"Where… am I…?"
Nikolai's voice came out weak, almost a whisper. He opened one eye with effort, and what he saw looked nothing like the rehearsal room or any simulation he had generated. The ceiling was high and white, flooded by light pouring through numerous open windows all around.
The brightness didn't hurt — it was cold, calm, almost unnatural. When he turned his head, he noticed rows of identical beds, all empty, aligned with precise cadence, as if the very room breathed in order.
Despite the wide-open windows, no cold wind touched him. The chill seemed to die before it crossed the space. The silence was absolute, broken only by the steady beat of his own heart.
That's when he noticed.
His clothing.
White. From head to toe. The fabric soft, far too clean to have ever truly been his.
"Someone changed me…"
he murmured, sitting up with difficulty.
"Ashen…?"
A shiver ran down his spine. His last memory was of a flash, the impossible magic he had dared to speak. Kalabam. He remembered the crushing weight, his body nearly giving out. He had suspected he would faint — but he hadn't thought it would be this serious. Something had gone terribly wrong.
"Don't worry."
A voice sounded calm, yet filled with something unfathomable.
"Your bear is fine. In fact, he seems to be in better shape than you."
Nikolai froze. He recognized that voice.
He turned slowly, and there she was. A woman he didn't know, but who seemed to be far more than just a simple Svarog employee. He had lost track of time entirely — whatever that place had been, it warped even memory.
He tried to speak, but his throat was dry. Only one request escaped, choked:
"Sorry… what happened?"
The woman approached with soft steps, the white of her tunic blending into the walls, as if she were part of the place. Her face showed no anger, nor compassion. Only a neutral, impenetrable expression — one that evoked more fear than any open fury.
And when her eyes met his, Nikolai felt as if he were still trapped in the simulation.
"Honestly…"
The woman crossed her arms, her gaze heavy on Nikolai.
"That's the same question I'd ask you. At least after what you did."
"Did…?"
he blinked, confused, his voice faltering.
"What did I do?"
The silence that followed was suffocating. The woman seemed lost in her own calculations, as if trying to piece together a puzzle with pieces that didn't fit. With each passing second, her expression shifted between skepticism and bewilderment.
"So… you don't remember anything,"
she finally said, with a shadow of disbelief.
Nikolai forced his eyes shut, searching the depths of his mind for the last memory before blacking out. The suffocating heat, creatures emerging from the earth… and the sound of the forbidden word.
"Well… I was trying to use a spell. But something… must've gone wrong."
Instinctively, he brought his hand to his chest, as if searching for something — and found only emptiness.
"I believe you're looking for this."
Her voice made him look up. In the woman's hand, a small book with a worn cover. She swung it gently, like revealing a crucial piece of evidence. Nikolai's heart pounded. He recognized it instantly: it was Marya Sobolev's book.
"Yes!"
his eyes lit up, despite the pain.
"I got that book from Sobolev… May I?"
The woman watched him silently, as if weighing the value of a life on a scale. Then, with a sharp gesture, she tossed the book toward him. Nikolai almost dropped it, but clutched it to his chest like a lost treasure.
"Makes sense…"
the woman murmured, almost to herself.
"But I thought that lunatic would never find a pupil."
Her words hung in the air, loaded with meaning, but she said no more. She simply fell silent, as if a thousand thoughts crossed her mind all at once. Without another word, she turned to leave.
"Ma'am!"
Nikolai raised his voice, urgency breaking through his frailty.
"Speak,"
she replied without turning.
"My group…"
his voice faltered, eyes wide.
"I don't know how long I was unconscious."
She sighed, like someone yielding to a child's anxiety.
"Don't worry. It's only been a day. In any case, I'll call the person who's been watching over you."
A weight lifted from Nikolai's chest. Despite the throbbing pain, he managed a relieved smile.
"Thank you."
But the relief quickly gave way to surprise. The door opened, and the person who entered the large room was not who he expected.
"Miss Vadim?!"
Vadim gave a slight smile, but there was hardness in her eyes.
"Hello, boy,"
she said, with a tone both ironic and affectionate.
"I thought getting a Bear would be the biggest problem you'd face. At least in your first year."
Nikolai swallowed hard, unable to answer.
Beside her, two bears walked with heavy steps — Olga, Vadim's imposing companion, and Ashen, with only a small bandage near his forehead. The two animals seemed to be playing, brushing heads like old friends. The sight warmed Nikolai's heart more than any words could.
But it was the detail on Vadim's chest that left him paralyzed.
She was carrying her baby. The child, bundled in thick clothes, stared at him with curious eyes, as if able to see right through him. An innocent yet piercing gaze that seemed to add another layer of mystery to that reunion.
"Miss Vadim, isn't it dangerous here?"
Nikolai asked, still surprised by how naturally she walked through Svarog with a child in her arms.
Vadim let out a short laugh, laced with irony.
"Hahaha, don't worry, silly."
She adjusted the baby against her chest like it was the most natural gesture in the world.
"You know, I used to be the leader of Kuzma's group for many years."
