The heavy wooden doors of the stone trial hall creaked open again, pulling every eye in the room toward the center. The examiner from the first trial stepped in, flanked by three guards. They didn't look like the regular ones. Their uniforms were the same shape and color. Dark black long jackets and polished boots, but these had shiny gold trim lining on their capes and caps. Their chest badges had three stars, unlike the standard one-star guards. The man from the first trial had four, just like Freya.
He walked calmly to the center of the hall and looked around; his arms folded behind his back.
"Freya," he said as she approached, "how was your session with the children? Do you believe this generation will yield strong results?"
Freya crossed her arms, her voice cool. "They're learning. Slowly. They're starting to realize what it takes to survive in this Trial."
The man to his right. Taller, slightly older, with graying sideburns—grimaced. "But to make our own children go through something like this… isn't this madness?"
"Kyle," the guard to his left answered with a calm voice, "it's for the glory of our bloodline. The family's future needs strong leaders. Sacrifices are necessary."
Freya tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. "Raymond, don't you think the royal family behind all this sudden pressure? The way they've forced every Noble House into high alert... Something big is happening."
Raymond, the one with four stars, nodded slowly but didn't look at her. "I wouldn't know. I'm not close to the main house, let alone the Royal Family. But whether it's war or politics… it doesn't matter. We're soldiers of Ashenlocke. We follow orders. Even if they're cruel."
He stepped forward, and without raising his voice, the entire hall went quiet as if someone had flipped a switch.
"Children of Ashenlocke," Raymond said.
Ezra's spine stiffened at the sudden silence.
"The second trial begins now."
Every heartbeat in the room picked up. Eyes darted. Some kids clenched their fists. Others swallowed hard.
"This is a survival test," Raymond continued. "Seven days. Out in the wild. You'll be allowed to form your own seven-member teams by choices. We will blindfold each of you before transport. When the cloth comes off… you'll be in the field."
He let the silence hang for a moment.
"Ashenlocke's!" his voice echoed cooled "Our blood runs like steel," he said. "Skin strong as titanium and our hearts, made out of tungsten. Cold, Calculative, Direct and Precise. This is what makes us who we are." He paused for a few seconds "Use what you've learned. Use your instincts. Prove that you deserve the name Ashenlocke."
He turned and left the hall. Freya followed, along with the rest of the staff. No dramatic exit. No inspiring music. Just the heavy echo of boots fading into the distance.
Then came the guards, lots of them. They moved through the crowd, organizing the kids into rows. Ten lines, seven in each. They handed each student a black duffle bag, simple but sturdy. Inside were folded blankets, emergency rations, a flint kit, a small pot, and a survival knife. Then came the blindfolds.
Ezra didn't resist. The fabric was rough and smelled faintly of oil and leather. Everything went black.
The world was just darkness and the quiet thump of boots on a wooden floor. Ezra didn't know how long they marched. Hours, maybe. Sometimes the terrain changed—grass underfoot, then dirt, then the soft crunch of snow.
***
When the blindfold finally came off, he blinked at the pale sky.
White.
All around him, snow blanketed the ground in thick, uneven layers. Tall pine trees towered overhead, swaying in the freezing wind. The sun barely peeked through the gray clouds, its light weak and cold.
Ezra hugged his arms. "It's freezing out here," he muttered. "Why'd it have to be snow? Freaking snow. My worst enemy."
He took in his surroundings. Trees everywhere. No clear paths. Just endless woods, gray sky, and frozen breath.
"Seven-man team, huh…" he said to no one. "This might be a problem."
He started walking carefully, boots crunching into the snow. His coat wasn't thick enough for this weather, but it'd have to do.
"I don't even have any friends to team up with," he muttered. "And I'm on a crazy girl's hit list…"
He sneezed loudly. "Ugh. Focus on surviving first."
Ezra shook off the cold and got to work. In his past life, he'd spent time reading survival books, military guides, backwoods manuals, even weird stuff like trapping and wild cooking. All those useless details? Not so useless now.
He scouted a good spot. A wide stone cave tucked between two frozen hills, just a few meters from a narrow stream with actual fish swimming under the icy top layer. Lucky break.
He cleared a space, built a simple rock ring for the fire, collected branches and dry leaves, then used the flint from his bag to light it. The crackle of fire was the best sound he'd heard all day.
Next came shelter, he reinforced the cave opening with branches and snow-packed walls to keep in warmth. It wasn't fancy, but it worked.
By the time night fell, Ezra was sitting inside his new base, firelight dancing across the rock walls. A fish roasted on a stick over the flames, and the smell was way better than he expected. He'd even crushed some leaves for makeshift spice.
His stomach growled, and he let out a breath. "This… isn't so bad."
Three days passed.
Ezra had a routine now. He woke at dawn, cleaned himself in the stream, even though it was freezing, hunted fish or squirrels, checked his traps, studied hand-drawn schematics he got from his past memory, and reviewed some of the things he could recollect from his past times in the army.
No one had found him. No animals had attacked. No snowstorms, no injuries. In fact… things were going too well.
That made him a bit nervous.
As he was rotating a fish over his fire that evening, he heard it.
Snap.
A twig.
His body reacted immediately. He snatched the wooden bow he'd made for fishing and fitted an arrow. Eyes narrowed. He didn't move.
Footsteps. Soft but fast.
"Who's there?!" he shouted, aiming toward the sound.
A figure pushed through the bushes; hands raised. A boy. He was maybe a year older, brown hair matted with snow.
"Wait! We're not here to fight!"
Ezra didn't lower the bow. "Why are you the only one talking?"
The boy hesitated.
"Everyone else. Come out now!" Ezra demanded, his aim steady.
The boy flinched. "Guys, it's okay. Come out."
One by one, four others appeared—two boys, two girls. They looked wrecked. One girl's eyes were red, like she hadn't slept in days. One boy was limping. Another was being carried. Completely unconscious, his face pale and arms dangling like wet rags.
"Please," the first boy said again, "we need help."
Ezra didn't move. "Those injuries… weren't from animals."
"They were ambushed," one of the girls said. "Another group took our supplies. Left us for dead."
"Let's just leave," the boy holding the injured kid said, scowling. "You can see he doesn't want us here."
"Shut it, Lucas!" the girl beside him snapped.
Ezra scanned each of them. Still aiming.
The leader stepped forward a bit. "My name's Marcus. You can tell from our hair—we're all from the lower-line. We're not a threat."
Ezra didn't respond. His expression didn't change.
"Don't you care?" the second girl snapped. "He's dying!"
"We've all killed someone already," Ezra replied coldly. "So, what makes one more death matter now?"
The girl's fists clenched.
"Gena," Marcus said gently, stopping her from stepping forward. "Please. We're not here to fight. Just one night. Let us rest. We'll leave by morning."
Ezra stared at him.
Then lowered the bow.
"…One night," he said. "No more."
The group exhaled in relief and followed him into the cave, shocked by how clean and structured everything looked. Ezra had built a legit camp, fire pit, water filtration setup, sleeping spot lined with dry leaves, and basic weapon racks. It looked more like a field soldier's base than a teen's hideout.
"Your place is amazing," Gena said.
Ezra didn't reply.
They watched him continue roasting his fish. Their stomachs growled. Even the unconscious boy shifted from the smell.
Ezra sighed. "I'll make more."
He stood, grabbed more fish, and got to work.
"Thank you," they all said quietly.
Ezra didn't answer.