Nikolai and the others were kept away, stationed at the edge of the main camp.
They had no right to come closer — only to observe.
Their guard fell to a single tamer.
She looked nervous. Far too young for that position, almost out of place in a place built on blood and broken bones scattered across the plain.
Her face still carried the softness of youth, but her eyes betrayed the recent weight of war.
Beside her stood her bear — a brown one, vivid in color but small for its kind, no taller than a meter and a half at the shoulder. Too small to carry a rider, its purpose was clearly support, not combat.
Even so, it was still a brown bear — and one swipe of its paw could tear apart any first-year student in seconds.
She held a firm posture, but her restless fingers betrayed her nerves.
Her attention was fixed on two silhouettes advancing through the emptiness of the plain.
With each step, the white mantle of snow was stained crimson by what the wind had yet to bury — fragments of a battle that, though long over, still seemed to breathe.
The figures grew clearer. One broad and heavy, advancing with confidence; the other, slender, followed like a shadow.
They were no mere messengers.
Even from afar, there was something in the way the wind seemed to recoil around them.
And behind them, a bear threaded with golden veins followed silently.
Nikolai felt the silence grow heavy.
His own breathing sounded too loud in his chest.
Then someone beside him broke the quiet — their voice trembling and curious:
"Who are those… coming from the enemy's side?"
One of the students pointed toward the horizon.
On the opposite side of the plain, five men emerged — armored from head to toe, their suits reflecting the gray light of the sky like steel mirrors.
They rode massive horses clad in metal plates, turning the beasts into walking war engines.
Each heavy step sank deep into the snow, yet their advance was steady. Relentless.
The courage of those five was almost absurd.
Everyone knew: a single move from Pavel or Ivan, a single command to the golden-white bear, and they would be torn apart in seconds.
Still, they rode without hesitation — as if the power here belonged to them, not the other way around.
"What do you think they might be thinking?"
The soft voice of young Durova broke through Nikolai's trance.
It took him a few seconds to answer. His eyes stayed locked on the approaching riders.
"Sorry… Honestly, I have no idea. The last time there was a conversation was a long time ago."
He sighed. His voice dropped low, but loud enough for those nearby to hear.
"The books say that, back then, there was a truce. And that our territory beyond the wall was ceded in exchange for it."
Sofia lit up, her voice tinted with cautious hope.
"So… it might be a good thing?!"
Nikolai shook his head slowly, the hardness in his eyes cutting through her optimism.
"Not necessarily. Nothing grows in this territory. Everything we get comes from magic, and even then, food is scarce. You must've felt it last night… the cold that chokes us outside the walls."
He paused, the words leaving his mouth like frost.
"Here, even the air seems to want to kill us. To me, they just wanted this — for us to die slowly. Frozen and starving. Without them having to lift a finger."
The words spread like barbs.
Even those pretending not to listen felt them sink deep.
The young tamer escorting them turned her gaze away, jaw tight, fists clenched.
Pavel's golden bear was the first to stop, exhaling a hot breath that seemed to boil the icy air around it.
Even the enemy horses — beasts trained for war — neighed uneasily in the presence of that almost mythical creature.
Ivan and Pavel continued side by side, marching toward the enemy skirmish line.
Their steps fell like hammers against the snow, each movement reverberating like a prelude to war.
On the other side, the riders halted.
Four remained mounted, unmoving — a wall of steel and silence.
The fifth rider, however, stepped forward.
He dismounted with the calm of someone who had never known fear.
His armor creaked under its own weight, every hinge a metallic scream in the white void.
He was a man of dignified bearing — tall and steady — but before Ivan, he seemed no more than a shadow carved against a wall of flesh and iron.
And yet, his posture did not falter.
He did not bow.
He did not waver.
The frozen plain became a stage.
The wind that once howled through the mountains fell silent, as if even the earth itself waited for the first words.
From afar, the novices watched.
To them, it was nothing more than black silhouettes carved against the crimson white —
but the weight of that moment pressed down on them like a suffocating wave.
The silence was absolute.
Even the smaller bears rubbed nervously against their handlers, sensing that any sound, any movement, could ignite a war.
Time dragged on.
From that distance, it was impossible to hear the words — only gestures, sharp stares, and pauses far too long not to carry threat.
Then, at last, the figures parted.
The emissary returned to his horse.
Pavel and Ivan turned, walking back toward the camp.
Their massive silhouettes rose against the eternal white like moving mountains.
But even from afar, something was different.
Pavel walked absorbed, each step heavy with the weight of a bitter truth that gnawed at him.
Ivan, by contrast, was as stoic as ever — unbreakable — yet his clenched fists, grinding together like iron chains, betrayed what his face did not: disgust.
Something happened.
The thought burned in Nikolai's chest.
It wasn't just the veterans' tension or the forced quiet among the ranks — something was deeply wrong.
The young tamer supervising them, her expression tight, raised her voice authoritatively, trying to hide her unease.
"We're heading back."
