When a sound finally echoed through the hall, everyone turned toward what seemed to be a small stage. Nikolai blinked, confused — he had never even noticed that space existed there. Suddenly, a woman appeared, as if she had teleported. It was Kolya. The magic used wasn't unfamiliar to him. In Marya's Notebook, there was a similar spell — and Nikolai remembered perfectly the warning written in capital letters: "one mistake, and you might materialize inside a wall — and die in the stupidest way possible." Even Marya, as careful as she was, treated that magic with respect and caution. Kolya, however, seemed not to care.
The voice that came out of her mouth, however, wasn't hers. It was someone else's — firm, elegant, authoritative.
"Good afternoon, protectors of Svarog. For those who don't know me yet, my name is Alexandra Feodorovna."
"Yes, for the new and uninformed, I'm using the body of my dear granddaughter,"
she continued, with an ironic smile,
"but that's just a detail, isn't it?"
She slowly looked around. The hall, once noisy, was now in complete silence.
"Very well. I see that another month has passed since our last conversation… and, to my satisfaction, many of you remain firm in your posts, holding the same rank. That fills me with pride."
Her tone changed, becoming cold.
"However, unlike the other months, today I must speak of something sad."
A murmur ran through the hall. Even the veterans seemed uneasy. Nikolai noticed the change in the expressions on their faces — something in those words didn't follow the usual script.
Alexandra went on, impassive:
"As some of you already know, we had several comrades who went south… toward the Empire. It's always good to see that, even after my death, there are still those who believe we can coexist with those… traitors."
The tone of contempt was clear. Nikolai knew well how much she hated the Empire. He had spent enough time with her voice in the rehearsal room to understand that. She called them traitors, opportunists — words that came loaded with centuries of resentment. He too harbored hatred for the Empire, but her feeling was of another nature: ancient, deep, almost inseparable from her very essence.
The war between the northern people and the Empire had happened so long ago that, for most, it was just a legend. Even on the front lines, the confrontations were limited to battles against the condemned of the Empire, in a tacit agreement between king and executioner. The following generations, sons and grandsons of the survivors, had already forgotten the meaning of full-scale, unrestricted war. But she never had. Nikolai believed that, in the whole tower, only two people still hated the Empire with such intensity: himself… and Alexandra Feodorovna.
"The Triad,"
the voice continued,
"believed that the past should be forgotten, and that a new era of alliances with the Empire was the way forward."
She smiled, a cold, almost mocking smile.
"Fortunately, I'm already dead. I don't need to worry about what the living choose to do."
The entire hall held its breath.
"But I do care about my protégés,"
she said, and her voice echoed like steel striking marble.
"Many went in search of honor and glory. They left with the best intentions… but not even I imagined that the Empire could be so vile. So cruel."
Alexandra paused. The flames of the torches seemed to flicker, as if the tower itself were reacting to her presence. And in that instant, everyone felt — what was to come would not be a simple meeting. The air was too heavy, the silence too dense. Nothing good could come from that spectral monologue.
"Yesterday I was surprised by a… sad and horrible event."
It was the first time Nikolai had heard Alexandra Feodorovna's voice falter. Even when speaking of past tragedies, she always sounded cold, almost mechanical — as if human feelings no longer belonged to her. But now, something in her seemed different. There was pain. There was grief.
"I… I…"
she tried to continue, but her voice failed.
Before anyone could react, Kolya's body twisted violently. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed to the floor with a dull thud. A murmur of panic rippled through the hall. Several stood up, ready to rush to her — but before they could take the first step, the woman raised her arm with effort.
"Stop… I'm fine."
The voice sounded different. The tone had changed — younger, more human. And Nikolai recognized it instantly: it was no longer Alexandra speaking. It was Kolya. She took a deep breath, steadying herself on the pulpit that had appeared behind her, and continued:
"My ancestor… won't be able to go on. So I will take over."
Her gaze swept the crowd — firm, trembling, and resolute all at once.
