It was already a new day when Daria finally reached the top floor of Svarog. The narrow corridor exuded the heavy smell of candle wax and oxidized metal; the torchlight flickered, casting long shadows that danced like specters on the damp stone walls.
Her head was still throbbing with Kuzma's words — the story of the Berlóga, the indecency of fate choosing another bear for Vadim.
A thread of unease pulled her deeper and deeper, as if something inside her had been violently stirred.
Each step sounded like a hammer against her chest, loaded with questions she didn't dare to voice:
Why hadn't he told her before?
Who was Polina?
What had she really done?
Had she really made the Gatekeeper change his mind?
Then, the tension of the corridor broke. A harsh voice, loaded with fury, sliced through the air like a blade: hard, unintelligible words spat with violence. It wasn't necessary to understand them to know — Kolya was beside himself, and someone had crossed lines that should never be touched.
"Who the hell pissed off Kolya?!"
Daria's heart raced.
The crash came next. Suddenly, a tall man appeared, face pale as wax, eyes wide with fear. His words of apology stumbled from his mouth, fragile, almost breathless. Beside him, two young women backed away with unsteady steps, their features twisted into broken masks of dread, like statues about to crumble.
Daria narrowed her eyes.
Those clothes... They're from the Empire.
A stab of suspicion pierced her. Had she missed something important? A meeting, an official visit? Her heart pounded harder. Being old had given her experience and street-smarts, true — but curiosity and attention to new developments had never been among her virtues.
And then, the reason for the fear revealed itself.
Daria turned her head and saw the figure dominating the corridor: a woman of overwhelming presence, deep wrinkles carved into her face like war scars, and beside her a bear with fur as dark blue as the night. The creature seemed to absorb the torchlight, as if the world around it grew dimmer just because it existed. The animal's gaze was cold, almost human.
The woman stepped forward and the stone groaned beneath her weight. Her authority was so palpable that every gesture felt like a threat.
"You know what?!" — she shouted, each word exploding like a hammer on iron. — "I don't want anything to do with you or your Empire! Get out of here before I rip each of your tongues out! This place is mine, and I do not tolerate intruders!"
The air vibrated. Even the bear let out a low growl, a contained thunder.
The three visitors shrank. The man tried to argue, but his voice trembled like glass about to shatter:
"H-he's still inside… We need to speak with him… It's urgent!"
The woman snorted. The harsh sound was followed by a barrage of insults and threats that filled the corridor like invisible spears. The Imperials lost their footing. They backed away in disarray, eyes full of panic, until the two young women bumped into each other and nearly fell. The imperial cloak dragged across the floor, dignity reduced to dust.
Then, in a burst, they all bolted down the stairs, running like prey.
Daria remained motionless, frozen between shame and astonishment. Her heart beat too fast. She didn't understand who that fury was aimed at, nor why the Imperials spoke of someone "inside." But she felt — like iron burning skin — that it touched on something bigger. Something perhaps better left unknown.
The woman was still panting, brushing white strands from her face with a brusque gesture. For a moment, her expression was pure steel. But when her eyes met Daria's, something shifted. The hatred melted into a cold, calculated smile. In seconds, the blade had turned into a mask of cordiality.
"Ah… you must be the woman who scheduled the day for the 'peculiar' boy."
Her voice now was gentle, almost maternal, but her eyes still scanned every detail of Daria, like a predator studying its prey before deciding whether to strike.
"I'm glad you arrived. This morning was getting annoying. Daria is your name, isn't it?"
The ground seemed to shift under the young woman's feet. Here, words changed meaning depending on presence, and fury could turn to favor in the blink of an eye.
Then, a voice cut through the air.
"You're part of that group of survivors."
Kolya's voice came slow and rough, like corroded iron scraping against stone. Her narrowed eyes, blue as ancient ice, scanned Daria from head to toe, not just observing, but deciphering every detail of her.
"I've read quite a lot about you. I've analyzed your routes, the records, and the absence of casualties."
She hadn't asked anything, but the cadence of her words carried the weight of a hidden question.
"Even so, I can't find any logic in accepting someone inexperienced as a newcomer."
She tilted her head slightly, like someone evaluating a misplaced piece on a game board.
"A group like yours doesn't make room for beginners. You've survived too long not to know how to calculate risks. Unless, of course, there's an unknown reason."
The words lingered between them like suspended blades. The blue bear snorted, releasing warm breath into the icy corridor; the sound echoed like muffled thunder, reminding Daria that every second there was being watched, weighed, measured.
