The sound of the bugle sliced through the dawn like a blade — shrill, merciless — pulling Nikolai and his squad out of sleep as if they had been torn from a deep dream.
Nikolai jolted upright, heart pounding, breath short. The cold rushed in through every seam of the tent, biting his skin awake.
Pushing aside the flap, he saw him.
Ivan.
Exactly in the same position as the night before. Feet still buried in the snow, body motionless, eyes fixed on the horizon. Like a mountain that does not bend to the wind.
"He… didn't sleep?"
Nikolai's whisper came out as a cloud of vapor, disbelief clinging to every word.
The thought had barely formed when it was shattered by Ivan's thunderous voice, which spread through the camp like a command from the heavens themselves:
"Prepare yourselves. We're heading down. Gargantua is calling us."
___________________________________________________________________________
"The Strait of Gargantua is the main frontline against the Empire."
The woman's voice rang firm, carried by the cold wind that cut like a razor.
The woman who had shouted the words was named Anna. It was clear she had once been beautiful — that much was evident.
But time and war had left their marks: sunken eyes from sleepless nights, deep cuts across her face, scars tearing through her arms and torso. Everything about her now formed a hardened, worldly figure.
At her side stood her brown bear, nearly two meters tall, reflecting the same brutality: marked hide, tense muscles, eyes always alert.
"To the east," she continued, pointing to one side of the great wall of mountains, "we have the Sea of Fire. It's a guarded outpost, but rarely attacked. After all, Mount Sopka, an active volcano for nearly two hundred years, has made that place practically uninhabitable — let alone attackable."
"To the west, the Abyss of Perdition. That's where most of the Blues are sent. There, any aerial attack can be easily repelled, since they never come in large numbers."
She let the words hang a moment before continuing.
"They say there are creatures in that abyss — beings we honestly have no idea what they are — but they don't seem to look kindly on the winged ones from the Empire. All it takes is a significant number of them gathering, and those creatures simply appear and kill them."
Her mouth twisted with a hint of disbelief.
"Honestly, I don't know if that part is true. But the fact that we've never been attacked by an army of winged ones must have a reason."
She paused, and her expression hardened.
"But here… here there is no sea of toxic gas. No abyssal creatures to keep us apart from the enemy. Here, all we have is this trench… and an unstable, hostile enemy."
Silence spread among the rookies, broken only by the wind.
"Any questions?"
Her gaze cut across the line like blades.
Young Durova raised her hand, hesitant, but courage overcame hesitation.
"Isn't it… dangerous to be here? The enemy is right there."
She pointed at the giant tents that rose barely over two kilometers away, at the end of the strait.
"What if we're attacked?"
The veteran's smile was almost a sneer.
"Good question. In fact, a few months ago, during a suicidal attack by a lone enemy, my father found a letter on the body of the one who tried to kill us. The letter… made an offer. They wanted something in exchange for something."
Her voice darkened.
"Of course, I don't like the idea of negotiating with those sons of bitches — but the last thing I want is to send my comrades home wrapped in white silk."
Her jaw tightened.
"And the most absurd part? What they asked for was simple: that we don't cross over to their side. That we tolerate these feeble attacks they stage from time to time — with the obligation, of course, of killing all the invaders."
She paused, letting the words settle like frost.
"Yesterday, for example… the attack we faced was exactly one of those."
As she answered the question, she realized her explanation had sounded a little too complex and vague. In truth, she needed to show what it all meant — after all, what was implied wasn't easy to grasp.
With a subtle movement, she turned her body and gestured with her hand.
"Come with me."
The brown bear growled low, its breath forming heavy clouds in the freezing air. The group followed in silence, each step making the snow creak louder than their racing hearts.
In the background, the enemy tents loomed like giant shadows in the darkness.
The stoic woman, with firm muscles and a face marked by scars, walked unhurriedly between a few tents until she stopped in front of a cart covered by a dark tarp. The putrid smell escaping from under the fabric already revealed what was inside: something that attracted swarms of flies, a stench so thick it seemed to stick to the throat.
