"Who are you…?"
The words came out stumbling, almost a whisper.
Nikolai couldn't think of anything better. Not in the face of what he saw.
What stood before him was no mere spiritual creature.
It was a colossal titan, a bear of unimaginable proportions, covered in charcoal-gray fur that shimmered like embers. From its claws dripped tongues of fire, and the air around it shimmered as if reality itself were about to shatter.
And it made no sense.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Nikolai still clearly remembered Anton's words, his teacher:
"When the crystal calls, it takes you to the direct ancestor of your bear."
"Always to the gate of the Berlóga — the spiritual cave of the lineage, the same place where you once conquered it."
"There, an ancestor will judge you and, depending on your capability, a power may be granted."
"That ancestral spirit purifies and prepares your body to carry the magical cold of the family to which you belong."
But that place didn't seem like the entrance to the Berlóga.
In fact, it bore no resemblance at all to the place he had been a few days earlier.
If he had to take a wild guess, it would be bold: maybe he was inside the place no living man had ever returned from.
There was only endless darkness...
And that titan — which should not exist in the North.
His heart raced.
If it was just a spiritual projection, it couldn't harm him; the worst it could do was deny him any power.
And yet, Nikolai felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He felt as if, with a single move, that colossus could crush him.
How could such a creature exist?
How could something that came from him — from Ashen — be walking in the North?
Then the titan's voice echoed, deep and hoarse, reverberating like the crack of a splitting mountain:
"I understand your doubt."
The sound didn't just reach the ears.
It vibrated through his bones, his blood, his heart.
The giant bear was speaking.
That, more than the fire burning in its fur, more than its cyclopean height, was what chilled Nikolai's blood.
Even the Gatekeeper — Boris, the most revered of the living Ursai — spoke with difficulty, as if tearing words from his throat.
But that titan articulated perfect, clear sentences, without a single stumble.
He wasn't roaring.
He was conversing.
And his calmness was even more terrifying.
As if he expected the little human before him to take a breath, to calm down… or to find courage.
"My name is Bödvar."
Nikolai felt the ground vanish beneath his feet.
His breath caught.
His heart almost leapt out of his mouth.
Bödvar.
It wasn't just a name.
It was a weight.
Only the noblest Ursai — the titans who had marked Medved's history — carried proper names, chosen by themselves.
And even so… they were exceedingly rare.
Throughout history, very few bears had ever chosen a name for themselves.
Boris, the Gatekeeper of the Berlóga, was the only living example.
The next words pulled him back.
"I always thought my second encounter with a human would be more glorious." Bödvar's voice echoed like thunder. "But who would've thought… it would be with a mute."
Nikolai blushed, swallowing hard.
"Forgive me, sir Bödvar." — he said, voice choked. — "My name is Nikolai… Nikolai Romanov."
The name fell like a stone into the darkness.
For the first time, Bödvar let a raw emotion slip through.
Anger. Disgust.
"From your scent, I already suspected it." — his gaze sparked. — "Fate enjoys toying with us. Who would've thought… someone from that family still breathes."
The colossus tilted his head, staring at the boy with eyes that seemed to pierce through bones and memories.
"At least I see that my son is in good hands." — he said, finally. — "Now tell me… how much power do you seek?"
The words echoed in Nikolai's mind like a challenge.
An invitation.
An abyss.
The young man clenched his fists.
Swallowed the fear.
"My world is in danger. We are no longer what we once were. We're walking fast toward the end." — his voice trembled, but did not falter. — "I want everything."
The silence that followed seemed to last an eternity.
Bödvar watched him for a long time, as if reading every fragment of his soul, every hidden memory, every possible future.
And then, in the titan's eyes, something shone that Nikolai couldn't name.
A recognition.
"You're just like that girl…" — Bödvar murmured, his eyes sparking. — "Very well. Try not to die."
The titan's colossal mouth opened.
And the world became fire.