Kolya held her gaze, unblinking.
"Unless, of course, someone was getting too close to the end."
Her voice dropped to an almost whisper, without losing its firmness.
"Accidents tend to be a real fate in the floors where you venture…
But I'd bet my salary you'd never fall for mere Leshiy or Krampus traps.
That old man is far too cunning for something that obvious."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was oppressive, as if each word had left invisible questions in the air, and now it was Daria who had to answer them — even if Kolya had never asked them aloud.
Daria kept her composure. She knew that answering Kolya was like poking a sleeping bear with a short stick.
Deep down, she recognized: Kuzma had never accepted newcomers — especially those with unknown powers… until now.
Kolya leaned slightly forward, closing in even more, her voice oozing like poison masked in sweetness:
"But I must admit… I always thought your brother had a good eye.
If it weren't for the fact that you run from the lower floors like rats, I'd even say you're quite capable.
But hey, old pots still make a good stew. Nothing more than that, of course."
Daria's eyes widened. Kolya never spoke well of anyone. The mere fact she knew Kuzma's and her name was already something to take note of. That wasn't praise: it was the sign of something far more dangerous.
Kolya tucked a silver strand behind her ear, as if it were all a trivial monologue:
"He understands his own limitations. And even so, he achieved what he did. He's always brought me a certain… curiosity."
Her smile, sharp as a knife, made Daria's stomach sink.
Silence weighed in. Daria wasn't sure if she'd heard correctly.
"But I must say something."
Kolya straightened up, and her voice returned to its harsh tone.
"Where did you find that masterpiece?"
"I know, ma'am, I'm sorr… What?"
Daria stumbled over her words, surprised.
Kolya gave a half-smile — the kind that felt more like a threat disguised as charm.
"So even you didn't know…" — she murmured, as if speaking to herself. — "Interesting."
"And what, exactly, am I supposed to know?"
Daria leaned in, but she already knew it was useless.
"Nothing important."
Kolya waved her hand vaguely, like brushing off dust.
"If you came for the boy, I'm afraid you'll have to wait. Just like the unwanted visitors from earlier. He got an extension."
"Extension?"
Daria repeated, confused.
She had never used a trial room. The price was prohibitive, accessible only to the wealthy and high-ranking. Kuzma always said training was training, anywhere, and that patience was the best weapon. Extension was a luxury for those who could afford luxury.
"Yes." — Kolya raised an eyebrow. — "Come back tomorrow. Maybe you'll get to see him."
"Maybe?"
Daria insisted, but her voice came out weak, almost a sigh.
"Trust me, you won't want to interrupt his training."
Kolya crossed her arms, and for a moment, her silhouette seemed larger than it really was.
"Besides, I think this time, your brother might finally let this bird fly away from the nest you call a group."
Her words hung in the air like poisonous smoke.
"Very well. I've said what I needed to. If you want anything else, speak. Otherwise… you can leave. I've already wasted too much of my breath on those Imperial bastards."
Daria swallowed hard.
"Of course. I'll let my brother know. Excuse me."
She walked away, but each step felt heavy.
Kolya remained behind, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on door number 12. That gaze wasn't one of disdain, nor mere curiosity: it was the look of someone sensing an oncoming imbalance.
"I thought that girl would be the revelation of the year…" — she murmured to herself, almost nostalgically. — "But this one… this one must be the finest fruit in at least a hundred years."
Silence reclaimed the floor. Kolya didn't move. She only let slip the thought gnawing at her like a burning doubt:
"Now, what could the Empire want with that boy?"
___________________________________________________
"Ashen, when you give the signal, I'll start. Okay?"
In the vast, snowy and foggy plain, the silence was heavy, broken only by the cold breath of the wind. Nikolai stood still, his breath forming white clouds in the air. To an outside observer, the scene seemed neither intriguing nor threatening — until the snow began to break.
From the frozen ground, five grotesque creatures emerged with dry cracks. They were quadrupeds, but lacked necks; their bodies looked like massive blocks of flesh and bone, supported by four side legs that gave them an awkward gait, almost animal, almost human. Their mouths, large and misshapen like a horse's, gaped open with rows of jagged, uneven teeth, ready to tear.
The air shifted. Instinct screamed danger.
Still, Nikolai didn't move. He just watched, as if time had slowed. The creatures advanced, each step sinking into the snow, until the distance between them narrowed to just a few meters. Then, a deep growl from Ashen snapped him out of his trance.