"Take a look in there."
She ordered, pointing at the tarp.
Young Durova hesitated, but obeyed.
She pulled the cloth…
And a head rolled out.
It hit the edge of the cart and dropped straight at the girl's feet. The lifeless face landed between her legs, its glazed eyes staring into nothingness.
She collapsed to the ground, letting out a scream that echoed through the camp.
The veteran's booming laughter broke the silence.
"Don't worry, girl. That one's already dead!"
She roared, joined by a few guards who found the scene amusing.
To her, the rookies — and especially the black-beast tamers — were nothing more than fresh meat, sensitive to horrors that, to real soldiers of the brown castes, were already trivial.
But before the laughter died, a calm and unexpected voice rose behind her.
"Interesting…"
The veteran rolled her eyes and frowned.
It was the strange boy. The same one Ivan had asked her to watch closely a few hours earlier.
In truth, the young captain had no interest whatsoever in accompanying black bear tamers on a tour through the camp.
However, a direct order from the commander — her father — who needed to discuss something with Ivan, had forced her to accept that useless and senseless task.
The only thing that caught her attention was what Ivan had said:
"You'll be surprised by the boy with the gray bear."
The boy's eyes were what intrigued her the most: one a deep blue, like ancient ice, and the other as black as a moonless night.
She, of course, thought it absurd that Ivan cared about that cripple and his small bear — even if he was a Deviant.
Still, the way he observed the heads and bodies piled in the cart made her hesitate.
"What did you notice, boy?"
She asked, testing him.
Nikolai kept his eyes steady.
"Their clothes… they're not from the Empire,"
he said, pointing with his chin.
"And their wrists, their necks… they have marks from shackles. Not to mention their features.
They're prisoners, aren't they? Why?"
For the first time in many months, the woman was truly surprised. It had taken her weeks to piece those clues together — and now a rookie had spit them out immediately.
"Condemned to death, to be precise."
She replied, spitting the words like venom.
"Those sons of bitches use us as their meat grinder. Yesterday, they sent prisoners from some rebellion.
Last month, it was tribes from the far south. It doesn't matter who…"
Her voice hardened, loaded with bitterness and grim irony.
"In the end, it's a win-win for them.
If they defeat us here, they destroy our homes and families.
If they lose, they still carry out a death sentence against their enemies — using our trenches as the scaffold."
Silence fell over the group. Every gaze wandered over the mutilated bodies, trying to get used to the acrid smell and the grotesque sight of torn flesh.
"These bodies will be sent to Medved as tribute to Vybor,"
said the woman, with the same coldness one would use to speak about transporting lumber or ore.
"So, if you could put the head back in the cart, I'd appreciate it."
Sofia seemed paralyzed by the shock, but Nikolai acted before the tension could stretch any further.
He grabbed the head by its blood-matted hair, feeling the skin peel away from the bone in his hand.
The skull slipped like rotten fruit, but even so, he hurled the piece of human back onto the cart.
Then, he extended his hand to Durova, helping her to her feet.
"Thank you,"
she murmured, still pale.
"It was nothing. I thought your question was very pertinent. Thanks for asking it."
Both returned to formation. The simple gesture broke the ice between them — a bond born of shared misery.
The instructor crossed her arms and ended the tour without ceremony.
"Very well. That concludes our little walk.
Ivan will be waiting for you at the main tent.
If you hear the signal… run.
Run far from the battlefield."
She left as she had arrived: harsh, indifferent, with no farewell or explanation — just a sharp cut of presence.
The silence grew heavy, and the young ones glanced at each other, clenching their fists until their knuckles turned white.
The prejudice against black bear tamers was clear.
To the veterans, they were little more than disposable tools — bodies to be thrown onto the front lines like sacrificial stones when everything went wrong.
And yet, the presence of the brown bear that accompanied her — scarred as though carved by a thousand battles — made the reason for her arrogance obvious. Against a creature like that, anyone there, rookie or not, would die like an insect.