The blast surged like a sun erupting, engulfing Nikolai completely. Ashen instinctively retreated, running to the side of the giant bear, while the human was consumed by the flames.
The fire didn't just burn skin.
It pierced flesh, bones, soul.
Every fiber was destroyed and then rebuilt — only to be torn apart again the very next instant.
Nikolai screamed.
He screamed until his throat turned to ash.
Silence came when his vocal cords burned, but returned with an even sharper howl as they regenerated.
It was pain without relief, an eternal cycle of death and rebirth.
The smell of charred flesh filled the air.
Tears evaporated before they could fall.
His eyes burned, exploding in agony, only to be remade and suffer all over again.
Time ceased to exist.
There was only pain.
An ocean of fire in which Nikolai drowned endlessly.
Until, finally… it stopped.
He fell to his knees.
Unrecognizable.
His body charred, skin in tatters, more shadow than flesh.
Bödvar watched him with a grim smile, satisfied and almost surprised by the little human's endurance.
"That was only fifteen percent of my power." — he said, as if handing out a crumb. — "You may go now. That's enough."
The titan moved a paw, as if dismissing him.
But then… he heard it.
A small sound.
Fragile.
First a breath, then a whisper.
"Moooore…"
The drawn-out word reverberated through the darkness, growing like an impossible echo.
You could feel — almost touch — the pain in the words leaving Nikolai: gurgling, blood, dragging sound, and yet those syllables asked for more. The titanic bear watched him with ancient eyes; his son nodded, as if giving permission.
"Very well, mortal... show me what you're made of." — Bödvar's voice was a muffled thunder.
The second trial came like the final breath of a dying nebula: from the Ursai's mouth exploded a frost. The air around froze in seconds, turning the darkness into a blade. Nikolai felt the remaining warmth ripped from his body; the pain of the flames gave way to a new agony — the frigid bite that gnaws down to the bone. His teeth chattered violently, grinding until they shattered with a sharp crack.
The world shrank until it became a statue. Stalactites hung down, smoke turned to crystals, and, without noticing, other enormous eyes emerged from the shadows, gathered to witness the sacrifice. The ice advanced like a ravenous wolf; flesh was overtaken, hoisted, fossilized. When Bödvar finally stopped, the shard of ice cracked.
Nikolai fell. There were no arms, no legs — only a broken body kissing the ground in silence, blind eyes searching for meaning in the darkness.
Bödvar tilted his head, a mixture of surprise and raw respect on his face.
"Very well. I am satisfied." — The voice continued, surprisingly restrained. — "I never imagined anyone could endure nearly thirty percent of my power. Congratulations, human."
The titan's gesture repeated — something in the palms, an ancient movement — and the room trembled. But then the voice that emerged was no longer just sound: it was a moan that spread through the giant's mind, reverberating like a bell. A single word, a cry:
"MOOOORE!"
Then came the torrent: electricity tearing skin and frying the insides, jets of water slicing through flesh in perfect cuts, pustules of poison trying to corrode what remained. Nothing could shatter the space where Nikolai's living flame still resided. Where once there was flesh, now there was incandescent audacity — a white flame, small and fierce, that would not extinguish; it screamed for more.
Bödvar fell silent. Disbelief tore at his voice.
"I gave you everything…" — he whispered, almost not believing it himself.
Even the titan couldn't understand: the human had lost practically everything and still had not given up. Around them, the eyes in the shadows vibrated with strange enthusiasm; the audience of ancestors recognized an anomaly. Ashen, beside the giant, let out a low growl — not of anger, but of approval, faintly proud.
The colossus looked at the young bear and, touching his son's fur like one sealing a pact, said:
"You chose well, son. Go — and destroy the enemy."
And so, among embers and ice, mutilated and still burning, Nikolai began to rebuild himself. The white flame in his chest flickered like a beacon in the fog: not as proof that it was fair, but as a promise that something, now, had changed forever.
"Open your eyes now, boy. NOW!"
The shout tore Nikolai from his stupor.
