Alexei, despite his arrogant words, did not seek the elevated seat reserved for officers at the back of the hall. Instead, he turned and sat at one of the common tables, as if that place belonged to him by natural right. The gesture carried a silent message: he didn't need symbols of power to be recognized.
His posture was unhurried, but his movements were quick and precise. He grabbed the food without ceremony, chewed and swallowed as if he had learned to survive rather than to savor. While many still hesitated before the clear soup and hard bread, Alexei had already devoured twice as much as anyone else—in half the time.
When he set the mug of water down on the table, the wood echoed with the impact, drawing everyone's attention.
"I suggest you eat well and get ready," he said, his voice firm and unrelenting. "We leave in forty minutes."
He paused briefly, just long enough to let the silence weigh on the newcomers.
"Our objective today is to reach the first checkpoint to the south."
The words hung like a sentence. There were no details, no promises of glory—just a simple and direct destination: march.
The Medved Abyss was remembered as the cradle of the Northerners, the icy heart where countless generations had been born and raised. But it was not there that the tamers forged their true identity. A few kilometers to the south stood the Great Outpost, the fortress that for centuries had served as the last barrier before enemies could reach Medved. Today, however, its purpose was different. It was where young tamers of all lineages and generations gathered—the first, the second, and the third.
It was a place of training, of discipline, and of confrontation, where every step revealed the thin line between survival and falling.
They said the outpost's walls could be seen from afar—tall and gray, cutting into the snowy horizon. They also said the wind carried the metallic scent of iron, burned wood, and human sweat, as if the fortress itself breathed war and discipline.
But for many of the youths, the outpost held far more meaning than stone and snow alone.
"We'll finally get to see the other years," Zoya said, her eyes shining with anticipation.
Her tone carried an excitement Nikolai couldn't mimic. Beside her, Irina lifted her chin—calmer, but unable to hide her contained smile.
"Your brother is in the third generation, isn't he?" she asked, her curiosity light, almost conspiratorial.
Zoya clenched her fists, as if already rehearsing the reunion.
"Yeah. He sent a letter a few weeks ago. The son of a bitch wrote like he was absolutely sure I'd pass. Didn't even seem worried!"
She huffed, but a smile soon slipped onto her lips.
"When I see him, I'm going to beat him up. After all, I'm the first in the family to have a brown one. We're going to surprise him, right, Buyan?"
The bear let out a brief growl, as if just as excited as Zoya—despite clearly not understanding any of it.
The contrast in her voice made it clear: anger and love tangled together, longing heavier than resentment.
Nikolai listened in silence. The conversation felt too intimate, yet the words reached him all the same. He caught himself wondering what it would be like to have someone waiting for him after all those years—someone who believed in him enough not to doubt his success for even a moment.
But there was no one.
"Damn… I need to get ready quickly," Nikolai murmured, snapping out of his thoughts. His wooden leg wouldn't endure a long march without adjustments.
He stood and, without much thought for the consequences, walked toward Alexei. The movement drew wary glances from the others. Even Irina seemed to hold her breath.
"What do you want, boy?"
Alexei's voice came like a sheathed blade—cold, direct.
Nikolai held his ground.
"Sir Alexei, sorry to interrupt. I'd like to borrow your dagger. And I wanted to know if I could take one of the chairs."
There was no bravado in his voice. Just necessity. Anyone paying attention would see this wasn't boldness, but urgency. He needed to reinforce his prosthetic—and maybe improvise supplies for whatever awaited them. Even so, speaking this way to a superior was unthinkable to the others.
Eyes widened. Some braced themselves for an outburst.
But Alexei simply stood.
He drew the dagger.
Then, without warning, he grabbed the chair he had been sitting on and smashed it apart with a single kick of his boot. The wood cracked with dry snaps, fragments scattering across the floor. The sound echoed through the hall like thunder.
"Oops," Alexei said, wearing a crooked, anything-but-friendly smile. "I think I accidentally broke the chair."
He leaned closer, his face inches from Nikolai's, his voice low enough for only the boy to hear.
"You have thirty minutes, boy."
Nikolai didn't hesitate. He grabbed the dagger and the pieces of wood he needed. On his way to the door, he snatched two loaves of bread from the table and clamped them between his teeth, then shoved a third into Ashen's mouth.
The sight drew a few confused glances—a clumsy boy, arms full, bread in his mouth, vanishing through the doorway as if always late for his own fate.
The silence that followed lasted only seconds, but it weighed heavier than any speech.
Alexei, now seated again, watched the boy's back as it disappeared. A subtle smile curved his lips—one with no trace of irony. It was anticipation.
In the end, resilience is also a determining factor.
The thought surprised him. No matter how hard he tried to remain indifferent, there was something about that boy that refused to stay down. It was as if Nikolai lived under the harshest conditions—and still insisted on standing.
Alexei hadn't expected to find him there. Deep down, he still believed it had been nothing more than absurd luck—an unlikely mix of survival and chance. And yet, something uncomfortable was growing inside him.
The possibility of being wrong.
Maybe… just maybe… he was looking forward to it.
"What else do you have to show, boy?"
The words were barely louder than a breath, lost in the cold air of the hall.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
"I think this should do, right, Ashen?"
Nikolai held up three crude prosthetics, hastily improvised. The roughly cut wood bristled with sharp splinters, and the scent of fresh timber still clung to his palms. There had been no time for refinement—only enough to keep him on his feet.
