Noa staggered out of the training grounds, his footsteps echoing through the ice-covered corridor. Walking itself was becoming difficult, as if he were dragging massive boulders across the frozen floor. His breath rose in pale clouds.
Reaching his door, he grasped the handle. The iron bit into his bloodied palm, its cold sharpness burning against his skin. He pulled once — the door did not move.
For a moment, he simply stood, staring at his stained hands. His nearly frozen fingers would not obey him. Gritting his jaw against the pain, he gathered every ounce of strength and pulled again.
The door groaned open.
It should have felt like victory. Yet Noa's face showed no triumph. When he stepped into his quarters, it was not the cold that burdened him, but the crushing weight of his exhaustion.
The room was plain. For the soldiers, it was a shelter; for Noa, it was yet another extension of the battlefield.
He took a strip of cloth from the desk and began wrapping his bleeding hands. When the bandage touched his skin, Noa pulled his hand back for a moment. As he tightened the bandage, his eyes grew moist. After finishing, he sat in silence, staring into emptiness.
He sank onto the bed.
In a whisper that was more plea than thought, he asked:
— How much longer will this last....
No answer came. Sighing, he lay down. Only the trembling of his body carried him into uneasy sleep. Even in slumber, his fists remained clenched.
Dawn broke, and this time Noa awoke on his own. His muscles screamed with stiffness, his arms felt carved from stone. His limbs were heavy, unwilling to obey — like stones that refused to be lifted.
He rose slowly and made his way to the mess hall.
The soldiers lined up for rations. When it was Noa's turn, his tray held only a cup of icy water.
He stared.
— This… is all? — he whispered.
The soldier beside him laughed with cruel amusement in his eyes.
— What, were you expecting warm meat and soft bread? he added.
Here, hunger is your teacher. Hahaha!
Laughter rippled through the hall. Some whispered, "The prince still hasn't woken."
Noa said nothing.
At the edge of the mess hall, Garn, who was watching Noa eat, said:
— They used me again to starve him. For some reason, I feel calm this time.
Noa looked around and stared at those laughing.
— I didn't eat last night. Aren't the defeated not given food until they become victors?
The icy water burned his throat. Yet to him, these were not punishments — they were lessons.
Though the soldiers laughed under the torchlight, this time Noa paid them no attention.
After breakfast, the soldiers returned to the courtyard. The wind cut like knives, the snow shimmered under the ruthless dawn. Noa still trembled, his body worn from the previous day's trials.
The officer shouted from the platform:
— Listen up, you pieces of trash! Struggle to stay alive. If you can't manage it, don't burden us with burying your corpses like dogs.
The ranks answered in unison.
— We won't trouble you with that, officer.
And the whispers began:
— Shall we dig a deep grave for his corpse — or just throw him to the wild animals?
Noa turned his gaze away, lips sealed. Their hatred no longer pierced him. Inside, another voice whispered: Mock me. Curse my kind heart a thousand times — why can't I hate you?
— On the ground! — the officer barked.
— Breathe against the ice. Let it judge your flesh.
The soldiers sprawled onto the snow. Frost bit like a thousand needles. Some leapt up moments later, exhaling clouds of steam.
Noa shivered violently. His teeth chattered, his toes numb. But he told himself: If the ice consumes me, perhaps I'll finally be free of it all.
He pressed deeper into the snow. The laughter around him blurred, harsh breaths faded, leaving only the silence of cold.
The officer's gaze fell on him.
When the drill ended, the recruits stood up and looked at each other with pride, but Noa remained lying down. Even after the officer announced the end of training, he stayed on the ground. The officer noticed him but said nothing.
Even half an hour later, he did not get up. The other recruits were resting.
A few seconds later, the officer came over to Noa.
— Your willpower is commendable, recruit. You may stand.
Noa gave no answer. The other recruits were amazed by his endurance.
The officer looked at Noa and thought with a slight smile:
— Does this boy want even more? What incredible endurance.
Below, Noa looked at the officer with his eyes, his thoughts tangled.
— My body won't obey me. I can't stand.
The officer grabbed Noa by the arm, pulled him up, and helped him stand.
— Most people can't endure this much, he said.
After the officer let go of Noa's arm, Noa remained standing on his own. He looked as if he would fall with the slightest gust of wind. His eyes were half-open.
The officer shouted to the resting recruits:
— Take an example from Noa. He endured more than all of you.
After the recruits stood up, the officer continued:
— We will begin the next trial.
Pair up. In the water and on the ice, show me who you are.
After catching his breath, Noa began to follow them.
From across the yard, Garn stepped forward.
— You were already in debt from the moment you were born. The time has come to pay your debt, — he said in a low voice.
They waded into the pool. The black water steamed. Garn plunged in and went under.
Noa followed. The water struck like knives, piercing bone and crushing breath. His body convulsed, yet inside he whispered:
— I will not break. I will not break… then, a moment later, he whispered again: No… I will break. I cannot endure this.
When the exercise ended, the soldiers climbed out of the water, wrapping themselves in shimmering mana — crimson, gold, and blue glows dancing like flames around them. Each shielded themselves, holding back the deadly cold.
Noa stumbled from the water, skin numb, hands trembling. He stared at the others, bewildered.
— What… is this?
The officer barked:
— What are you waiting for? Cloak yourself —
The officer stepped closer, voice sharp as steel:
— Picture your body. Envision wrapping it in your inner force, as if sealing yourself in armor. Guide it with your hands.
Noa whispered:
— All right…
He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and imagined his body wrapped in warmth. He waited.
Opening his eyes, he looked helplessly at the officer.
— Sir… I feel nothing.
The officer paused, then pressed a hand to Noa's chest. His eyes widened, pupils narrowing like a predator's.
He whispered:
— Impossible… I can't feel any mana in you.
Gasps and laughter rippled through the ranks:
— Hahahahaha!
— He doesn't even have mana!
— Not just ordinary talentless — history's greatest talentless!
The laughter shook the courtyard.
Noa staggered back, voice trembling:
— W-what did you say, sir?
The officer's gaze was frozen:
— Every child of dragons awakens with mana — the inner spark, the soul's trigger. It turns cold to flame, fear to strength. But you… You are an empty shell.
Noa's heart began to pound faster.
— No… that's impossible. I… I am a high dragon.
The soldiers howled with laughter, some doubled over.
— Even this so-called prince… is hollow! Weak! Hahaha!
The officer roared, silencing them instantly:
— Enough!
In Noa's ears, a single word echoed — louder than cold, louder than their mockery:
Manaless… manaless…
Noa's pupils shrank, his eyes widened. The laughing dragons seemed to freeze for a moment, their voices coming in more slowly. Noa was panting for no reason, and above the outside sounds he could hear his own heart pounding.