The female voice cut through the hall like steel against stone. It was a commanding tone, from someone used to shouting orders over the sound of death.
"Hey, step back! There's nothing to see here!"
The woman was a stranger, but from the heavy armor, full of battle marks and hardened leather reinforcements, there was no doubt: she was from the front lines of the Strait. Only veteran warriors wore that kind of protection. Her presence in the mess hall was strange… and alarming.
Nikolai, in the middle of the crowd, noticed something others had missed. A presence that shouldn't be there.
"What is the Druid doing with Marya?"
He murmured, incredulous.
At the back of the hall, where the leaders' tables were, Marya was seated. Beside her, a hooded woman. Nikolai didn't know her name, but he had no doubt: even without the ritual mask, it was the Druid of Vybor. The eyes were the same, the way she moved, even the slight sway of her fingers as if constantly feeling the earth's pulse.
The two were speaking in low, yet heated tones, glancing occasionally at the new visitors — the Gryphon Riders and the hooded ones — before resuming a conversation that, clearly and oddly, wasn't about gryphons nor about the visitors from the Empire.
Viktor leaned closer, his face tight with nerves.
"What the hell is going on?"
The truth was that nothing significant had happened between Medved and the Empire in years. The war was cold, distant, almost nonexistent, yet still alive. But even so, the mere presence of those imperials was enough to turn the hall upside down.
The murmuring grew, collective breaths grew heavier… until a voice broke through the chaos.
"Ivan! Why did you bring our enemy to our doorstep?!"
It was Marina, who, oblivious to her grandmother and the druid, showed an excessive interest in what was happening.
There was no effort to be discreet or polite. The young Sobolev walked to the center of the hall like a storm in human form. Her voice echoed against the stone walls — each word a blow.
Everyone turned to look. And everyone understood.
The visitors were there because Ivan had brought them.
Nikolai's stomach churned. Ivan brought people from the Empire? Why?
Ivan stepped forward. His face closed, his eyes hard. Marina, on the other hand, looked ready to breathe fire. The clash of forces was almost physical — and no one dared interfere.
Marina raised her voice again, but before she could finish the sentence, Ivan shouted:
"Silence!"
The entire mess hall froze.
Ivan's shout wasn't just sound — it was power. The words reverberated like thunder in everyone's chest, vibrating in their bones.
"While this Fortress is under my command, neither the nobility, nor the Triad, nor anyone else holds power here! And that includes you, Miss Sobolev."
The impact was immediate. If anyone else had said those words, it would have been considered high treason. But Ivan wasn't just anyone. Since Pavel's death, he had proven himself beyond question. His authority came not only from his title, but from the strength everyone had witnessed.
Marina clenched her fists, her face red with anger, but didn't reply. She turned abruptly and left the hall without touching her food.
The Druid of Vybor seemed to disengage from Marya — who didn't seem to care about Ivan's words — and followed her, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
The hall was left in a heavy silence.
Ivan exhaled a mix of relief and worry, as if he had won only the first of many invisible battles. The elder Sobolev approached slowly, her figure bent, yet imposing, placing a hand on Ivan's elbow. Apparently to calm him.
Nikolai, Viktor, and Fedor exchanged glances. Their hearts beat out of sync.
"What's going on?"
Nikolai whispered — but this time, not even he had the courage to seek an answer.
Nikolai couldn't focus on the gleaming uniforms or the imposing gryphon. What weighed on him most was the internal rupture unfolding before his eyes.
A new generation of warriors hardly knew the Empire. Except for one or two isolated cases, it had been nearly a hundred years since any of them had set foot in the far north. Those who held grudges were dead, or too old to raise their voices. To many of the young, the Empire was nothing more than a distant legend.
— But for Nikolai, it was different.
He felt his heart racing, an uncomfortable anxiety, as if he sensed something the others ignored.
Ivan didn't need to raise his voice much. The entire hall fell silent as if swept by an invisible wave. The curiosity was too great for any murmur to survive. Everyone knew that, from that moment on, the Lord of the stronghold's next words would shape their destiny.
Ivan raised his hand, steady.
"Gentlemen, may I have a moment of your attention."
Ivan went on:
"Today we have some of my guests with us. They'll be staying here for a few days and, later today, will assist us with a class on the Empire. I'd like you to meet Professor Hans Müller, and his assistants, Frida and Lena."
A ripple of murmurs spread instantly through the benches, silenced only by sheer astonishment.
Ivan went on:
"Any questions about the Empire can be asked during this afternoon's class. Everyone is invited."
The words sounded simple, almost trivial. But in Nikolai's heart, they boomed like war drums. In a century, the Empire had never shown interest in approaching. Why now? Why here?
The Lord paused, his stern gaze scanning the crowd.
"I ask that you allow our guests to eat in peace."
As he returned to his table — now beside old Sobolev — he abruptly turned, as if he'd forgotten something:
"Ah, and before I forget... Please, do not challenge the Gryphon Riders to battle. They are here to protect our guests, not to serve as sparring partners."
A mix of reactions swept through the hall. Some older warriors muttered in disappointment, frustrated they wouldn't get to test their strength against the legendary griffin knights. Others, however, seemed simply fascinated. For most, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity — something that might never happen again.
Ivan concluded, his voice firm as stone:
"Very well. Make yourselves comfortable. Eat. And remember: this afternoon, everyone is dismissed to attend Hans's class."
Silence. Once everyone sat down, the sound of spoons, plates, and timid voices resumed, but the mood had shifted: expectation, tension, and curiosity.
