright. Let's sleep."
But even as he closed his eyes, the image remained.
Ivan, standing firm against the snow and wind, as if capable of holding the entire world in his hands and shielding them from all harm in the valley — and from the enemy that tried to enter.
Sofia's words echoed, as did the voice of the student who dared say they were caged — and yet unbeaten.
Yes, they were trapped.
Condemned by an enemy so powerful it had crushed their hope and sealed them in the eternal cold of the North.
But even after decades, there was still fire in the hearts of the northern people.
A small fire, stubborn, but still burning.
Ready to ignite.
Ready to avenge.
Ready to redeem.
And that night, Nikolai fell asleep embracing that fire.