The snow fell silently, thick flakes descending like ash from a leaden sky. The north wind cut into their skin as if it had a sharp edge, carrying with it the scent of pine trees and something else… a touch of iron, old and rusty, that the cold couldn't dissolve.
Kevin slashed with his branch, a sharp, swift movement, seeking his brother's guard. Kelvin blocked with his own; the hollow impact echoed in the icy clearing. Neither of them wore gloves; the bare wood chilled their hands, and each impact was like digging their knuckles into rock.
"You're going slowly today," Kevin said, pushing hard. "The wind hits you before you move your feet."
"Or maybe it's you running like a desperate dog," Kelvin replied, and turned, trying to avoid Kevin's legs.
They moved with a mixture of clumsiness and youthful fervor. Their bare feet sank into the hardened snow, leaving footprints that the wind soon erased. There was no sound other than the scrape of wood against wood and the hiss of their breathing.
Several paces away, hidden behind a copse of fir trees, four riders watched. Their long cloaks were a deep blue, trimmed with white fur at the shoulders. On their shields, a silver falcon with outstretched wings gleamed in the dim winter light. Knights of House Valdrik, one of the oldest and most respected bloodlines in the North.
"They have no master, and yet they fight as if the world owes them something," murmured the one in front, a man with a black beard flecked with frost.
"Or as if they're about to collect it," added another, younger man, his smile barely visible.
Kevin felt something strange. Not a sound, but a touch on the back of his neck, as if an invisible whisper were caressing his ear. He stopped and took a deep breath. He turned his head toward the fir trees, and his eyes, blue as the sky itself, seemed to bridge the gap between the snow and the gloom of the forest.
"Kevin..." Kelvin called, frowning. "What do you see?"
The older brother didn't respond immediately. Between the trees, he thought he made out a translucent figure, pale as ice. It was tall, wrapped in a robe that seemed made of fragmented light. It wasn't walking: it hovered barely above the ground. A spirit... and not just any spirit. Its slender hands held a spear of pure ice, and its face was veiled.
The figure raised its free hand and pointed at the hidden riders.
Kevin blinked, and the spirit disappeared.
"Nothing... just the wind," he said at last, but his voice lacked conviction.
The rustling of the branches resumed, although the horses' hooves began to draw closer. The snow crunched under shod hooves, and soon the blue figures emerged from the forest. The brothers broke off their combat, breathing heavily, as the knights dismounted.
"What is your name?" asked the black-bearded one, his voice deep as an ancient door closing.
"Kevin," said the old man, straightening. "This is my brother, Kelvin."
"Orphans?" asked the smiling young man.
"Orphans," confirmed Kelvin, gripping the branch tightly.
The bearded knight walked in a circle, watching them like a merchant watches two colts before buying them. He touched their shoulders and forearms, checking their muscle tension.
"They have learned to fight without a master, and that is a waste of potential. Come with us to Valdrik Hold. There are men who dream of wielding a sword and will never have your strength or your gaze."
Kevin and Kelvin exchanged a glance. Their faces reflected distrust, but also... hunger. Not hunger for bread, but for something greater, something that had been burning for years: a place, a name, a future. "We accept," Kevin said, and Kelvin nodded wordlessly.
As they rode behind the knights, Kevin looked toward the forest. He swore that there, in the gloom between the fir trees, the spirit of the ice spear was watching them.
They began the march toward the fortress. The snow fell harder, and the wind carried with it the echo of distant bells, bells that did not belong to any nearby church.
The brothers didn't know it, but that winter afternoon would be remembered, decades later, as the day the Twin Swords of the North took the first step toward a destiny that not even the spirits dared fully reveal.