At dawn, horns whispered along the fortress walls. Half-asleep, Noa threw aside his thin blanket as the harsh call of the officer echoed in his ears:
— "New recruits! To the yard!"
The icy wind struck his face. The snow-covered courtyard had been churned into a mixture of mud and ice beneath the soldiers' boots. In the center, rows of dragons stood holding swords, spears, or bows.
The officer climbed the raised platform and commanded:
— "Here, there are no names, no titles. No childhood, only love for the homeland and the strength found to protect that love. Fall once — and you stay down forever!"
The soldiers roared in response. Noa's heart pounded with panic. He had never held a weapon in his life.
A soldier approached, a cold smirk on his face.
— "So this is the fallen prince? You'll learn fast — no one here will protect you."
Noa said nothing. He lifted his eyes to the sky. Silence, too, can be a weapon.
Training began: running, lifting stones, then sword drills. His hands bled, his breath came ragged and harsh,
The officer's gaze lingered on him — no mockery, no mercy — only assessment.
By evening, the dragons collapsed from exhaustion. Noa sank to the ground, his chest burning, yet the fire inside him still surged. He whispered to himself:
"This is hard… so hard. Do I really have to live like this?"
Suddenly, a shout came from the western tower. The officer's voice rang out:
— "Weapons!"
Old chests were dragged open, the stench of rust spilling out. Some received polished spears or sharp blades. To Noa, they handed a heavy, rusted, poorly made sword. His hand trembled, but he did not let go.
"Are they giving the fallen prince whatever they want? This is trash."
Laughter erupted around him. Their black-iron armor bore dragon emblems; in the torchlight, the dragons' metal eyes seemed to burn with fire.
— "Look, the prince can't even lift his sword!"
— "He'll die soon, hahaha — look how he can barely stand!"
Rage flared in Noa's chest, but his face remained calm.
"Mock me… it only gives me strength. Help me surrender my heart to hatred," he whispered.
— "Pair off!" the officer commanded.
A towering, broad-shouldered soldier stepped forward, eyes like ice. The dragon motif on his armor gleamed like a living beast in the darkness. He spun his sword effortlessly and grinned.
"In this yard, I've never brought anyone down. And you, pampered boy, I'll imagine your mother begging for your life as I drive you into the ground. Come on — I'll pin you to the earth."
Steel clashed. Garn's first strike knocked Noa down in one blow. Snow filled his mouth, blood ran along his lip. Laughter erupted.
Noa rose slowly. Garn's second strike sent him sprawling again, sliding across the ice, his palms torn and bleeding. But this time he rose faster.
"I refuse — I refuse. I will not surrender. My body may be weak, but my spirit is strong."
For a moment, the officer's eyes stayed on him. No mockery. Only observation.
Next came the stone-lifting trial. Groups of four were to hoist massive boulders together. Noa's team shoved him aside.
— "Move out of the way!" they jeered.
He was pushed aside. Pain shot through his hand. Yet he rose and threw his weight into the stone, lifting as much as he could. Laughter rang out again. He endured in silence.
"I will swallow their hatred, their mockery. I will conquer this place."
The day stretched on mercilessly — running, leaping, grappling on frozen ground. Dragons fell, rose, and fell again. Bloody and trembling, Noa lasted to the end. His breath tore at his chest, his vision blurred, but he did not collapse.
Finally, the officer ascended the platform. Behind him, the iron dragon carved into the wall glimmered in the torchlight, as if exhaling fire.
— "Today, the weak have been revealed," he declared. "All of you are trash — unworthy of my trust. Before mocking someone, look at yourselves, you worms."
Cheers and shouts rose. From the ranks, some voices mocked:
— "The prince falls and rises again!"
— "I wonder how much longer he can stand."
Noa drew a deep breath, staring at his hands. Cuts, frost, rust — yet his will remained unbroken.
"I have not broken. I will survive here. I cannot be crushed. I cannot be shattered. I have a purpose, and I will walk toward it."
In the torchlight, his eyes burned like fire. The dragon on the wall seemed to smile at him. From within, Noa whispered:
"For my mother, I must become strong."