The white light that had flooded everything began to retreat, like mist being sucked into itself. The chamber gradually returned, revealing the old evaluator standing before him.
Her gaze was not one of authority.
It was one of astonishment.
Of incomprehension.
"What happened?" — Nikolai murmured, his voice still hoarse, his mind lost between pain and clarity.
The silence in the hall was absolute. Hundreds of eyes were on him, but no one dared speak.
The old woman took a deep breath before answering:
"Honestly… I don't know."
Shock rippled through the rows.
In the North, ignorance was nearly a crime. The evaluation system was ancient, immutable, a pillar of order. There was always an answer. Always.
But there, before Nikolai, logic itself had failed.
"I simply don't know your classification."
The words fell like a hammer.
They were heavier than any color.
With trembling hands, the old woman pulled a small medallion from a chest and handed it to him.
"I'll ask you to wait. I need to speak with other evaluators before giving a verdict. Until then… keep this temporary one."
Nikolai looked.
Crimson red.
The lowest rank.
It wasn't disdain.
It was caution.
Deep down, the evaluator feared that his uniqueness was merely a mistake — and in doubt, she preferred to rank him low.
Better to hide him as a weakling than expose him as a… false prodigy.
Nikolai closed his fingers around the crimson medallion.
He didn't care.
That cheap piece of metal couldn't define who he was.
Not after what he had endured.
The pain still burned in his memory — the fire, the ice, the ruin and the rebuilding.
And amid all that suffering, a certainty had been born: he was on the right path.
He wasn't seeking titles. He wasn't seeking glory.
He sought experience. Real strength.
And he knew exactly where to find it.
Nikolai scanned the hall with his eyes, looking for an anchor to escape the tide of gazes that was drowning him. His eyes landed on Ivan. He watched from afar, standing beside the Empire's emissaries. The two foreign girls looked stunned, as if they had seen something that shouldn't exist.
Nikolai looked away quickly. He didn't want that. He didn't want attention, or mystery, or shock. He just wanted to leave.
And then he found it.
An older man, unkempt gray beard, and beside him a large black bear, patches of white gleaming in its thick fur. The animal stared at him with dark, vivid eyes — not judging, but enthusiastic.
Nikolai didn't hesitate. He approached.
"Master Kuzman, it's a pleasure to see you."
The old man lifted his head, his eyes half-closed in a tired smile.
"You know, boy… when my wife said you'd be special, I had my doubts." — his voice was deep, drawn out. — "But you keep surprising us."
Nikolai knew who he was referring to: Vadim, his neighbor. From early on, she had assured him that, if he ever needed help, Kuzman would take care of him. That promise was one of the few things he never questioned.
In the North, entering Svarog without someone reliable behind you was asking to die.
"Do you still need an apprentice?" — Nikolai asked, almost breathless.
Kuzman let out a rough, genuine laugh:
"Hahaha! My wife retired a few months ago to care for the baby. I think I can put you in the back lines. The pay's not great, and food won't be plenty… but you'll learn. And that's worth more than any coin — after all, a promise is a promise."
Nikolai felt his chest ease. It was exactly what he needed: someone experienced, reliable, familiar. Even if his classification had been high, he would still have chosen Kuzman. Better the grumpy security of an old man who had survived many winters than the uncertainty of some random group.
"And how's old Gerasim? Come here, girl."
The black bear approached, imposing but gentle. Nikolai crouched, running his hand through her thick, warm fur. Gerasim licked his face with force, making him smile, and then promptly ambushed Ashen, who was already nearly her size. At first, the young one seemed annoyed, but soon gave in — happy to receive affection from one of his own kind.
Kuzman crossed his arms, satisfied.
"I see those two will get along." — he said, then tilted his head toward Nikolai. — "All right, come with me. I'll explain properly what that witch most certainly overlooked."
Nikolai didn't need to ask who.
Marina Sobolev.
The woman who only respected the strong — and who, if she could, would let any weakling rot in the snow.