Noa hadn't closed his eyes all night. Every time his eyelids grew heavy, the cold pierced through to his bones, making his entire body shiver. It felt as if even his breath froze in his throat, threatening to choke him.
He desperately searched for anything—anything at all—that could bring relief. From the desk drawer, he pulled out an old, tattered cloth and draped it over his shoulders. He knew it offered no real warmth, but at least it shielded him somewhat from the cruel bite of the draft.
Back on his bed, wrapped in the thin fabric, the trembling did not stop. His body ached—especially his forearms, where the strain had been most intense.
He whispered to himself:
— How much longer can this continue? If I truly have no mana… how much more must I endure here?
His lips did not move, but his thoughts echoed relentlessly. His eyes held no sleep, only pain.
When dawn finally broke, a harsh cough tore him awake. A bitter taste burned in his throat. Illness had already crept into his body.
Yet the thought of skipping training had never even crossed his mind. Slowly rising, he took a sip from the cup of water on his desk and stepped outside. The corridor's cold draft struck him like another blow.
With each step, he whispered to himself:
— If I cannot wield mana, then I will master my own body. I will learn every secret of a dragon's form. For these trials, I will hold each of you accountable.
His footsteps echoed through the frozen corridor.
---
Six months passed.
When dawn came again, Noa opened his eyes with renewed resolve. The cold still pressed into his bones, but now he endured it with a hard-earned familiarity. He was no longer the fragile boy who had once trembled silently. Six months of relentless training had transformed him completely.
On the training grounds, as always, he was met with jeers and mockery. But this time, Noa received them differently.
— I will no longer run from their words. They call me weak, trash—but yes, I may be that now… yet what the future holds, I cannot say, — he thought inwardly. One day I will make them answer for it all.
During these six months, he had studied the dragon's body with obsessive precision—its weak points, its strengths, how its muscles grew, how blood surged faster with each breath, even the subtle techniques of controlled breathing. Every ache was a lesson. Every fall, a step forward. During this time, his height had grown to 1.62 centimeters.
Commander Zobid strode to the front, his voice firm and commanding:
— Soldier Noa! — he said. — Over the past six months, you have grown. I thought you would be taken away, yet here you stand—mana-less, and still your body thrives. Remarkable… even worthy of praise. Truly, I thought you could not endure three days, yet here you are, witnessed by every dragon.
Noa bowed his head, eyes burning with determination.
— Thank you, Commander. I will not surrender.
For a fleeting moment, a rare smile tugged at the corner of Zobid's lips.
— Good. Listen carefully: today, a new challenge arrives. Recruits from the Jogan tribe will be coming. You will greet them with respect.
— Understood, sir! — the soldiers chorused in unison.
Zobid continued:
— There will be no training today. They will arrive in two hours. You will meet them, learn who they are… and then rest.
The announcement spread like a sudden wind of relief. Faces lit up with excitement, voices rising in cheer.
— Thank you, Commander!
Yet Noa's thoughts turned inward:
— The Jogan recruits… new rivals, perhaps even new allies. How will they see me? Will they treat me as they once did? No… this time, I won't allow it.
He made his way to the library. Along the way, he reflected: each victory or defeat, each challenge, each lesson learned—he would meet it all with patience and determination. Not with words as before, but with actions. He would prove it not to those around him, but to himself.
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