The fortress mess hall lacked the golden refinement of the Hall of Heroes and the magical allure of the initiation banquet.
It was simple.
Bare.
Almost monochromatic.
But what it lacked in aesthetics, it made up for in size.
The space stretched in every direction — four times wider, taller, and longer than any hall Nikolai had ever seen.
The bare stone walls echoed every step, every breath,
as if the place had been built to remind newcomers of their smallness before the greatness of that fortress.
And then, he understood the reason for such immensity.
It wasn't for men.
It was for the bears.
Colossal, they occupied specific areas of the hall, each one marked by reinforced enclosures — open, yet massive — designed for their rest.
Nikolai instinctively began to count under his breath:
"Two whites… five adult browns…"
He murmured almost in disbelief.
The sight left him stunned.
In the Medved Abyss, there had only been blacks — humble companions, common,
almost proletarian among the giants.
But there, in the heart of the Fortress, stood creatures that seemed born of legend.
The whites, majestic, reflected the torchlight off their crystalline fur.
Every movement seemed carved into the snow of the gods —
a living reminder of the ancestral power that protected the North.
The browns, in turn, were living walls.
Scars crossed their bodies in deep lines,
like rivers etched into flesh by the violence of countless battles.
And yet, in their eyes, there was something unexpected —
a gentle silence.
Almost… resignation.
They were monsters, yes.
But monsters that carried in each scar the weight of an endless war.
There was a strange, contradictory beauty in them —
the brutality of beasts, and the fragility of survivors.
Nikolai felt his chest tighten.
For the first time, he didn't see himself merely as the limping boy who had arrived there by accident.
Before those wounded colossi, he saw himself as their equal: broken, marked… but still standing.
"You gonna move out of the doorway, kid?"
The deep voice pulled him out of his stupor.
A sudden shove nearly knocked him off balance.
Nikolai turned — and came face to face with a wall of flesh and muscle.
The man was easily two meters tall, his body as broad and unyielding as a fortress wall.
Beside him, a robust brown bear, nearly the same height, walked with the majesty of an ice king.
"Leonid, stop messing with the kid. He's with me."
The voice came from Viktor, seated a few meters ahead, his steady gaze fixed on the giant.
Leonid raised his chin. His eyes — hard, merciless — cut like blades.
A crooked smile of disdain twisted his mouth.
"You worthless mage… take care of your little pet before I do it for you. Come, Velos."
Leonid walked on with heavy steps, deliberately ignoring Nikolai. But before passing, the brown bear walking beside him turned its head. Its gaze met that of the Ashen. There was no anger, no hostility. Just confusion. As if something about him was puzzling. A moment only Nikolai noticed.
His heart beat faster, but he said nothing.
"Hey, kid…"
Viktor's half-smile didn't hide the sharpness of the warning behind it.
"If you want to stay alive here, you need to learn to respect the big ones."
He gestured toward the tables with an easy familiarity.
"Come with me. We have to stick together here."
Viktor grabbed Nikolai's arm — not roughly, but with the natural authority of someone used to leading — and guided him forward.
The great hall had its own invisible but tangible laws.
Nikolai could feel them in the air — silent hierarchies that weighed heavier than any written rule.
He was still learning to navigate them, like a man walking blindfolded across a minefield.
To the left, the big ones gathered, imposing and loud —
among them, Irina and Zoya stood out like two rare gemstones gleaming against a wall of iron.
Farther ahead, the black bears huddled in silence with their partners, out of rhythm with the rest of the celebration —
a quiet, heavy contrast to the boisterous laughter that filled the room.
And finally, there was the group Viktor had chosen for them — lighter, more talkative, and mostly accompanied by blue bears.
The creatures sat with stoic discipline, their sharp eyes reflecting the flames above as they devoured their portions with quiet grace.
"Kid, do you have a name?"
Viktor asked suddenly, his brow lifting with curiosity.
"Do you know if we're staying in the same room? I think that's the least you could tell me."
He smiled — honest, friendly — a warmth rare in a place built of stone and discipline.
"Ah… sorry, I think I forgot to say. My name is Nikolai. And this here is Ashen. I mean—"
"What an interesting name," Viktor remarked with a chuckle.
"Well, actually, I haven't really thought of a name yet. So I'm using this one temporarily. Isn't that right, Ashen?"
Nikolai tried to get the bear's attention, but the creature was completely absorbed by the food appearing on the table — licking his chops, fascinated by the bread pieces in a nearly childlike way.
"I think your companion's hungry," Viktor laughed, patting the bench beside him. "Come on, sit here. Fedor, move over, you bastard. Did you buy this table or what?"
"Go fuck yourself, Viktor."
"Why you little—"
Viktor lunged forward, ready to shove him back. The two were seconds away from turning the gathering into a noisy brawl when a heavy door at the end of the hall creaked open with a dry, dragging groan.
The effect was immediate.
The chatter stopped.
Utensils froze midair.
Mouths hung open in suspended breath.
Even the bears — in their insatiable hunger — lowered their heads as if some unseen power had commanded silence. Some of the young ones didn't even dare to breathe.