Her words hit Nikolai like a harsh reminder. How could he have forgotten? Vadim wasn't just a kind woman with a tame bear. She had lived, faced dangers he could barely imagine. Everyone in the North had their share of risks; surviving meant fighting. And the older they got, the more scars they carried. Thinking Vadim put food on the table without risking her life was childish innocence. That was the law of the North.
"I'm sorry…"
he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.
"But… where's Kuzma and the group? I mean…"
Vadim sighed, her gaze softening.
"Well, unfortunately they couldn't wait for you to wake up. After all, the bills don't stop and hunger doesn't go away just because you're out of commission, right?"
Nikolai's eyes widened.
"You mean they went without long-range support? That's… dangerous."
"Dangerous, yes,"
Vadim nodded.
"But not reckless. He's been managing on his own for a while now. They're probably near the entrance. Usually, Kuzma teams up with other short-handed squads when he needs backup. Of course, that means less game, since the spoils must be shared… but at least the risk is reduced."
"At least someone values the idea of safety first,"
she said, stroking Olga's head as the bear nestled beside Ashen.
Nikolai took a deep breath. That explained how Kuzma's group had survived for so long.
Simple strategy, but effective: never risk more than necessary.
Still, it also made clear why they couldn't wait for him.
In the North, time was an enemy — and hunger, relentless.
"I'm sorry."
Nikolai lowered his eyes.
"I just wanted to test a few things, but… I guess something went terribly wrong."
Vadim gave a faint smile. For the first time since entering the room, she seemed genuinely animated.
"Don't worry. Apparently, Kolya Feodorovna — the woman you met earlier — is quite intrigued by the events of the last day. After all, while you were unconscious, something happened… something no one expected. So I think, in the end, everything will turn out without any cost to our group."
Nikolai looked up, intrigued.
"So that woman is…? Wait… what happened?"
Vadim seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if tasting the weight of important news.
Then she spoke in a firm, almost solemn voice:
"Well… you'll find out soon enough."
She paused, letting Nikolai's curiosity burn.
"Apparently, yesterday, before the visitors left, a truce was signed with the Empire."
Nikolai felt his stomach drop.
"A… truce?"
Vadim nodded.
"The Triad themselves made the announcement."
The words hung in the air, heavy as an axe about to fall. A truce with the Empire. Something he had never imagined hearing.
For decades, the Empire had given up advancing against the North. Not out of mercy, but out of sheer impossibility. The cold was their most faithful enemy; the snow and ice grounded their Wyverns, and the Strait served more as a meat grinder than an invasion route. With every attempt, the North built walls out of Imperial corpses.
Thus, a thin line had been drawn: on one side, the Empire's constant vigilance, always lurking, waiting for an opportunity; on the other, the North's quiet resistance, used to living under the shadow of an attack that never came.
Over time, that balance became routine — an unspoken truce, with no guarantees and no consequences.
Until now.
"But why a truce?"
Nikolai stammered, still stunned.
"Why now?"
The answer didn't come from Vadim.
A deep voice, weary and ironic, cut through the air:
"Because they want us in their army."
The words coincided with the abrupt entrance of four — five figures.
A woman — probably a nurse — tried to stop them, waving her hands nervously:
"Gentlemen! You can't all come in at once!"
"He's one of ours,"
the same voice replied, curtly.
"We'll be gone soon."
Nikolai looked up and held his breath. Kuzma. The man himself, alive, bloodied, covered in dust and mud, but in one piece. Beside him, the other three members of the group, just as wounded and exhausted, their domas panting behind them. The floor was stained red where they crossed the threshold.
"Mister Kuzma…"
Nikolai shifted on the bed, surprised.
"Was it a productive day?"
A half-smile appeared on the hardened leader's face.
"Of course it was. But we were missing a member, so we came to fetch him."
Kuzma stared at him seriously, not one for sentimentality.
"Enjoyed your five days of 'early vacation'? Just know we're docking them from your pay."
The group gathered around the bed, and suddenly the room, once vast, felt far too small for so many tamers and their beasts. The smell of blood and sweat filled the air, clashing with the clean white of the room.
Nikolai felt his chest warm. He would finally see action. Finally be useful. With effort, he pushed himself forward and stood up.
"Hey, you need to rest at least today!"
the nurse protested.
"Don't worry,"
he raised an arm, trying to appear strong, but immediately wobbled and nearly lost balance.
"I feel one hundred percent!"
An awkward silence… and then laughter erupted from the group. Even Kuzma allowed a restrained smile.
"Well…"
Nikolai scratched the back of his head.
"I think I'm starving. Can we go after I eat?"
This time, everyone laughed together. The tension melted like snow in spring, and the boy collapsed back onto the bed, embarrassed but happy.
"Come on,"
Kuzma said, patting his shoulder.
"Let's head down. We've got a lot to talk about — what happened… and what's coming."
Nikolai took a deep breath. His heart pounded not just from hunger, but from anticipation. He knew: something was changing in the world. The Empire, the truce, the uncertain future. But above all, he felt within himself a new, unshakable certainty.
"Yes,"
he said, voice steady, almost solemn.
"I'm ready."
A note from Ba