The iron beast consumed the rails with a slow, inexorable hunger, its wheels striking the frozen metal in a rhythm too steady to belong to anything alive. Steam drifted upward in pale curls that vanished almost as soon as they appeared, leaving behind only the faint scent of heated iron and cold morning air. The machine's roar filled the world, a deep continuous hum that pressed against the walls of the carriages and seeped into the bones of the six hundred boys trapped inside.
They sat in silence, packed shoulder to shoulder.Dark uniforms swallowed the lantern light.Eyes hollowed by uncertainty scanned nothing and found nothing.
The decree that had taken them used words like duty and honor.It spoke of defending the kingdom's borders, of safeguarding the land from the horrors rising beyond the western sea.But everyone in the iron beast knew the truth that clung to the air like frost.
They were chosen because they could be lost.
No bloodline. No awakened core. No celestial gift. And certainly no whisper of those elusive War Spirits, those myth-shrouded presences said to answer only to souls shaped for greatness.
Such destinies were for others. Not for the boys the kingdom sent north as offerings.
The train rumbled on.
Ginjo rested his forehead against the window. The cold sunk into his skin, and the glass returned a faint reflection of his blue eyes beneath the dim lantern glow. Outside, the world changed with the slow, deliberate rhythm of a story shedding its pages.
Fields passed first. Golden. Quiet.Workers raised their heads as the iron beast thundered by, their expressions difficult to read from behind the frost. Then forests rose, deep and shadowed, their branches twisting like silent witnesses to the passing procession.
Eventually the capital appeared, bright towers piercing the sky, arches gleaming with arcane luminance. Ginjo watched it fade into the distance, the glow shrinking until it was nothing more than a memory pressed against the glass.
Hours slipped away. Light dimmed. Colors bled out of the world.
Snow appeared in drifting lines. Then in dense veils.Then in vast, unbroken sheets that swallowed the horizon.
The cold crept into the carriage with the patience of a seasoned predator.
Ginjo's breath misted against the window.He watched it fade.
"Seven hours," he murmured softly. "And it feels like the world is peeling itself apart."
No one around him responded. Most stared at their hands.At the floor.At nothing.
Trees vanished entirely. Black stones jutted from beneath the snow, jagged and ancient. The wind pressed against the train in long, low moans.
Then the mountains appeared.
They rose without warning, titanic ridges drowning the horizon, their peaks lost in churning clouds. Their sheer white cliffs shone with an otherworldly glimmer, as though they remembered a sun no longer present in this land.
A hush settled over the boys. Even breathing seemed dangerous.
The North did not welcome. It observed.
Ginjo lifted his head slightly, his gaze tracing the icy contours.
"It really does feel like crossing into someone else's story," he said under his breath.
The train slowed. Not enough to stop, but enough to alter the heartbeat of the iron beast. A deep vibration crawled up through the floorboards, gathering itself into something like anticipation.
Through the storm, dark walls emerged.
A bastion. A fortress carved into the ice itself, its black stone rising in rigid towers that pierced the swirling snow. Lanterns shimmered atop the ramparts, their pale blue light flickering like distant stars caught in a frozen sky.
Ginjo exhaled. The cold stole half the sound.
"All right," he whispered. "If this is where it begins, then so be it."
The iron beast gave one final, guttural groan. The gates swallowed the train whole. The world shifted; darker, colder, heavier.
The door of the carriage unlocked with a sharp metallic crack. A flood of icy wind surged in, biting flesh before breath could form.
Ginjo pushed himself to his feet, fingers curling around the seat edge.
"Let's see what waits on the other side."
And the iron beast fell silent.
***
The cold met them before their feet touched the ground.It swept into the carriage the moment the door groaned open, an invisible blade that carved through fabric and skin without hesitation. Ginjo inhaled reflexively and felt the air scrape down his throat, sharp and crystalline, as if someone had poured powdered ice into his lungs. The other boys reacted the same way, flinching, shuddering, teeth chattering in unison.
They stepped down from the iron beast in a stumbling, uneven rhythm. The train's metallic breath continued to pour into the world behind them, steam rising in white clouds that dissolved into the stark morning light. Once assembled outside, the six hundred children stood frozen in ordered columns, brows furrowed, eyes wide, bodies stiffened by fear and the kind of cold that burrowed into marrow.
They were not alone.
Hundreds of soldiers watched from the walls, the balconies, the towers, the rooftops. Hard eyes. Scarred faces. Expressions carved by winters far older than those the boys had ever known.
Some smirked. Others laughed plainly.
"They sent us infants.""Look at them. Barely old enough to hold a blade.""Winter will chew through them before the first patrol."
Their voices drifted across the courtyard like flakes of ash. Ginjo ignored the sting of the words but absorbed their meaning. This was not a place that softened itself for newcomers. This was a place that had forgotten how.
He raised his head and let the bastion imprint itself onto him.
It towered over them like a monolith carved from black stone and darker intent. The structure stretched outward in layers, forming a small, self-contained city. Walls coated in frost rose impossibly high, dotted with runic carvings half-submerged beneath ice. The towers were crooked in a deliberate way, shaped by necessity rather than elegance, their angles sharpened by countless storms.
Movement filled the world around him.
Soldiers dragged the frozen bodies of monsters whose shapes defied simple description.S ome carried containers of black powder or coils of chains stained with dried blood. Near the forge, the clang of metal rippled through the cold air, sparks rising like fireflies desperate to escape the gloom.
The smell of it all struck Ginjo next. Iron. Burned oil. Dust. A faint metallic tang that made him think, absurdly, of old coins soaked in snowmelt.
He exhaled slowly.
"This place breathes," he whispered. "And it's not breathing for us."
