When Nikolai reached the main hall, he immediately noticed an uncomfortable detail at the entrance: there were people even crowding the doors.
"So it's that packed…"
he muttered to himself.
He couldn't gauge the exact number of people inside, but the sepulchral silence revealed that they were all crammed in, alert, no one daring to break the atmosphere. Nikolai squeezed in with the others who hadn't managed to get in and decided just to listen.
That's when a man's voice rang out firmly:
"I understand what you're saying, but the truth is that this entire continent — and all the races that live on it — is trapped in an eternal zero-sum war. The Empire, as you call us, was, for many centuries, the weakest of all — after all, we never had beasts at our side. And yet, we had courage."
The room burst into muffled laughter, a wave of scorn that spread like fire through dry straw. Nikolai didn't need to be inside to feel the disdain: courage? More than the people of the North? To many, it was a joke.
But then another voice arose. Soft. Kind.
A girl's voice.
"Look. When we speak of courage, we're not suggesting we had more than any other race. Our situation, however, was delicate. Take me as an example. What do you see in me?"
A brief silence.
A rough voice answered, drawing a few timid laughs:
"A girl. What else should we see?"
Nikolai, however, paused. He understood what she meant even before the explanation.
"Exactly. A girl"
the visitor replied, not offended, her tone as serene as running water.
"At the end of the day, I don't cast spells with excellence. I don't fly. I don't have super strength, nor a creature to protect me. I'm just what you said: a girl."
"But… how many of you would, in good faith, cross the border to see the heart of the Empire under the same conditions as I?"
Her words fell like ice in the audience's blood.
Even Nikolai felt the chill crawl up his spine.
The truth was that no one dared cross. Neither in peace nor in war. The most the people of the North knew were the borders marked by the void of winged enemies — natural walls that had become prisons.
In the front rows, one of the students tried to reply:
"I get what you mean… but it's much easier with the griffons."
The remark drew a few murmurs of agreement, but Nikolai frowned. Empty response.
He himself had seen the three visitors up close. They were just ordinary people, with almost no magic — civilians, as he himself had been weeks ago. Even with the griffons' protection, they would still run a serious risk of becoming collateral damage in a battle between a griffon and the people of the North. The human being is weak at its core, and that was something Nikolai had learned early on. No matter how strong your ally is — the enemy only needs one precise strike.
But it was strange to think how the North clung to this hollow pride — to the point of not seeing the obvious, even when it was being spoken right in front of their eyes.
Nikolai's interest grew uncontrollably. Every sentence about the Empire fed a contradictory flame: he wanted to know more, to understand those people who spoke of peace and dialogue. But at the same time, hatred throbbed. Everything that had been taken from him came from them. And deep down, he just wanted war. He just wanted blood.
A voice sliced through the silence like a blade:
"Why don't the Dragons enter the war, are you their puppets?"
The question dropped heavily.
It wasn't just a simple doubt — it was poison.
Everyone turned. Nikolai didn't need to — he would recognize that voice that had tormented him before the Vaybor ritual from afar: Marina Sobolev.
The man from the Empire wasn't shaken at first. He adjusted his cloak, took a deep breath, and answered calmly:
"War, unfortunately, is a constant in our country. Victories and defeats happen every day, and even so, we prevail — even before the alliance was formed. We owe them nothing, and they owe us nothing."
But Nikolai noticed. That answer sounded hollow. It was like a balloon full of wind — words that felt rehearsed, lacking real weight.
Marina smiled, but without humor. Her gaze sparkled.
"How convenient. When, finally, the battle reaches a stalemate where your winged pets can no longer help, you decide to be diplomats — instead of owning up to what you really are."
Marina paused, her expression steady, locking eyes with the man.
"Opportunistic assassins."
Her tone was so sharp that even the most inattentive felt the impact. The professor, who until then had maintained an unflinching posture, for the first time showed a trace of discomfort. His hand clenched over the parchment, his eyes shifted for a moment.
Before he could respond, however, another voice rose.
It wasn't calm like the man's, nor serene and wise like the woman who accompanied him.
It was more rebellious. More raw. Perhaps... more like someone proud.
"Our war with you has lasted nearly a hundred years"
the girl said with irony, her eyes burning as if defying the very logic of the accusation.
"People were born, grew up, and died in that time. Entire nations rose and fell. We've always praised you for being strong warriors, with nerves of steel. What we want now is to strengthen the relationship between two powers that don't necessarily need to like each other — but do need to learn to live with one another's existence."
