Noa, breathing heavily, ran out of the training ground.
The officer watched Noa running away and thought to himself:
"Should I report this to the higher-ups? Or was he sent here specifically for this reason — do they already know?"
That night, Noa couldn't close his eyes at all. Every time his eyelids grew heavy, a coldness would pierce him to the bone, and his entire body would begin to tremble. His breath felt as if it were freezing in his throat, choking him.
Desperately searching for anything that might warm him even a little, he rummaged around. From the drawer of the small table, he pulled out an old, torn rag and threw it over his shoulders. It didn't provide real warmth, but he knew it would at least offer some protection from the biting wind.
Wrapping himself in the thin rag, he lay back down on his bed, but the trembling wouldn't stop. His severely exhausted arms ached the most.
He whispered to himself:
"When will I die… maybe then this pain will finally end…"
With these thoughts, he lay there shivering.
Finally, at dawn, a violent cough woke him. A bitter taste burned in his throat. The illness had already taken deep root in his body.
In the morning, he slowly opened his eyes and tried to get up, but his body lacked the strength to rise.
Nevertheless, the thought of skipping training never even crossed his mind. Gathering what strength he had, he stood up slowly, drank some water from the cup on the table, and stepped outside. The cold air in the corridor struck him like another blow.
With every step, he whispered to himself.
Noa, growing weaker, leaned against the wall.
For a moment, he stared at his hands, then clenched them into fists, took a deep breath, pushed himself off the wall, and continued forward. His footsteps echoed in the frozen corridor.
"Am I really going to give up…?"
Six months passed.
At the break of another dawn, Noa opened his eyes with a new sense of determination.
On the training ground, as usual, they spoke about him openly. But this time, Noa's attitude toward their words was completely different.
"I won't run from their words anymore. They call me weak, trash — yes, maybe I still am… but who knows what the future will bring," he thought.
The officer stepped forward and scanned the ranks.
"Fill the gaps in the formation!"
Several soldiers stepped out and filled the three empty spaces. The soldiers who had filled the ranks whispered among themselves:
"From the original forty-seven, only thirty-eight remain now…"
They lowered their heads, their hands trembling.
"Are we going to die here too?" — such thoughts filled their minds.
The officer's gaze stopped on Noa, his thoughts conflicted.
"The prince turned out to be surprisingly resilient… but how? Why is he still alive?"
For a brief moment, a rare smile appeared on the officer's lips.
His voice rang out with command:
"Good. Listen carefully. Today there is a new test. New soldiers from the Jogan tribe are arriving. Welcome them with respect."
"Understood, sir!" the soldiers replied in unison.
The officer continued:
"There will be no training today. They will arrive in two hours. You will greet them, and then you may rest."
This news spread like a wave of relief. Faces brightened, voices rose with joy.
"Thank you, officer!"
But Noa's thoughts turned inward:
"New soldiers from the Jogan tribe… will they laugh at me too?"
He headed toward the library. From the other side, Garn glanced at him.
"Six months have passed. You still haven't died."