The flames of the braziers burned slowly in the great hall of Valdrik's Keep. Outside, winter had begun to spread its icy breath along the walls, and the air seeping through the cracks smelled of impending snow. Inside, however, it wasn't the cold that stiffened spines and strained voices, but what had happened hours earlier on the parade ground.
The exhibition match continued to be the topic of conversation in every corner. The apprentices murmured to each other in hurried voices, recounting moves, exaggerating blows, and recreating the moment when Kevin disarmed Darvik Torrek with a twist so clean that not even a weapons master would have found a flaw. Others preferred to recount how Kelvin had engaged in a pure power exchange with Sareth Veynar, the most powerful apprentice in the North, and had managed to knock him down using a mana projection that left a blue halo on the stone floor.
On the balconies above, the nobles and veteran knights also weighed in. Some smiled approvingly at the idea that House Valdrik could count on two young men of such synchronicity and mettle in its ranks; others, however, saw only a threat to the internal balance.
Lord Varyn Valdrik, sitting in his high chair, listened without intervening as the captains debated the twins' future. His face was impenetrable, and in his blue eyes—as cold as the ice that formed on the northern rivers—it was impossible to discern whether he felt pride or caution. Garron Martrek, standing beside him, also said nothing, though his posture was less neutral: the slight smirk on his lips betrayed him.
"With all due respect, my lord," said the knight Ser Aric Fornell, one of the highest-ranking men in the house, "these two lads have shown talent... but unchecked talent can bring more misfortune than glory."
"Do you fear that two apprentices will overshadow men who have been here for more than a decade?" Garron asked, his tone not concealing a certain irony.
"I fear," Fornell replied gravely, "that your rapid promotion will arouse jealousy... and jealousy in this fortress is not always resolved with jousting or training."
A silence fell for a while. Outside, a gust of wind struck the windows. Lord Varyn leaned forward, clasping his hands.
"Let them fear them if they must. This is not the first time a northern fortress has been riven by internal disputes, but ours will not fall into that weakness. As long as they have temper and discipline, I care not if their fame grows."
In the apprentices' dormitories, the atmosphere was different. Kevin sat on the edge of his bunk, cleaning his sword with deliberate movements, while Kelvin checked the leather straps of his armor. Several glances fell upon them: some respectful, some suspicious.
"You saw how they looked at us at the lunch table," Kelvin murmured, without taking his eyes off his task. "Yeah... like we were stray wolves in a pack."
"Or like they were considering how to take us down."
Kevin didn't respond immediately. He could feel the weight of those stares throughout the day, and while the applause from some veterans was genuine, he'd also heard rumors that it wasn't.
It was Roderick, a West Wing apprentice, who broke the tension.
"Good fight, Blizzard," he said, bowing slightly toward them. "Not everyone dares to humiliate Darvik and Sareth in front of the entire fortress."
"It wasn't humiliation," Kevin replied calmly. "It was training."
"Call it what you will," Roderick replied with a crooked smile. Just remember that here, the memory of a defeat lingers longer than the scar it leaves.
Over the next few days, the effects of the battle were felt at every level. Some captains began requesting that the twins be included in more advanced training; others demanded that they be kept under strict supervision. On the parade ground, several apprentices began seeking casual encounters with them, as if defeating them in an impromptu duel might even the score.
Garron Martrek himself, aware of the growing tension, toughened the sessions. He had them train at dawn, under the frost, and then extended the practices until nightfall, interspersing combat exercises with magical resistance. The mana tests became more demanding, forcing Kevin and Kelvin to project their energy while maintaining impeccable physical defense.
"They want to prove we're an accident, a fluke," Kelvin said one afternoon, wiping his sweat after a duel.
"Then let them try," Kevin replied, adjusting the hilt of his sword. "The more they do it, the more we'll learn... and the fewer doubts we'll have."
But the politics of House Valdrik were not a field won by iron fists alone. Several nobles began inviting the twins to their tables, seeking to converse, to get to know them, to measure them. Others, however, began to move pieces behind the scenes, influencing the more conservative captains to halt their rise.
At one of these gatherings, Lord Varyn received Garron privately.
"The attention they attract can be useful... or dangerous." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "We will keep it under control, but we will not extinguish it. The North needs young swords, and they could be more than that... if they survive."
"They will survive," Garron assured him. "I have seen what they are capable of together. And if the North ever needs a pair of cunning wolves, it will be them."
The words, like embers on the stone hearth, burned in the air