In a quick reflex, he crouched. His hand pulled the bowstring, and an arrow of pure light shone in the air, vibrating as if made of condensed energy. Nikolai aimed. Released.
The instant it left the bow, the arrow split into five shimmering fragments that cut through the air like lightning. The impact was devastating: each creature was struck in the chest and thrown backward, falling heavily onto the snow. But even fallen, they crawled, claws digging into the frozen ground, trying to reach Nikolai — until they finally stopped.
A metallic sound echoed in the air, and translucent messages appeared before him:
Mission 1 – Eliminate 5 Earth Vultures — COMPLETE
Mission 2 – Eliminate 5 Earth Vultures in 2 minutes — COMPLETE
Mission 3 – Eliminate 4 or more Earth Vultures in 10 seconds — COMPLETE
Sweat dripped from Nikolai's forehead in steady drops. His arms trembled. The moment the arrow left the bow, he was already kneeling, his body emptied, as if every fiber was about to snap.
"Ashen… my whole body hurts…" — he murmured, voice cracking, before letting out a weak laugh. — "But we did it."
The small companion hopped with joy, its short tail wagging almost childishly. But upon seeing Nikolai collapse into the snow, his lips pale as ice, it rushed to him, placing its head against Nikolai's. A green light bloomed from Ashen's body, growing until it nearly blinded the boy.
Warmth surrounded him. Bit by bit, Nikolai's lips regained color, and his breathing began to stabilize. But now Ashen was also exhausted, lying beside him.
They looked at each other, lying in the snow, sharing the fatigue.
"We're doing really well, aren't we?"
A low growl answered — approval in its purest form.
"Alexandra… please… pause simulation for now."
"Understood. Pausing simulation. Moving to rest environment."
Suddenly, the frozen scene dissolved, replaced by a familiar setting. The walls and ceiling now mimicked his home in Medved, but with more life, more warmth. The weight of the snow was gone. Nikolai threw himself onto the bed, pulling Ashen close.
From his chest, he retrieved a carefully kept item: a small book.
"Well… let me give this another read."
Nikolai was genuinely happy.
It had taken nearly five days to realize he simply wasn't capable of using the bow in the traditional way.
He had almost given up — after all, Alkonost's string was stiff, extremely uncomfortable, and seemed more of a hindrance than a help, making the arrow tremble and unstable.
But on the fifth day, Nikolai decided to abandon the string and try using the bow's magic instead. The line of light was light and much easier to manipulate.
His biggest concern, however, was not having enough magic to be relevant in combat. It was no use being able to draw the magical string if he could only do it once or twice.
To his surprise — and relief — even after nearly twenty shots, he still felt well enough to keep going.
The progress after abandoning Alkonost's string and switching to magic was huge.
But what truly made Nikolai shine… was the little book he carried against his chest.
The pages opened, revealing scribbled lines written by someone who had clearly studied to the point of exhaustion.
It was from there that he had learned to conjure the spell that helped him most: Split Ray.
The spell wasn't new, but the application described there was so creative it bordered on the impossible — almost becoming a new spell in its own right.
Nikolai knew that Northern spells weren't many, nor particularly inventive.
After all, the North had always preferred brute force over magic — not for nothing were the most well-known spells related to reinforcement or metamorphosis.
Still, magic persisted as a crucial part for a select few.
The bearers of blue and white bears, for instance, studied spells with such dedication that they often lost themselves in the pursuit of new forms and applications.
Unfortunately, the preference for certain types of magic wasn't the only reason for the scarcity of spells. These scholars — mostly nobles or members of great houses — didn't allow themselves the luxury of making their discoveries public.
As a result, there were very few advanced spells available for those who wished to learn.
The little book he had received from old Sobolev, however, seemed to ignore that system entirely. It taught spells and applications that defied all the logic of the cruel information control imposed by the northern upper caste.
"Could Marya Sobolev really have written all this?" — he murmured, running his fingers over the strange, unmistakable handwriting. — "If so, her knowledge is incredible."
Ashen was already snoring loudly as Nikolai lost himself in the pages.
He closed the book and tucked it back against his chest, before closing his eyes.
"Well… at least I can use Split Ray against five enemies before nearly passing out. I think that counts as a victory."
Before falling asleep, he remembered the last page. On it, an illustration had been revealed: two giant bears, side by side.
Nikolai immediately knew what it meant.
Unfortunately, just beginning to pronounce the spell already made him feel like he'd faint — so he gave up on it quickly, even though he was curious to understand what it actually did.
With a sigh, he finally let his exhaustion take over.