The snow fell gentler back then.
Sid was no older than nine, wrapped in thick leathers two sizes too large, his cheeks red from the cold, his nose dripping. They had camped deep in the frost-tipped woods, where the everpines rose like towering giants and the wind carried the scent of old blood and wolves. The sky was a pale gray ceiling, muffling the world like a thick blanket, and the air was sharp enough to sting the lungs.
"You're not cold because it's cold," his grandfather's voice growled behind him. "You're cold because you're wasting your strength complaining."
Sid sniffled, rubbing his nose with the sleeve of his coat. "My fingers are freezing…"
"Then stop thinking about your fingers. Think about what's next."
The old man was tall, broad-backed, with a scar that split his brow and left one eye permanently squinting, thrusting a crooked branch into Sid's arms. It was gnarled and polished by years of use. "You think a beast out here cares if your little hands are numb? If you stumble, it pounces."
Sid took the branch reluctantly, his arms wobbling slightly under the weight. "Can't I rest a little? My legs are sore."
His grandfather crouched beside him and etched lines into the snow with the butt of his staff. "Rest when you've earned it. Look at these prints. What do you see?"
Sid blinked down at the scattered indentations. "It's… a mess."
"Good. Then you see the truth," the old man said with a dry chuckle. "The woods never give you clear signs. But if you can tell what left this mess and where it went, you'll live to see your next hunt."
Sid furrowed his brows, kneeling beside the trail. "There's weight on the back hoof… wider spacing… maybe running?"
His grandfather didn't answer. Just watched. Judging.
"It's running. From something?"
"Go on."
Sid chewed his lip. "Whatever chased it might still be close."
The old man's face broke into a rare smile. "You'll learn faster than most, well, if you don't give up."
Sid's smile didn't match. "I don't want to give up. But it's like… my body doesn't listen. I know what I'm supposed to do, but I can't make it happen."
The smile faded. His grandfather looked down at him, eyes cold but not unkind.
"Then teach it. Beat it into your bones if you have to. I won't raise a boy who surrenders to weakness."
The boy nodded slowly. That day, he tripped three more times in the snow, failed to light a fire, and fell asleep hungry and exhausted.
But he woke up alive.
And he never forgot the look in his grandfather's eyes.
A piercing screech tore through the sky.
Sid's eyes snapped open, heart pounding, as the present returned like a slap to the face. The memory of snow-soft trails and his grandfather's stern voice shattered under the shriek of a flyer diving from above. The weight of nostalgia vanished, replaced by the cold bite of wind and the crumbling stone beneath his fingers.
Now.
The cold was not gentle. It was biting and relentless.
The snow no longer muffled the world as it roared like a beast, crashing against the cliff with gale-force winds. Every ledge felt like a trap, every handhold a lie waiting to crumble.
The trial had turned into something crueler. The nobles had surged ahead, drawing the attention of the cliff's true predators with their massive winged beasts with jagged talons and crystalline eyes. Elder flyers.
But as their strikes fell upon the cliff side, it became apparent: the strong repelled them.
And so the beasts turned their attention downward.
Toward the weaklings barely catching up.
He had climbed well. Better than expected. He was somewhere near the middle now, not leading, not trailing. But he was exposed. The middle was where the threats congregated, where the flyers circled.
Another shriek.
Sid pressed against the cliff, muscles tensed. He didn't look up. He didn't need to. The shadow overhead was large enough to darken the snow.
His fingers were trembling. Not from fear but from fatigue.
Too slow.
Too late.
He launched a Flicker Form construct midair.
The translucent blade shimmered into existence, angled precisely upward. A sudden force met it as a flyer diving with its talons wide. But it only lasted a moment, the attack still going through. The frosthawk's body slammed into him with a crunch as he got pressed into the rocks. The impact shook his shoulder, nearly dislodging him.
But the blade held just long enough.
The beast's dive redirected, slamming it into the cliff with a cry that echoed across the trial grounds. The stone exploded.
Sid recoiled, slipping.
He fell a meter, flailing for grip.
Flicker Form! he screamed in his mind.
Another blade formed beneath his foot. He slammed his boot into it. Using the momentary foothold he managed to launch himself to the cliff face. He threw another blade with his left hand, stabbing the wall creating a small handhold as his fingers dug through it, holding for his life.
He struck the wall of jagged ro with a heavy grunt, his ribs flaring in pain. He dangled for a moment before dragging himself up.
Blood trickled from a cut on his brow.
His breath steamed into the air, heavy and broken.
"You're not cold because it's cold…", a gentle voice echoed in his head, "You're cold because you're wasting your strength complaining."
He exhaled again, harder. "Shut up, old man."
But a small smile touched his lips.
Above him, cries rang out. One of the nobles, Tarn Greyreign, had unleashed a flash of his storm aura, pushing a frosthawk back. Lysette Coldmere sent a blast of freezing mana upward. The flyer that had been descending upon her was caught mid-flight causing its wings suddenly stiff with frost. It flailed wildly before losing balance and crashing into the cliff face with a wet crunch, tumbling down the rock face in a spiral of feathers and snow.
Most of the front runners had already finished scaling the wall. One by one, the nobles had vanished over the cliff's edge, their final bursts of aura or clever technique carrying them to safety and glory. Those who remained below felt the weight of their absence like a chain on their shoulders.
Sid wasn't envious.
But he was tired.
His mana reserves were shallow. Every Flicker Form strained his mental fortitude and squeezed the mana circle inside his heart. His vision blurred at the edges. He pressed his head against the cold stone, the frigid surface grounding him for a moment. His mind was overheating, feverish from the sheer strain of processing trajectory paths, predicting attacks, and timing his Flicker Form perfectly.
The cold against his brow didn't just ease his headache as it was the only thing keeping his senses tethered. His body felt like it was freezing, but inside his skull, a fire raged from the effort. Each decision was razor-thin, each breath timed to a calculation. And he knew… it wouldn't last forever.
"Move."
He forced his arms upward, conjuring another blade. It flickered out before he could use it.
"Again."
The second one held just long enough for his hand to slip into a new crack. He had long stopped counting how many he'd passed. How many had frozen, retreated, or fallen.
Some had given up.
Sid hadn't.
Far above, the proctors murmured.
"That one again."
"Sid. No crest. Still going."
"He's pushing himself too hard. That kind of overexertion, without Aura to reinforce his body, he won't last any longer."
"You already said that a while ago. Just keep an eye on it."
"…Let's see if he can survive what's next."
Another cry.
The frosthawks weren't done.
But neither was he.