Nikolai swallowed hard. For the first time, he clearly felt the abyss between them.
At the center of the pitched tents, one structure stood out like a colossus of canvas and iron.
The great main tent rose nearly twenty meters wide and ten meters tall, towering above all the others like an improvised war castle.
To the rookies, it looked more like a forbidden sanctuary than a simple tent.
The group advanced in line, passing through narrow corridors between smaller tents.
Brown bears appeared here and there — massive, hulking shapes gnawing on bones still clinging with meat, others simply staring at the youths with hard eyes.
Veteran tamers chuckled quietly, going out of their way to scare the newcomers with sudden feints.
Most of the students recoiled or looked away.
Only Nikolai walked with the calm of someone crossing a busy street in Medved — indifferent to the threats.
When they reached the entrance of the great tent, they were stopped.
"Halt. Who are you?"
growled one of the guards.
Two young men stood before the group, so alike they looked like distorted reflections of one another. The twins had the same haircut, the same broad build of warriors forged from youth — and the same cruel eyes, glinting like blades ready to cut.
In their shadow, two bears stood motionless, but their mere presence was enough to make the air feel heavy.
A robust white one, standing 1.7 meters at the shoulder, radiated restrained brutality; beside him, an even larger brown, nearly two meters tall, kept its snout raised, as if evaluating each rookie present.
The power emanating from the beasts was suffocating — a reminder that a single command could turn the camp into a bloodbath.
And yet, there was something dissonant in that image of intimidation.
The fur — clean, smooth, immaculate — bore none of the scars that veteran bears wore like war crests. No scratches, no half-healed bites, no signs of the battles that shaped true champions. It was as if the two animals were well-polished statues of untested power.
That contrast became even clearer when compared to the twins' expressions.
Where the bears exuded a strange purity, the young men exuded arrogance and venom.
The crooked smile of one completed the look of disdain on the other, as if their mere existence were reason enough to scorn everyone around them.
"Captain Anna sent us here to join with Leader Ivan,"
one of the students replied, her voice hesitant.
The twins exchanged a glance and burst out laughing.
"Did you hear that, brother? A few rats with black bears want to go inside the main tent."
"I heard, I heard. Ridiculous, isn't it?"
The second one leaned in, spitting on the ground.
"Listen here, children. You stay quiet, out here, and wait for the man to come out. None of you are setting your filthy feet inside that tent."
The humiliation fell over the rookies like a heavy shadow.
No one dared to speak up.
Heads lowered. Hands trembled. Silence choked the air.
Until Nikolai stepped forward.
"I understand there might be some unspoken rule about this place,"
he said firmly, without raising his voice.
"But we at least need the leader of the Fortress to be notified of our arrival."
A harsh laugh echoed.
"Look at that, brother…"
One of the twins leaned in, staring down at him.
"We've got a Deviant here — and crippled, no less."
"Oh yes,"
replied the other, with a wicked grin.
"And he thinks a little color in his bear's fur makes him special."
The laughter spread among the brothers and reached even some nearby veterans watching from their tents.
The students, powerless, could only feel the sting of shame burning across their bodies.
But Nikolai did not avert his gaze.
Behind him, Ashen growled low.
The silence hung like a blade suspended in the air—
until a harsh voice exploded, shattering the tension:
"What the fuck is going on out here?"
The heavy canvas of the main tent was pulled aside, revealing the figure of a man.
The top of his head was bald, his sparse beard showed signs of neglect, and the deep bags under his eyes carved trenches into his face — marks of someone who had carried battles longer than a lifetime.
His body bore the weight of the years, but every step exuded authority — the presence of someone who had killed and survived enough to become stone.
Behind him appeared Ivan.
The giant said nothing. He simply watched, arms crossed, his gaze fixed not on the twins who had stirred trouble, but on Nikolai — as if awaiting the outcome with silent interest.
One of the brothers rushed to speak, his voice full of false indignation:
"Lord Pavel, forgive the interruption, but these students…"
He pointed with disdain at Nikolai and the rookies.
