Noa was riding in the carriage.
His head lowered, silent.
Everything seemed to have happened too quickly.
"Why did my father suddenly become so cold? Or… is it because of my brother?"
Lost in those thoughts, he kept quiet on the road.
"Prince," said the coachman, glancing back, "I don't think they're sending you to your death. Your father loves you, doesn't he?"
"I'm no longer a prince," Noa replied in a low voice. "Call me by my name."
"All right… N... Noa."
"I don't know what's happened to my father. For him to turn this cold and distant—it isn't natural."
"I think so too," said the coachman. "They used to call you the Emperor's favorite. Everyone knew it. The Queen and His Majesty both loved you dearly. But what happened today... it shocked even me."
"I didn't expect it either," Noa murmured.
But for me, he gave the royal carriage...
This carriage flies faster than a High Dragon's speed. What does my father want? It's all so unclear...
And so, after seven long days of travel, they finally arrived at the Northern Border Fortress.
At the gates, dragon soldiers clad in black armor stood in line.
"Stop! Identify yourselves!" one of the guards barked.
"We're from the Central Palace," said the coachman. "By royal decree, we've brought the former prince, Noa."
The soldiers approached, lifted the curtain, and stared at Noa.
"So, you're the fallen prince?" one said mockingly.
After checking the carriage, they gave a curt nod.
"You may enter."
The gate creaked open. The carriage rolled forward slowly.
For the first time, Noa lifted his head and saw the fortress of the North.
The air inside was even colder.
The fortress walls were layered with frost, as if carved from ice itself.
From the high towers, black smoke rose into the gray sky.
Torches burned at every corner, yet their flames could not chase away the cold.
The courtyard was wide, blanketed in thick snow. The ground bore countless hoofprints.
Soldiers trained in rows; their shouts echoed through the entire yard.
Some practiced sword strikes, others pounded on giant wooden mannequins, while a few sharpened their blades against the freezing wind.
Noa watched them quietly.
These dragons were different.
In their eyes there was no mercy, and on their faces no smile.
They lived far from the Empire — living only for war.
When the carriage stopped, a heavily armored officer approached.
His armor was forged from black iron, with a dragon emblem engraved upon his shoulder.
His gaze was cold and heavy.
"So, you are Noa — the former prince," he said in a harsh tone.
"This place is now your home. Forget the splendor of the palace.
Here, only the strong survive. The weak are buried beneath the snow."
His words spread through the courtyard.
The soldiers stopped their training and turned to look at Noa.
In their eyes flickered not just surprise, but mockery.
"Look, the Emperor's little darling has arrived," someone whispered.
"I wonder how long he'll last in this frozen hell?" another sneered.
Noa said nothing. His heart pounded fast, but he kept his head high.
The inner halls of the fortress were dark and cold.
When he entered the great hall, the ceilings stretched high above, and the walls were built from icy stone.
Rusty shields and old weapons hung from the walls.
The unlit hearths moaned with the sound of the wind.
There were no golden pillars here, no silk curtains like in the palace.
Only war, blood, and ice ruled this place.
Inside, Noa thought:
"So this is my new world. I must learn to live here. If I can't endure — then I am nothing."
The deeper he went, the colder it became.
Narrow corridors were made of rough stone; from the ceilings, drops of ice fell to the floor.
The wind howled through cracks in the windows, carrying a ghostly chill.
Soldiers stood on both sides of the corridor, their gazes following Noa.
In their eyes burned suspicion and silent contempt.
Passing between them felt like walking through a line of enemies.
The officer stopped and opened a heavy door.
Inside was a small, dim room. Bare stone walls.
On the floor — an old wool carpet.
In the corner stood an iron bed with a thin, cold blanket.
A wooden table and chair, plain and rough — poorer even than a servant's quarters.
"This will be your room," said the officer coldly.
"Titles mean nothing here — prince or heir alike.
From now on, you'll eat the same bread as the soldiers, train as they do.
The weak... don't wake up alive."
Noa said nothing.
He stepped into the cold room — no luxury, no warmth.
But deep within his heart, something burned.
Not pride. Not power.
But resolve.
He placed his palm on the table.
The wood was cold, but that chill couldn't break him.
He remembered his mother's seal — when he held it, warmth seemed to flow into his heart.
At that moment, a horn sounded outside.
The rhythmic steps of soldiers echoed across the courtyard.
The officer's voice rang out:
"All newcomers — training begins at dawn!
At the Northern Border, only the strong survive!"
Noa looked out the small window.
Snow was falling, and the wind howled endlessly.
This place was merciless — as if made to test the soul itself.
But within, he whispered:
"I will not break. I will conquer this cold.
Because whether I find myself here... or lose myself — it depends only on me."
Hey friends! What do you think awaits Noa ahead? This is only the beginning...
Leave your thoughts in the comments, drop a Power Stone, and don't forget to add it to your Library!
Also hit "Collection" — you don't want to miss the next chapter! ⚡🔥