No one answered. Perhaps no one heard.Perhaps it didn't matter.
The courtyard fell suddenly silent.
The doors of the central building opened, heavy as the gates of a mausoleum, and a man stepped out. The shift in the air was immediate. Even the wind hesitated, its howl dimming into a low, reluctant murmur.
He approached with deliberate steps that compacted the snow beneath him as though he carried a weight too vast for the world to hold. His armor, muted silver, bore scars that ran like rivers across the metal. A deep blue cape trailed behind him, moving with a life of its own. His hair, a striking red touched with gray, framed a face that looked carved from tempered iron.
But none of that mattered.
His presence did.
It radiated through the courtyard like heat bending the air above a flame. The snow around him seemed thinner, as though even winter recognized a wielder more ancient than itself.
An awakened. A powerful one.
The murmurs spread with a mixture of fear and awe. Gildarts.
Stories had reached even the capital. A man who once stood alone atop a collapsing watchtower. A man said to have cut through a winter storm as if it were a curtain of silk. A man who commanded the North not through authority, but survival.
He stopped before them and let the silence settle, heavy and absolute.
Then he spoke.
"Welcome to Winter Bastion."
His voice was smooth, cold, impossible to ignore.
"You are not here to be protected. You are here because the Kingdom deemed you expendable. You were taken because no one will mourn you if you fail."
A faint tremor passed through the boys.
"From this moment on, your value is measured by your usefulness. The ones who learn quickly will endure. The ones who cannot will be reassigned. And those who fail entirely will simply cease to burden us."
His gaze swept across the columns.
"There is no mercy here. No rest. No comfort. You will labor until your bones ache. You will obey until obedience becomes instinct. You will be shaped by this place, or devoured by it."
A brief pause.
"If you reach spring alive… perhaps you may call yourselves soldiers."
He lowered his chin slightly, a gesture sharper than any shout.
"Take them."
The soldiers moved at once, surrounding the children. Hands pushed them into smaller formations. Orders snapped through the air like whips. The newcomers were herded toward the inner sections of the bastion, swallowed by the corridors and courtyards of stone.
Ginjo followed the flow without resistance. His footsteps were steady. His breath calm. His eyes searching.
"All right," il murmured. "Let's see what kind of grave they expect us to crawl out of."
And the bastion closed around them like a colossal jaw, sealing their fate inside.
***
After Gildarts finished speaking, the six hundred children were split into twelve groups of fifty. Ginjo lost sight of the others almost immediately as the soldiers pushed each group in different directions. He followed quietly, moving through a maze of courtyards, metal walkways, and open corridors where seasoned soldiers carried crates, hauled broken chimera parts, or sharpened weapons with methodical precision.
The bastion felt like a living organism, its breath heavy with discipline and old violence.
Their escort did not speak once.
Eventually, he stopped before a wide training ground enclosed by thick palisades. The ground was scarred with old cuts and grooves, littered with broken dummies and splintered wooden posts. It looked less like a place to learn and more like the remains of a place where people had been reshaped.
Five soldiers stood waiting at the center, spaced apart like pillars holding up the cold air itself.
The escort lifted a hand.
"These are the ones assigned to you."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving the fifty children alone under five scrutinizing gazes.
The soldiers remained silent for several seconds, as if weighing every breath, every twitch, every hint of spine or fear among the children.Then the central soldier stepped forward.
A massive man with a great axe strapped to his back. His voice had the weight of a hammer striking stone.
"I am Aldric. I take those who know how to use a sword. Do not lie. Nothing is more useless than a fake soldier."
He stepped back.
Another soldier approached, leaner, calmer, eyes steady like still water.
"Rowan. First aid. If you can stitch, bandage, or stabilize a wound, even poorly, you come with me. Spare me the bluff. The body does not heal with excuses."
He moved aside.
The third was broader, rougher, his arms marked by old burn scars.
"Bromwell. Forge. If you have ever held a hammer without breaking your fingers, approach. I will take eight. No more."
The fourth stepped forward with a restless sharpness, as though standing still irritated him.
"Corven. Runners, endurance, scouts. If you can keep moving long after your legs want to quit, you are mine. I will know immediately if you lie."
Finally, the last soldier advanced.He looked the most human, not because he was kind, but because he seemed tired in a way that came from years, not battles.
"Halden. Those who know nothing come with me. Do not lower your eyes. You are not trash. Not yet."
The sorting began.
Aldric resumed command.
"First question. Who can fight with a sword."
Nine children stepped forward.Ginjo among them.
Aldric nodded once.
"Form a line."
Rowan lifted a hand.
"First aid. Now."
Thirteen children moved.
Bromwell grunted.
"Forge. Eight of you. The rest will be someone else's problem."
Eight children joined him.
Corven snapped his fingers.
"Runners. Fifteen. With me."
Fifteen stepped out.
That left fifteen unmoving.
Halden examined them with a slow, deliberate gaze.
"Good. With me. I will find something for you to do. It may not be pleasant."
When the others were gone, Aldric gestured to the nine remaining.
"Come."
He led them to a rack filled with practice swords. Each blade bore dents and cracks that spoke of many harsh lessons.
Aldric took one and spun it in his hand with insulting ease.
"Pick a weapon."
Ginjo obeyed.The wooden blade was heavy, roughly balanced, but steady enough.
Aldric set his feet, his presence anchoring the space.
"You will come one by one. You will attack me. Not timidly. Not halfway. If you hold back, I send you to Halden. And you do not want to go to Halden."
His eyes lingered on Ginjo as if he already knew something unspoken.
Then he pointed to the first child.
"You. Step forward."
Silence fell across the training ground.
The real testing was about to begin.