Three figures stepped through the doorway.
The first was a man so tall and burly that even Leonid — the brute who had picked on Nikolai moments earlier — looked average beside him. His long, thick beard fell to his chest, streaked with gray that gleamed like steel under the torchlight. The scars on his face didn't just tell of battles; they spoke of survival — of a man who had stared death in the eyes and never blinked.
A heavy robe cloaked his frame, revealing only his austere expression and the hilt of a sword resting at his side.
His presence was suffocating, as if each step he took carried the weight of a fortress.
Behind him came an old woman, hobbling forward on a wooden crutch that creaked with every step. She looked as if she might collapse and die right there — yet somehow, she never did. Her eyes burned with eerie vitality, a fire out of place in her withered face. Her smile — twisted, toothless, unsettling — inspired more fear than comfort. She stared at each of them without shame, her gaze slicing straight through flesh, peering into the soul. Many quickly looked away.
And last came Marina Sobolev.
Unlike the severe, ritual-clad figure from the ceremony, she now wore practical attire — still striking, still impossible to ignore. The fabric clung to her athletic frame, accentuating the strength in every movement. Even among men and women larger than average, Marina towered with an effortless, almost divine authority.
Respect and desire followed her like shadows. Her every step commanded silence.
The three advanced without hurry, and the entire hall seemed to tremble under their presence.
They took their places at a small, isolated table at the front — a table Nikolai hadn't even noticed until the trio claimed it.
The first to sit was the bearded giant.
The simple act of pulling out his chair made the air hold still.
Before taking a bite, he lifted his gaze — heavy, penetrating — across the entire room.
"EAT."
The single word exploded through the hall like a thunderclap.
The command was absolute.
Tension broke.
Utensils clattered back to life.
Murmurs rose again, cautious at first, then louder.
At that moment, Viktor's hand shot out and smacked Fedor on the head again.
"Move already, useless," Viktor huffed, shoving his friend aside before sitting down and motioning for Nikolai.
Beside him, Ashen climbed into Nikolai's lap, devouring the food with near-feral hunger — each bite wet and desperate, as if carrying the weight of months of starvation. The sound of chewing, the rhythmic thuds of his claws against the table, drew stares from all sides.
"Dude… how many weeks has your bear gone without eating?" Viktor asked, half amused, half impressed.
Some laughed. Others simply watched.
Nikolai, however, just shrugged.
"I think he didn't like the food from this morning. I mean… there was no meat."
He paused, his eyes flicking discreetly toward the trio's table.
"But who are those two?"
The question lingered in the air — quiet, hesitant, yet charged with the curiosity that had been burning in him since their arrival.
The bearded giant and the old woman.
Who were they really?
Viktor leaned in, lowering his voice to almost a whisper —
as if afraid that even the walls might be listening.
"He'll introduce himself soon… but you can think of him as the 'boss' of this place.
And that old woman…"
His eyes drifted toward the frail, crooked figure — the one who looked as if a single breath might turn her to dust.
"…she's the war leader of the Ursine Armored.
Marina's great-grandmother."
Nikolai blinked, startled.
"Wait… you're telling me those two are related?
They don't look anything alike."
"I know, right." — Viktor shrugged, his tone laced with a strange mix of respect and superstition. —
"But they say that old woman helped build this very fortress.
And more than that — she's one of the last survivors of the war against the Empire."
The words hit Nikolai like ice.
The revelation sank deep, cold, and impossible.
For the first time, the woman's apparent frailty seemed not pitiful — but terrifying.
Shock etched itself across his face.
To him, no one who had fought in the Great War could possibly still live.
That conflict had vanished into myth, buried beneath centuries of silence and rot.
And yet…
there she was.
A living relic.
A woman who had seen the world burn and somehow refused to die with it.
"But how did she survive?" — he murmured, his disbelief slipping through his voice. —
"I thought they'd all died."
Fedor, who had been silent until then, gave a derisive snort.
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing with disdain.
"Of course you don't know…
I bet you didn't come from the nobles' floor, did you?"
Nikolai's frown tightened, but he didn't answer.
Fedor smirked, sensing victory, eager to flaunt his superiority.
"It's written in the Book of Truth.
Her story isn't a secret to those born where they should be."
Viktor sighed — the sound of someone used to cleaning up after arrogance.
He placed a hand on the table, leaning slightly forward, cutting through the tension before it could harden.
"What he's trying to say is that she survived because she wasn't like the others."
He paused deliberately, his gaze sliding back to the old woman at the front table.
"She was the first —
and to this day, the only — dual tamer."
The words struck like a thunderclap inside Nikolai's mind.
He had heard of broken bonds, failed pacts, or desperate fools who tried to tame a second beast after losing the first.
None had lived to tell the tale.
But this…
this was something else entirely.
The old woman, seated beside Marina, turned her head slightly —
and her cracked lips twisted into a crooked smile.
It was faint, fleeting — but unmistakable.
Her eyes, sharp and alive, glittered with wicked delight.
As if she had heard every word whispered about her.
As if she enjoyed confirming the legend.