Noa was sitting in the carriage.
His head was lowered.
"Why did I do something wrong?"
Lost in these thoughts, he remained silent throughout the entire journey.
"Prince," said the coachman, glancing back, "I still can't believe they're sending you to a place like this."
"I am no longer a prince," Noa replied in a low voice. "Call me by my name."
The coachman turned his head back for a moment.
"Forgive me, I'm used to the old way."
"N… Noa."
"The Queen and His Majesty both cherished you greatly. But what happened today… it shocked even me."
Noa gave no answer.
And so, after seven long days of travel, they finally arrived at the Northern Border Fortress.
The dragon soldiers standing in disciplined formation at the gates noticed the royal carriage.
As they approached, the commander, seeing the royal insignia, stepped forward and asked sharply:
"Identify yourselves!"
"We are from the Central Palace," replied the coachman. "By royal decree, we have brought the former prince, Noa."
The soldiers approached, lifted the curtain, and stared at Noa.
"So, you're the fallen prince?" one of them said.
After inspecting the carriage, they gave a curt nod.
"You may enter."
The gate creaked open with a low groan. The carriage rolled slowly inside.
For the first time, Noa lifted his head and looked at the Northern Fortress.
The air inside was even colder.
The fortress walls were covered with thick layers of frost.
Black smoke rose from the towers into the sky.
Torches burned in every corner, yet their flames could not dispel the relentless cold.
The courtyard was vast and covered in deep snow. The ground was marked with countless hoofprints.
Soldiers trained in precise formations; their shouts echoed throughout the yard.
Some practiced sword strikes, others hammered at enormous wooden dummies, while a few sharpened their blades against the freezing wind.
Noa watched them in silence.
These dragons were different.
There was no mercy in their eyes, no trace of a smile on their faces.
They lived far from the heart of the Empire — living solely for war.
When the carriage came to a halt, a heavily armored officer approached.
His armor was forged from black iron, with a dragon emblem engraved upon the shoulder plates.
His gaze was cold and oppressive.
"So, you are Noa — the former prince," he said in a harsh tone.
"This place is now your home. Forget the splendor of the palace.
To survive here, two rules are enough: the first is strength, the second is obeying the commander's orders."
His words carried across the courtyard.
The soldiers paused their training and turned to look at Noa.
In their eyes burned not only surprise, but open mockery.
"Look, the Emperor's little darling has arrived," someone whispered.
"I wonder how long he'll last in this frozen hell?" another sneered.
Noa said nothing. His heart pounded rapidly, yet he kept his head held high.
The inner halls of the fortress were dark and bitterly cold.
Upon entering the great hall, the ceilings soared high above, and the walls were constructed of icy stone.
Rusty shields and ancient weapons hung from the walls.
Unlit hearths groaned with the sound of the wind.
Inside, Noa thought:
"So this is my new home now."
The deeper he ventured, the more intense the cold became.
Narrow corridors were built of rough stone; drops of ice fell from the ceilings to the floor.
The wind howled through cracks in the windows, carrying a ghostly, piercing chill.
Soldiers stood along both sides of the corridor, their gazes tracking Noa as he passed.
Walking between them felt like passing through a gauntlet of enemies.
The officer stopped and pushed open a heavy door.
Inside was a small, dimly lit room. Bare stone walls.
On the floor lay an old wool carpet.
In the corner stood an iron bed with a thin, cold blanket.
A wooden table and chair — plain and rough, poorer even than a servant's quarters.
"This will be your room," the officer said coldly.
"Titles mean nothing here — whether prince or heir makes no difference.
From now on, you will eat the same bread as the soldiers and train as they do."
Noa said nothing.
He stepped into the cold room — no luxury, no warmth.
He placed his palm on the table.
The wood was ice-cold, but that chill could not break him.
He remembered his mother's seal — the moment he had held it, a gentle warmth had seemed to flow into his heart.
At that moment, a horn sounded outside.
The rhythmic footsteps of soldiers echoed through the courtyard.
The officer's voice rang out:
"All newcomers — training begins at dawn!
In the Northern Border Fortress, only the strong survive!"
Noa looked out through the small window.
Snow was falling, and the wind howled without end.