"They dared call us arrogant!"
The air smelled of gunpowder and old leaves as Pavel slowly exhaled from his pipe.
He let the smoke spread like a suffocating mist while his tired eyes scanned the guards, the rookies, and then fixed on Nikolai — for a second longer than they should have.
A weight heavier than curiosity. A weight of judgment.
Ivan raised his chin slightly, about to speak—
but Pavel lifted a hand.
A simple, firm gesture that silenced even the giant.
"No…"
Pavel's voice was drawn out, but deep — like the echo of a cave.
"I'll handle this."
He walked two steps forward, but did not stop before the boy.
Instead, he halted before one of the brothers.
The tip of his pipe still smoldered between his calloused fingers.
"Gleb…"
"I'm Pupkin, sir."
"Whatever."
Pavel shot the reply like a dry punch.
"Do you know why the two of you are stationed at the door of my tent, and not in the trenches like the others?"
The brothers exchanged glances, confused.
Gleb was the first to step forward, his voice swollen with pride.
"Because we were exceptional, and were granted the honor of protecting you."
The flap of the tent shifted—
and an immense shadow fell across the snow.
A colossal white bear stuck its head out, its eyes like icy slits.
But that wasn't the only thing that set it apart.
Threads of gold shimmered throughout its fur, as if the very light of the sun had been woven into its coat.
Nikolai held his breath.
"Another Deviant."
Pavel lifted his gaze to the brothers.
"You really think… I need protection?"
The silence weighed like stone.
The twins' smirks faltered, and for a moment, their confidence crumbled.
"You're here because your families asked. Not because you're useful."
Pavel's voice was cold, cruel in its bluntness.
"I agreed to keep you alive just to satisfy requests.
If it were up to me, you'd already have your asses planted in the trenches like everyone else."
He took a step forward.
The golden-white bear growled low, the sound reverberating like distant thunder.
"The truth is simple: you're too stupid to understand your own place.
You don't deserve to talk shit about anyone.
Get out of my sight before I send you to Anna. She'd love to shape two 'men' out of you."
The brothers' eyes widened in terror at the mention of Anna.
Without another word, they spat hurried apologies and backed away, nearly stumbling, vanishing from sight.
Pavel exhaled cigar smoke, and only then did he turn his gaze to Nikolai.
His tired expression softened for a moment.
"I apologize for my men's behavior. You must be Nikolai."
His eyes inevitably fell to the boy's iron leg — then to the gray bear, who was observing everything with quiet curiosity.
"I've heard a few things about you…"
Pavel let the sentence hang in the air, as if testing its weight on Nikolai's shoulders.
Then, he removed the ember from his pipe, crushing it against the snow until the last wisp of smoke disappeared.
He slipped the object into his pocket with a slow, almost ceremonial gesture.
"Unfortunately, I won't be able to talk much right now."
He raised his gaze toward the south, where the wind carried an invisible omen, and his deep voice echoed like stones tumbling down a cliff:
"The enemy… wants to talk."
Without looking back, Pavel stepped into the open field.
His Deviant bear followed, revealing itself fully as it left the tent.
It wasn't as tall as the Gatekeeper, but its build was unlike any other: tense muscles, a wild gaze, and not a trace of hibernation in its history.
Nikolai watched, stunned.
He must weigh four or five tons…
The heavy steps sank into the snow, and the sound of impact echoed like war drums.
Ivan, still at the entrance, turned to the students.
"We'll return shortly. I'll accompany Pavel for support."
Sofia seized the moment of calm to speak:
"Sir Ivan… is it common for the enemy to want to talk?"
The giant glanced sideways at her, then raised his gaze to the horizon.
His eyes seemed to pierce the enemy lines, searching for something beyond what anyone else could see.
"The last time that happened…"
He paused, voice deep and quiet — a memory weighing every syllable.
"I was your age, young Durova."
He sighed, the sound heavy as falling snow.
"This is new for me too."
And without waiting for another word, he advanced southward —
toward the enemy's shadow.