With a sigh, he removed the old leg. The damp wood was swollen, the bindings loose and frayed from wear. He tossed it aside and strapped on the new one. The fit was brutal. Pain shot through his leg like lightning. A thin stream of blood trickled beneath the bandages, staining the floor.
The bear let out a low growl, almost a lament. It wasn't just a sound—it was a feeling.
Pain.
"Don't worry… I'm used to it. If it hurts, that means it's fitted well."
Nikolai forced a smile, but the tremor at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
When he returned to the mess hall, everyone was already lined up before the gate. The air was thick with anticipation. Alexei stared at him as if waiting for a stumble, yet showed no sign of impatience.
"Just in time, boy," Alexei said, his voice cutting through the silence. "You'll be at the front of the line. Your pace will set the others'. You'd better not disappoint me."
The weight of those words struck Nikolai like a stone to the gut. The first. The weakest among them would lead the rest. If he faltered, he would drag the whole group down with him.
He took a deep breath. The prosthetic throbbed; every step promised pain—maybe even more blood. But retreat had never been an option. If he had to be first, then so be it. Better to move forward wounded than be left behind.
Ashen brushed his snout against Nikolai's hand—a silent gesture of support. Nikolai closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing that warmth. He wasn't alone.
The march began faster than anyone had expected, and even Alexei raised an eyebrow, surprised.
Nikolai's face remained impassive, as if pain had no place in his expression. For a moment, Alexei even considered that the boy might have been lying all along—that the prosthetic had been nothing more than a poorly told excuse.
But when his gaze dropped to the wood, the illusion shattered.
The support was dark and damp, marked by fissures where blood seeped through. Drops fell along the path, leaving a dotted trail on the ground—as if Nikolai's own body were marking the way, like breadcrumbs from a macabre tale.
How much longer can you keep going like this…?
The question never left Alexei's lips, but it burned in his thoughts. An ironic smile tugged at his mouth, tinged with a strange satisfaction. It was the childlike curiosity of someone dismantling a toy just to see how far it could go before it broke.
The descent was swift, and soon Nikolai stood before the colossal White Gate of the Medved Abyss.
It rose like an unbreakable bastion against the snowy world beyond—a wall within the wall. Forged from steel polished to reflect the sun like an icy mirror, the gate seemed to repel even the gaze. No human blade could pierce it; no ordinary force could open it. Its hinges, as wide as the columns of a war cathedral, groaned with a deep, almost sacred sound, like thunder rolling through the mountains.
On either side, cyclopean towers of white stone supported the structure, their blocks carved with a precision that defied time. Above the arch, the runes of ancient kings glowed like scars of bygone glory—a testament to an era when Medved's power had stretched far beyond the North.
At the center, the crest of the White Bear—flanked by chalices and a crown—shone like a promise of hope, even beneath the shadow of the enemy.
Armies had once trembled there. Heroes had sworn oaths. This was not merely iron and stone—it was Medved's stern face turned toward the world: firm, cold, indomitable.
Nikolai knew the sight, but he had never stood so close. The deep groaning of the mechanisms made his heart leap. For a moment, he forgot the pain in his prosthetic.
Eight black bears and their tamers strained at the gate from either side. None of them looked weak—each was young and powerful—and still their muscles twisted under the effort.
With every inch the gate yielded, the snow was pushed aside like waves against a steel shore.
Little by little, the endless white beyond was revealed—a silent, cruel vastness awaiting the young tamers.
At last, as the White Gate finished groaning open, something in the distance shattered the snow's stillness.
A massive shadow tore across the frozen expanse, each stride kicking up clouds of ice like waves crashing against a wall. The ground trembled, a muffled drumbeat that shook down to the bone.
The figure charged without hesitation, showing no sign of stopping. Then, before everyone's eyes, it was revealed: a colossal brown bear, larger even than two of the gate-opening bears stacked atop one another. Its claws dragged through the snow with a sound like blades being sharpened.
Hot breath poured from its half-open jaws, drool dripping like amber rivers, steaming against the cold. When the beast halted just inches from Nikolai, the exhalation washed over his face like a blacksmith's breath—hot, heavy, suffocating. And still, his eyes did not waver.
Behind him, the students recoiled. Some stumbled back, others fled outright. Space opened behind Nikolai, as if he were a solitary rock standing before the storm. Neither he nor Ashen moved. They held their ground—not out of bravado, but because fear was an old companion.
"You're very interesting, boy."
The deep voice rolled like restrained thunder, vibrating directly in their minds.
From atop the immense brown bear, Marina Sobolev revealed herself. Her gaze locked onto Nikolai—not because of strength or skill, but because of the raw courage radiating from someone already broken. Warriors forged in blood had passed before her eyes, yet this boy—crippled and scrawny—stared death in the face without blinking.
A rare, unsettling smile curved her lips.
Marina, hardened by years of war, felt strangely pleased.
Behind them, the students stared at Nikolai in silence—some in disbelief, others in respect, a few even in envy. That moment carved itself into their souls: the day the boy no one noticed became impossible to ignore.
Yet for Nikolai, standing still had not been surprising in the slightest. He knew exactly how much that bear weighed—and from how far back it had begun to slow, he knew he would not be trampled.
What did surprise him was the realization that the woman, too, possessed a precise sense of limits—enough control to make her entrance spectacular rather than tragic.
She has incredible control over her bear…