The north wind blew harder as they advanced. The horses, hardened by harsher winters than this one, ground their hooves steadily in the snow. Kevin and Kelvin rode behind two of the knights, wrapped in rough cloaks that smelled of leather and smoke.
The landscape was a white canvas interrupted by hills and black pine forests. The sky, heavy and gray, seemed to crush everything. There were no marked paths, but the riders followed invisible routes, shortcuts only a Nord would know.
"Valdrik's Keep is high in the Ardenthal Hills," said the young knight, turning his head slightly toward Kevin. "The wind there is worse than here."
"The wind doesn't scare us," Kevin replied, his tone intended to be firm.
Kelvin didn't speak; he watched the horizon, as if expecting the snow to hide more than the trees at any moment.
Several times they thought they saw figures moving through the mist, but every time one of the knights turned to look, there was nothing. Only silence and the crunching of snow. Kevin knew it wasn't imagination: the spirits were following them.
The journey lasted three days. They passed through villages with dark stone houses and fur-covered roofs. The peasants bowed before the banner of the silver falcon, though their faces showed no joy, only respect and a hint of fear.
The night before their arrival, they camped in a clearing protected by a circle of ancient stones. By the warmth of the fire, the knights discussed politics without lowering their voices, as if they knew the brothers didn't fully understand them.
"House Dravorn has sent emissaries to the Central Church," one said.
"That sounds like an alliance," another replied. "And we know that when a house gets too close to the Church, someone ends up with a knife in the back."
"Or poisoned."
Dry laughter was heard, like breaking branches. Kevin and Kelvin looked at each other without saying anything. They still didn't know what those names meant, but they understood that the North wasn't defended with swords alone: intrigues were as sharp as steel.
The next morning, Fort Valdrik appeared before them. It wasn't a castle with tall golden towers, but a dark mass of black stone perched on a cliff. It had walls as wide as streets and battlements crowned with blue banners that flapped in the icy wind. The silver falcon seemed ready to pounce.
Inside, the main courtyard was a hive of activity: blacksmiths working at open forges, squires running with lances, soldiers practicing with real swords. The smell of hot metal and sweat mingled with the smoke from the bonfires.
The bearded knight, who introduced himself as Sir Alrik Torren, led them into the main hall. There, on a carved oak throne, Lord Varyn Valdrik, a man with gray hair, a hard gaze, and a deep voice, awaited them. "So these are the twins you found in the forest," he said, observing them closely. "Hair like snow, eyes like the sky itself... there are ancient omens that speak of such children."
Kevin and Kelvin held each other's gaze, though tension swirled behind them.
"You will be apprentices from today," Lord Varyn continued. "Your mana still slumbers, but you will learn to awaken it. If you are not fit to be knights, I will send you to the smithy or the kitchen. You all work here."
Training began that same afternoon. There were no ceremonies or speeches. The weapons master, Garron Martrek, a man as big as a wall, led them to the apprentice courtyard. There were a dozen young men training there: some sons of lesser houses, others sons of mercenaries, all sweating under the weight of iron.
"This is your world now," Garron growled. Here they will learn to fight with sword, spear, and bow. They will learn to ride, to use mana, and to survive the winter. If they complain, they're gone. If they fall, they'll get back up. If they die... they'd better kill someone useful.
The first day was a grueling ordeal. They were forced to run in armor that weighed like wet stones, then to hold guard positions until their arms shook, and finally to fight three opponents at once, without respite.
Kevin bled from his eyebrow in their first fight. Kelvin lost his breath and fell to his knees, but rose as Garron passed. None of them uttered a word of surrender.
That night, exhausted and bruised, they were led to a long dormitory with wooden bunks. Among the apprentices, there were hostile and curious glances. Some seemed to assess them as potential allies; others, as rivals.
Before he fell asleep, Kevin turned toward the small window. In the darkness, beyond the walls, he thought he saw a familiar silhouette: the spirit of the ice spear, motionless, as if guarding the fortress. Deep down, something told him that his destiny was tied to this place... and that the trials were just beginning.