Dawn over Valdrik Keep brought neither gentleness nor comfort.
The wind that descended from the northern hills whistled between the turrets, carrying with it a chill that pierced the bones. There, in the training yard, Kevin and Kelvin Blizzard stood motionless before their master, Garron Martrek, whose weathered hands held a training sword as if it were an extension of his own body.
"Again," Garron growled, not raising his voice but with an authority that commanded immediate obedience.
The twins, drenched in sweat and their muscles burning, took up their positions again. Their dull-steel swords were raised. Kevin struck first, swift as a viper's thrust; Kelvin blocked, pivoted on his heel, and launched a counter that rattled the metal. The clash of blades echoed in the cold air like war bells.
"Faster, Kevin." "Kelvin, don't block with the center of the blade, or your sword will snap in real combat," Garron corrected, circling him like a predator examining its prey.
Combat training was just part of the routine. After an hour of exchanges, Garron led them to the stone circle at the southern end of the courtyard, where mana management was practiced. There, apprentices who had awakened their magical energy trained under the supervision of a junior magistrate.
In that circle, Kevin and Kelvin sat on their knees in front of an iron basin filled with ice-cold water. The goal was simple in theory: heat the water solely by concentrating their internal mana, channeling it into their palms.
"It's not about strength, but about control," reminded them the magistrate, a thin, gray-bearded man who spoke as smoothly as silk. "If you let it flow undirected, your mana is a flooded river; useless and destructive. Make it obey."
Kevin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He felt the deep throb in his chest, an echo of the awakening he'd experienced on that patrol weeks ago. His mana was a living fire, and with effort, he managed to transmit it to his hands. The water began to tremble, and a faint steam rose. Kelvin, on the other hand, frowned, struggling to moderate the intensity; his energy tended to explode outward, like a hammer blow rather than a warm caress.
"Calm down, Kelvin. Don't boil a lake, just warm a bowl," Kevin advised with a crooked smile.
The rest of the day passed in a brutal alternation: sword practice, shield maneuvers, endurance exercises, and again, work with mana. The veteran apprentices looked at the twins with a mixture of respect and suspicion; since their arrival, none had shown such rapid progress.
But the internal politics of House Valdrik were not easy terrain.
In the stone dining hall, during dinner, the gazes of some young men from lesser lineages pierced them with an edge that needed no sword. Rapid ascent always brought silent enemies.
"The blizzards... think they can skip the ladder," one of the apprentices whispered to his companion, unaware that Kelvin was listening.
Kevin, more composed, ignored the comment. Kelvin, however, clenched his jaw.
Garron, from the instructors' table, didn't let the moment pass: "If you have time to whisper, tomorrow we'll train twice as hard. And twice as hard for the blizzards, who seem to need enemies on and off the battlefield."
That night, in their stone cells, Kevin and Kelvin mentally reviewed the day. It wasn't just about surviving the training, but about forging a reputation that would stand the test of time. The title of "The Twin Blades of the North" was still a long way off, but every blow, every sweat, every spark of controlled mana was a step toward that future.
In the gloom, Kevin broke the silence:
"Someday, Kel… we will fight together against something truly worthwhile. And on that day, everyone will know who we are."
Kelvin smiled, staring at the ceiling as if he could see beyond the stone.
"Yes. And when it comes, we will leave nothing standing."
Outside, the north wind howled again, as if the night itself acknowledged the silent oath they had just sealed.