The silence that followed was heavier than the roar of battle.
Her sharpness left no room for evasion. Reason seemed to be on the Empire's side — and that only irritated Marina more, who remained standing, arms crossed, firm like a bastion on the verge of cracking.
To Nikolai, however, the speech sounded like a dangerous warning.
Past, present, and future… alike, but different in what time insists on changing.
It was a valid argument. But also, a double-edged sword.
"Our interest here is to take things one step at a time."
the man's voice echoed firmly, but there was an undeniable weariness in his tone.
"I'm not here to ask you to accept my words gladly. I'm here to show you what the Empire is and how we live today."
A brief pause. The silence in the hall was nearly suffocating.
"I know our history is made of wars and expansion, but I want to say that even that, we're trying to change."
"We've reached a point where there's no reason left — we're simply tired of fighting for something whose meaning we don't even remember anymore."
Hans seemed to carry the weight of centuries on his shoulders. His words didn't come with arrogance, but with a disarming sincerity. His gaze swept across the young people in front of him as if trying to convince them that there was hope in every syllable.
But no one moved.
No one replied.
It was impossible.
A hundred years of resentment couldn't be erased with a lecture.
Nikolai knew that. He also knew that the Empire was probably aware of the same thing. Words like "peace" are fragile seeds in hardened soil.
However, what bothered him wasn't the speech itself, but what lingered between the lines.
What truly drove the Empire's desire — what led them to try to do what they were doing — would never be revealed to them.
Not to common students.
Not to youths who still barely knew how to fight alongside their bears.
_______________________
"Man, that Frida girl is way too beautiful. I'd give anything to tame that imperial rebellion..."
Fedor spoke with a mischievous grin, eyes gleaming as if he'd already planned more than he should say.
"Shut up."
Viktor shot back, wiping his wet face with a towel.
"Can you even imagine what would happen if you touched a woman from the Empire?"
"Well, most likely, she'd end up having my kid."
"Take that, you animal!"
Viktor threw a light punch at his shoulder, and the two of them started arguing amid laughter.
Nikolai, sitting in silence, just watched them. Those juvenile quarrels felt increasingly distant from his mind. While they had fun, he was still chewing on his thoughts about the imperial visit.
Marina Sobolev's words echoed in his memory like a funeral bell.
"How convenient…"
She was right — partly.
It made no sense for the Empire to seek alliances now. There had to be something else.
But even with the support of the Mountain Benefactors, could they somehow be feeling cornered?
If so... what exactly was happening beyond the Ice Wall?
It was a question no one in the North could answer.
A mystery hidden beneath snow and silence.
"Nikolai, we're going to the procession tomorrow. Have you formed a team yet?"
Viktor's voice snapped him out of his stupor.
"Actually… I kind of forgot about that detail."
The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Viktor and Fedor exchanged glances, then quickly looked down.
"Unfortunately, we already have a full team."
Viktor explained awkwardly.
"We couldn't fit you in. But don't worry… those without a group will be assessed before entering. After that, they'll be reassigned based on proficiency."
"Look on the bright side."
said Fedor, trying to cheer him up.
"You get a share of what you catch. That means, depending on how efficient your group is, you'll get meat more often. Us, for example, we managed to eat almost every day we were out there."
Nikolai took a deep breath, forcing a smile.
"Yeah. I hope it all goes well."
But inside, he was annoyed with himself. Because of the recent events, he'd missed the chance to better prepare for one of the steps of the primordial ritual — a key milestone in the life of any citizen of the North.
With no energy to continue the conversation, he took a quick shower, ate what little food he'd stolen from the kitchen, and went to bed early. Viktor and Fedor had done the same well before him.
Tomorrow would be different.
A crucial moment for all of their progress.
And Nikolai couldn't afford to make a mistake.
_______________________
Mornings in the North were always cruel. The warmth of the heated rooms vanished the moment the door opened to the outside, where the biting air gnawed at the skin like invisible blades.
On that particular day, breakfast had been served earlier, and everyone knew why.
"Today, for the new students, we'll have the procession to Svarog. I want everyone ready in no more than twenty minutes in the outer yard. Delays will not be tolerated."
Marina Sobolev's voice cracked like a whip. She seemed irritated — maybe with someone, maybe with everything — but her anger only reinforced the weight of the order.
