Dawn broke over the castle walls with the loud sound of horns. Half-asleep, Noa threw off his thin blanket as the officer's harsh voice rang in his ears:
— "New recruits! Out to the courtyard!"
The freezing wind struck his face. The snow-covered yard had already turned into a churned mixture of mud and ice beneath the soldiers' boots. In the center, the dragons stood in formation, holding swords, spears, or bows. Some were empty-handed.
The officer climbed onto a raised platform and gave the order:
— "There are no dreams here, no childhood, no games, no laughter — nothing. Only love for the Homeland and the strength found to defend that love."
The soldiers answered with a roar. Noa's heart pounded with panic. He had never held a weapon in his life.
One soldier stepped closer, a cold smile on his face.
— "So this is the fallen prince, is it? You'll learn fast. Or you'll be forced to."
Noa said nothing. He lifted his eyes to the sky.
The drill began. The first exercise was running, said the officer.
The dragons lined up in two rows along the snow-covered circular path. Noa was in the second position of the left row.
When the officer turned his head to the right, one of the recruits broke into a wide smile, dashed forward, and started running. The others hurriedly followed him. Noa, who had been waiting for the signal, panicked and started running last.
The officer watched the recruits running ahead.
— "They seem to be adapting," he said.
After a few laps, Noa's breathing became labored.
After two more laps, the recruits began to slow down. The one who had run first caught up to Noa from behind and glanced at him.
— "If you fall, you won't get up," he said and dashed forward.
Noa, breathing heavily, looked at him and quickened his pace slightly.
The next exercise was running while carrying stones of various sizes.
Noa picked up a smaller stone and began walking toward the hill. After a few steps, all the other recruits disappeared from sight. After walking for several hours, Noa's arms grew weak and he dropped the stone. His legs gave out, and he sank to his knees. Sitting with his hand on his chest, taking deep breaths, he saw the other recruits running back, still carrying their stones.
Noa stood up and began walking back behind them.
His hands bled, and every movement felt heavy.
The officer paid him no attention.
By evening, the dragons were collapsing from exhaustion. Noa sank to the ground. He whispered to himself:
"This is so hard… so hard. Must I really live like this?"
Suddenly, a cry rang out from the western tower. The officer's voice followed:
— "Take your weapons!"
Old chests were opened, and the smell of rust spread through the air. Some were given polished spears or sharp swords. Noa was handed a heavy, rusted, badly made sword. His hand trembled, but he did not let go.
Their black iron armor was decorated with the dragon emblem; in the torchlight, the metal eyes of the dragons seemed to burn like fire.
— "Look, the prince can't even lift his sword!"
— "He'll die soon, hahaha — look at him, barely standing!"
— "Pair up!" the officer ordered.
A tall, broad-shouldered soldier stepped forward, his eyes cold as ice. He spun his sword easily and grinned.
"Prince...?" he said, pausing for a moment before continuing. "A child of luxury can never become a true dragon."
He beckoned Noa closer with a motion of his hand.
Noa struck with his rusted sword. Garn calmly raised his blade and blocked the blow.
Steel rang against steel. Garn's first strike knocked Noa down with a single hit. Snow filled his mouth, and blood ran along his lip.
The others did not seem surprised, as if they had expected it.
"This is the only look that suits you," Garn said in a low voice.
Noa rose slowly. Garn's second strike sent him crashing to the ground again, skidding across the ice, his palms torn and bleeding. But this time, he stood up faster.
Seeing Noa rise again, Garn looked mildly surprised.
For a moment, the officer's eyes fixed on him.
"Pointless efforts will not change the fate already decided for you," he thought.
"Enough," said the officer, stepping forward.
Garn silently looked at Noa, then returned his sword to its scabbard.
Then came the stone-lifting test. Four-person teams had to lift huge stones together. Noa's group pushed him aside.
"Get out of the way!" one of them mocked.
He was shoved. Pain shot through his arm. He propped himself on his elbow in the snow and pressed his whole body against the stone, lifting with all the strength he had. But it still was not enough.
The brutal day continued — the dragons fell, stood up, and fell again. Bloodied and trembling, Noa remained standing until the end. His breath felt as if it were tearing through his chest, and his vision was fading.
At last, the officer climbed the platform. Behind him, the iron dragon carved into the wall glinted in the torchlight as if it were breathing fire.
— "Those who lose today will not be fed."
Shouts and cries erupted.
Some fell silent, thinking only of surviving another hungry day.
Noa drew a deep breath and looked down at his hands. Cuts, cold, rust.
"No food for me?"
Across the formation, Garn looked at Noa with open hatred.
"You are unworthy of a luxurious life. You nobles will answer for the lavish lives you lived, for the dragons sacrificed because of you."