Everyone obeyed, but their eyes stayed fixed on the silhouettes of Pavel and Ivan entering the massive tent.
No word of explanation followed — only Ivan's dry command: wait.
The silence that followed was worse than any answer.
It wasn't long before Anna was called.
The woman who once carried herself with pure arrogance now appeared grave, her eyes heavy, her steps quick but uneasy.
Even her posture betrayed concern.
Something was about to happen.
Sofia leaned toward Nikolai, her voice so low it barely rose above the whispering wind:
"Hey… aren't you curious? Don't you want to know what they're discussing?"
Nikolai hesitated.
Responsibility screamed inside him — but curiosity, his and Ashen's, burned too strong to ignore.
"All right… but how do you plan to do that?"
The girl's answer came with quiet conviction:
"That tent over there."
She pointed discreetly to a canvas structure a few meters away — forgotten, weather-beaten, the fabric torn and flapping softly in the wind.
"Since we got here, I've never seen anyone go in or out of it.
It's close enough to the main tent for us to listen without being seen."
Nikolai's heartbeat quickened — but he nodded.
They moved in silence, leaving the rest of the students behind.
Every step demanded care: the snow creaked like breaking bones, and even the air seemed to betray their boldness.
Minutes later, they reached the shadow of the abandoned tent.
Ashen and another small black bear followed, moving like living shadows beside their tamers.
There, pressed against the cold canvas, the wind muffled the camp's sounds and carried the voices from the great tent more clearly.
The first to speak was Pavel — hoarse, firm, his words like a contained roar of thunder.
"I'm not letting you die for nothing. I'll go. And that's final. Ivan will go with me."
The reply came firm, youthful — filled with pride, but also deep respect.
"Lord, I've waited my whole life for this moment. Give me this chance."
Ivan stepped in, tension threaded through every word.
"Anna, I understand your thirst for battle. But we can't afford to show weakness. There's too much at stake."
"I'm sorry, Lord of the Stronghold…" — Anna's voice cut through the silence like a blade. — "But here, I answer only to Pavel. Not to you."
"How dare you?!" — Pavel's roar struck like steel on an anvil, the tent trembling with the sound.
"Calm down, Pavel." — Ivan's tone lowered, the voice of someone restraining a collapsing colossus. — "It's all right."
A pause followed — heavy, suffocating.
When Pavel spoke again, his words carried the weight of both command and resignation.
"Anna… when I was your age, I was already losing to Ivan. And even now, I don't stand a chance against him. I'd rather have him by my side than you. And that won't be discussed again."
"What I need from you is something else: if something happens to me… you'll replace me. Nothing more."
"But father…" — her voice trembled.
"Shut your mouth." — Pavel's tone struck like a hammer, hard and unyielding. — "Here I am Lord Pavel. Your commander. Obey."
Outside, the hidden spies froze.
The world itself seemed to hold its breath with them.
Then — the heavy crunch of paws crushing snow shattered the stillness.
A white blur surged forward.
The bear's fur shimmered like living snow under the moonlight.
Pupkin appeared atop it, a venomous smile curling on his lips.
"Well, well, well… what do we have here? Spies."
"Damn… it's those idiots." — Sofia muttered, but it was already too late.
From the other side, Gleb's brown bear stepped in, blocking their escape.
Its guttural growl rippled through the air, reverberating in their bones — paralyzing them.
"You're coming with me." — Gleb's eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.
Dragged back toward the main group, the young spies were thrown before Anna, who stood waiting outside the tent with the other students.
Her expression was cold steel on the verge of shattering.
Pupkin's grin widened, savoring the moment.
"Miss Anna… look what we found spying on the conversation inside the Tent."
Anna said nothing as the twins poured out their story.
She didn't interrupt, didn't frown, didn't even blink.
She simply listened — still, distant — as if their words were waves breaking uselessly against a faraway shore.
When they finished, she nodded once, her eyes lost somewhere no one else could follow.
"Thank you, Pupkin and Gleb."
"I'm Gleb." — one said proudly.
"I'm Pupkin." — added the other.
"Whatever…" — her voice came out dry, detached, hollow. — "You're dismissed."
Disappointment flickered across their faces.
They had expected a display — the feared Executioner of the Strait in all her wrath.
Instead, they found only a woman who seemed to have aged thirty years in minutes.
Still, neither dared protest.
They turned and left, grumbling, spitting their frustration into the snow.
Anna didn't move. Not even her eyes followed them.
Something inside her was breaking — and Nikolai saw it.
He felt it.
That woman already knew what was coming.
She drew in a long breath, her voice cracking under exhaustion.
"Kids… tonight you'll sleep with us."
There was no authority left — only fatigue.
"I'll send a scout to inform the Stronghold of your absence. There are some free tents farther north, but I believe you two already know that."
She pointed, weakly, toward Nikolai and Sofia.
"Show the others the way."
And then she turned away — walking slowly, head bowed, vanishing into the cold.
Her steps carried her far beyond the camp…
into thoughts no one else could reach.