The snow had begun to melt in the inner courtyards, leaving icy puddles and thick mud. It wasn't a sign of spring, but of a deceptive respite from winter: a respite the North always claimed with fiercer storms.
In the weapons room, Kevin and Kelvin trained under the stern gaze of Garron Martrek. Torches illuminated the black stone, casting long shadows on the walls. Each sword stroke resonated like a hammer, each breath a harsh echo in the damp.
Since the patrol's return, something had changed. The apprentices regarded Kevin with a mixture of respect and distrust. The story of how he had channeled mana to bring down a winter hag had spread like wildfire through the fortress. For some, it was a source of admiration; for others, a reminder that the competition for excellence had become more difficult.
Kelvin, on the other hand, carried a different burden. He was still fast, strong, and disciplined, but the memory of being in the creature's clutches and depending on his brother gnawed at him.
"Today you will train with real steel," Garron announced, dropping two longswords onto the dais. "They're not sharp, but they are heavy. I want to see if your arms are as strong as your tongues."
Kevin took his longsword with the confidence of his recent victory. Kelvin raised it and immediately felt its weight pulling at his shoulder. The hilt was rough, lacking the balance that shortswords provided.
"On guard."
The first clash was a metallic clang. Kevin struck hard, his mana flowing almost unconsciously, yet gently, giving him greater steadiness. Kelvin, on the other hand, blocked with effort, each impact rippling through his bones like a whiplash.
"If you keep this up, you'll end up on the floor again," Kevin joked with a grin. "I'm not going to fall," Kelvin replied, gritting his teeth.
But he fell. Three times in a row. And the last time, Garron glared at him with the harshness of a closed door.
"You have to learn to use what's inside you, boy. Your brother did. You can... or you'll forever be in his shadow."
That night, Kelvin didn't go to the common dormitory. He climbed one of the side towers, where the wind whipped mercilessly. He knelt in the snow and closed his eyes. He remembered the warmth he had seen in Kevin, the blue glow. He tried to imagine it inside him, but found only cold.
Then he heard a whisper. It wasn't a human voice.
When he opened his eyes, he saw before him a translucent figure: not the spirit of the ice spear, but another, smaller one, wrapped in white feathers. It had outstretched wings and eyes as blue as his own.
"Do you want power?" the spirit asked, its voice sounding like a part of the wind. I want him... but not to surpass my brother. I want him so I'm not a burden.
The spirit bowed its head, and Kelvin felt a blast of cold air envelop him, seeping through his skin and filling his muscles with a strange tingle. Its breath turned to blue vapor, and for an instant, a spark of mana danced over his hands.
"I'll call on you when you need it," the spirit whispered, before disappearing.
The next day, Garron led the apprentices to the northern open space, where they trained in combat on uneven terrain. The ground was covered with rocks and packed snow. The drill was simple: advance and knock down an opponent without losing balance.
Kelvin faced Rothgar, one of the sons of House Therald, a burly young man who had been mocking him for days.
"Come on, 'prodigy's little brother,'" Rothgar mocked. "Show me your mana... if you have any."
The fight began in a fury. Rothgar struck like a hammer, pushing him back. Kelvin stepped back, dodging, holding. A blow knocked him to the ground, and he heard the laughter of the others.
Rage and humiliation seared through him. And then, as if answering a silent call, he felt a cold current rise up his spine and explode in his arms. His sword flashed with a silver glow, and an icy wind surrounded his feet, propelling him forward.
Rothgar barely had time to raise his guard when Kelvin knocked him down with a shove that knocked the wind out of him.
A thick silence fell over the esplanade. Garron nodded.
"It's about time."
That evening, the brothers sat together in the dining room. Kevin looked at him with a mixture of pride and relief.
"Now we're even," he said. "No. Now we're ready for whatever comes," Kelvin replied, and the two of them clinked their wooden mugs.
What none of them knew was that, in the upper chambers of the fortress, Lord Varyn Valdrik was hearing reports of strange movements on the eastern border... and rumors that the Central Church was sending emissaries north. The political game was about to get complicated, and Kevin and Kelvin, with their growing power, were entering a game they couldn't see.