"Let's move, or the lunatic will definitely kill someone."
Fedor laughed, shoving a piece of bread into his mouth as he spoke to Viktor and Nikolai.
The food went down heavy but necessary. It was raw energy against the cold.
Ashen licked his plate as if he understood the importance of the day, and Nikolai felt more ready than ever. He adjusted his backpack, tightened the straps on his solid iron leg. He didn't yet have a proper weapon, but his priority was different: not failing because of one missing leg.
When they reached the lineup in the outer yard, they saw they weren't the first, but they also hadn't been late. The cold swept across the courtyard, turning every breath into mist. Within five minutes, everyone was lined up, waiting for the order from young Sobolev.
Marina walked in front of the row, eyes flashing.
"Very well. We're moving on to the second stage of your lives as new citizens of the North. I don't expect efficiency. Nor quality. But I do expect commitment."
The main gate creaked open, and the group began its march. First, heading toward the same mountain Nikolai had visited days earlier. But soon, after a few minutes, they veered east — the true destination of that morning.
Marina wasted no time on explanations. She simply pointed to an older student, who took the lead beside her, mounted on a large brown bear. Apparently, he would be the one giving the first instructions.
"Once we arrive, we'll split the old from the new."
he said in a firm tone.
"The new ones will undergo a potential analysis. Those without a team can join one. The veterans will follow the same routine as last year: twenty percent of the hunt will belong to you, excluding the cutting fee and kitchen handling."
Some veterans nodded, already used to the rule. The instructor continued:
"For the newcomers, fifty percent of what you manage to catch will be yours, taxes already included."
"But be careful: though tempting, not all first-level creatures are weak. We've cataloged the most suitable ones and recorded their names in this book."
The boy, riding his nearly six-foot-tall brown bear, held up a leather-bound volume the same color as the animal — no thicker than the book Nikolai had received from old Sobolev.
"These will be distributed, and I believe that by the time we arrive, everyone will have at least one copy."
"I want you to understand: this book is basic and does not cover all creatures — only those that are economically viable."
"It will not only help you tell what's edible or not, but also provide data on which creatures can yield leather, bones, venom, and even fluids useful for potion crafting. All the resources written here can be sold to the Fortress, to Svarog, or even to Medved depending on the item's quality."
"But remember: although the cave may seem like an endless farm of resources, it's also a cradle of danger."
"The risk is as high as that of the front line, so please… try not to die on the first day."
"To those of you who formed teams made up only of rookies, I suggest seeking help to learn about the other species at the first floor of Svarog — they have unlimited access to all the new creatures that most likely aren't catalogued in this book."
His voice hung over the frozen wasteland as they walked.
The wind howled, adding weight to every word.
"At the end of the five-day training, you'll be given a choice: remain in Svarog and fight in the depths for income, or return to the Fortress to complete your training."
"I always recommend that you return to the Fortress."
"The risk, being a novice without combat experience or the necessary knowledge, is far too high."
"Every year, we return to Svarog with a new batch of recruits — which means you'll still have three more opportunities to join a team or improve enough to feel confident down there."
"However, for those in their final year, if you wish to stay, then stay."
"There will be no other chance after we leave — only the front line... or Medved will remain."
"To the Blacks, I emphasize: hunting in Svarog is permitted — and will always be an option for you — but it is not recommended."
"The dangers in Svarog are, for the most part, far too risky — and I say this with the utmost honesty."
The black bear tamers didn't take the boy's words as offensive or dismissive. After all, the accounts from the few who chose to remain in Svarog spoke of constant, unending battle.
Every day, for a black bear tamer, it was possible to descend… and never return.
There were no guarantees, no safety — let alone hope — for those who ventured into Svarog.
What was known was simple: only the craziest black bear tamers accepted staying and fighting enemies day after day, without rest.
Once everything had been laid out by the boy atop his bear, the line continued in silence for a few more minutes. The white horizon seemed to swallow everything.
Until a voice broke the ice beside Nikolai:
"I can't see my beloved…"
Fedor whispered, looking in every direction.
Viktor chuckled quietly. Nikolai, however, realized the comment wasn't just a joke: the guests from the Empire weren't there.
He tried to focus on the book that had finally arrived in his hands, but his eyes kept drifting back to Marina, who looked more irritable than usual.
"Probably chose to keep their distance from her… If it were me, I'd do the same."