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 cut across his face. The courtyard, covered in snow, had been churned into a mix of mud and ice under the soldiers' boots. In the center, rows of men stood with swords, spears, or bows in hand.
The officer climbed the raised platform and commanded:
— "Here, there are no names, no titles, no memories of palaces. Only strength and endurance survive. Fall once—and you stay down forever!"
The soldiers roared in response. Noa's heart raced. He had never held a weapon in his life.
A soldier approached, a cold smirk on his face.
— "So this is the pampered prince? You'll learn fast—no one here will protect you."
Noa said nothing. His eyes lifted 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, yet he did not yield.
The officer's gaze lingered on him—no mockery, no mercy—only assessment.
By evening, men collapsed from exhaustion. Noa sank to the ground, his chest burning, yet the fire inside him still surged. He whispered to himself:
"I am no longer a fallen prince. In this cold, I will be reborn. I must endure. My path begins here."
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.
"This is a test. Even if they give me the worst, I will forge it into my weapon."
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!"
— "And he thinks he can protect us? He can barely stand!"
Rage flared in Noa's chest, but his face remained calm.
"Mock me if you will… I will rise anyway. One day, I will silence all of you."
— "Pair off!" the officer commanded.
A towering soldier stepped forward, broad-shouldered, his eyes icy. His armor's dragon motif gleamed like a living beast in the dark. He spun his sword easily and grinned.
— "I have brought no one down in this yard. And you, pampered boy, I will drive into the ground."
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 forced himself up faster.
"If I fall a hundred times, I will rise a hundred and one. I refuse to stay down!"
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. He fell onto the ice, pain shooting through his hand. Yet he got up 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. Men 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. "Those who endure will see dawn. Those who cannot—the snow will claim them."
Applause and cheers rose. Some voices mocked from the ranks:
— "The prince falls and rises again!"
— "Perhaps the ice should take him instead!"
Noa drew a deep breath, staring at his bloodied hands. Cuts, frost, rust—but his will remained unbroken.
"I have not broken. I will survive here. I will not be crushed. Even this cold will become my weapon."
In the torchlight, his eyes burned like fire. The dragon on the wall seemed to smile at him. From within, Noa whispered:
"I will live."
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