Nikolai, Viktor, and Fedor exchanged a glance. No words were needed. The certainty was unanimous.
"We need to be at that class."
Viktor murmured.
"Will there be room for everyone?"
Fedor asked, already scheming how to grab a front-row seat.
Nikolai remained silent, watching the visitors.
He, too, felt curious, though without the same hostility or fascination as the others. What really caught his attention, however, was another detail: nowhere could the winged beasts of the three visitors be seen.
"Civilians?"
To the people of the North, that idea simply didn't exist. There, those who didn't learn to fight or wield power early died — and became compost for the next generation.
In the cold North, nothing was earned without a bloodbath.
And still, civilians from the Empire had crossed the snow and reached Medved.
Nikolai knew something was deeply wrong — or deeply unsettling — about that detail.
_______________
As Nikolai had foreseen, Viktor and Fedor ran out of Marya's class well before it ended, eager to secure good seats for the long-awaited lesson from Professor Hans. And they weren't the only ones — the room was emptying quickly.
When the door closed behind the last of the hurried students, only a few Black Bear Tamers remained, lined up like silent shadows. And among them, steady in his seat, was Nikolai.
Marya's class was more theoretical than practical, but that didn't matter to him.
He liked the way she moved through the topics: always polite, always clear, always aiming to offer the simplest explanation — without ever underestimating her students.
Of course, she wasn't easy. If she sensed a lack of commitment, she was the first to bring a student down with terrible remarks.
In the end, she seemed somewhere between kind and dreadful — in strangely balanced measures.
The day before, when asked about the legends of the Wyverns of Shadow and Light, Marya hadn't laughed, nor had she gotten irritated. Calmly, she turned to her books, cited passages, compared myths, and still held the class's attention, explaining in an almost enchanting way.
It was impressive how she managed to keep the discipline from slipping, even when curiosity veered into the most fantastical tales.
However, Marya was not charming in the lightest sense of the word.
Her tolerance was vast, but her grip was steel.
Any student who dared sabotage the class with dumb questions or silly jokes found that out too soon.
Now, sitting there as the room emptied, Nikolai finally understood why Fedor hated her with all his might.
And also why Viktor managed to tolerate her: Marya was demanding, strict… but fair.
She lifted her eyes from the book.
"Aren't you going to Professor Hans's class?"
There was serenity in her tone. Unlike her granddaughter — who seemed to carry hatred in her veins — Marya appeared almost indifferent to the Imperial presence. Almost.
Nikolai couldn't hold back.
He waited for the few remaining students to gather their things, and then asked the question burning in his mind:
"Miss Marya… why don't you hate the Empire?"
The silence that followed was heavy. Even the Tamers who were still folding their cloaks and scrolls stopped. No one believed anyone would have the nerve to ask that.
But Nikolai knew it wasn't a stupid question.
He knew that, if asked properly, Marya would answer.
Even with the Empire under the same roof.
She raised her eyes to him. Her gaze was hard, but not hostile.
"Nikolai… I simply don't hate them. Not anymore."
The students held their breath.
"There will come a time in your life when you'll see the hands that control the world... And another, when you'll see the hands that control the hands."
A riddle. A shadow of something bigger.
And then, as if she'd said more than she should have, Marya closed the book with force and began gathering her papers.
Nikolai was left with the sentence echoing in his mind.
Another enemy... The Emperor wasn't the only one to blame. Maybe the Benefactors?
It didn't make sense.
If Viktor asked Nikolai whether Marya was a good teacher, he'd already have the answer on the tip of his tongue:
She was very good. Sometimes, very bad... In the end, she was just a living enigma.
When the last footsteps faded in the hallway, only Nikolai and Marya remained in the room. The silence was almost comfortable, interrupted only by the faint scratching of quills on parchment and the clinking of gathered pages.
Nikolai lingered on purpose.
He believed that if he waited long enough, if he gave it just the right moment... something would happen.
And it did.
"Nikolai, I'd like to lend you a book. Come here."
Her voice was calm, but it carried a weight that couldn't be mistaken for kindness.
Nikolai knew, instinctively, that there was something hidden behind those words. Yet even so, he was surprised: he had expected advice, maybe a reprimand or some kind of information… not a book.
He approached. The stone floor creaked under his metallic steps until he stopped a few feet from the old lady. That was when Marya, for the first time, lifted her gaze and looked him straight in the eyes.
That look pierced deeper than words.
"You have one of your mother's eyes… but the other. Interesting."
Nikolai blinked, confused. He didn't know whether it was a question, a revelation, or both at once. He wanted to respond, but Marya didn't give him the chance.
With a quick, almost abrupt motion, she tossed a book in his direction.
"Take it. And study. If you're able."
Nikolai held the volume against his chest. It wasn't a refined tome, nor an official work. The cover was worn, the leather dried out with age. When he opened the first pages, he saw crooked letters, lacking beauty, yet each stroke seemed to carry weight.
It wasn't stylish. It was archaic. A journal, perhaps a forbidden record. The letters were strange, but the more he looked, the more they seemed to make sense.
"Thank you, Miss Marya…"
She closed her eyes, tired, and replied sharply:
"Don't thank me. I don't deserve such praise. Think of it as… a balancing of power. Good luck. My help ends here."
Silence settled again, heavy, as if the walls wanted to keep what had been said.
Nikolai remained there, motionless, the book still warm in his hands.
To him, Marya was just doing what she always did: speaking in riddles and incomprehensible metaphors.
But this time, there was something more — and it was directly related to him.
And that scared him more than he cared to admit.