"Our comrades…"
she began, her voice faltering,
"the ones sent to the Empire in search of alliance and prosperity… were betrayed."
The silence that followed was absolute. A deathly silence, so heavy it seemed to choke the air. Nikolai felt a chill run down his spine. Everyone there knew what "betrayal" meant — especially in that context.
Kolya closed her eyes.
"I can't feel them anymore…"
The last sentence hung in the air, echoing like a sentence passed.
"All the names of those who left are written on a slate on the first floor,"
said Kolya. Her voice sounded steady, but there was a hidden tremor in it.
"If you know someone who went and don't see their name, come speak to me. As for the others… those whose names are there, my condolences."
She took a deep breath before continuing:
"I'm sorry to bring this up today, of all days, a date so important to all of us. But there couldn't be a better time — after all, it's when we're all gathered."
The silence was broken by a deep voice that cut through the air like a blade.
"And now? What happens between us and them?"
Nikolai immediately recognized where the voice came from. The man was the leader of a group made up solely of white bear tamers — imposing and gigantic. He had never seen him in person, but a single glance at the raised banner, with the group's name in silver letters, told him who it was: one of the highest-ranking teams in Svarog.
Kolya raised her eyes toward him.
"Timur, I'm sorry to say it's still too early to know what the Triad will decide,"
she answered, her voice heavy with the weight of the words.
"But honestly… if it's up to my ancestor, there's only one thing that could erase this sin."
She hesitated. But everyone knew what was coming.
War.
Nikolai shivered. He had already expected Alexandra Feodorovna to react that way. Still, the mere word seemed impossible to bear. It would be madness. The North could never face the Empire — not with their wyverns and their absolute dominion over the skies. Even so, no one dared to object.
"In any case,"
Kolya resumed, in a more measured tone,
"we need to be prepared. It's likely that, in the coming days, the Triad will take some action. So I ask that everyone be ready for the call… if it comes."
She paused, and with a distant look, added:
"I myself will go to Medved, to understand what our next steps will be."
The sadness in her voice was clear — not just from empathy, but from frustration. Kolya, like many there, wanted to believe things could be different. But Nikolai knew: nothing would be easy. The Empire was unpredictable. Grotesquely unpredictable. And if there was one thing certain about them, it was that they never made the same move twice — they always found a new and cruel way to surprise the world.
"I can't believe that this had to happen just when we made it into the rankings…"
Andrei grumbled, frustrated. Before he could say anything else, he was quickly slapped by Ekaterina, who silenced him at once.
"Why is it that you never know the right thing to say?"
she whispered, her voice trembling.
"All those young people…"
Ekaterina was visibly shaken. She knew many of the people who had trusted the Empire. She knew some had gone out of greed, but also knew many had gone in good faith — believing that maybe, just maybe, it was a chance for a new beginning.
"Calm down, Ekaterina,"
Kuzma tried to intervene, with his usual serene tone.
"There has to be an explanation. It doesn't make sense for the Empire to do all this just to kill a few of our people."
She laughed bitterly.
"You know what my mother used to say about the Empire, Kuzma? That they would kill their own children just to watch us freeze on this damned block of ice."
She paused.
"I always hated her for not believing this war could end… but today, I think she was right. Even in the end."
Ekaterina turned and walked away without another word. Andrei, silent for the first time in a long while, simply followed her.
The joy that had filled the hall moments before shattered like broken glass. One by one, those present began to disperse — some in silence, others whispering prayers or curses. The hope that had been building now gave way to fear and mourning.
"Don't worry,"
said Daria, gently placing a hand on Nikolai's shoulder.
"She'll be okay. She just needs time."
She paused, looking into his eyes.
"I remember that some from your year took part in that march. Maybe… maybe it's good for you to find out who went."
Nikolai nodded, but her words felt distant. Something was bothering him. An absence. He looked around, scanning the hall. Faces passed before him — worn, blank, drained of color. But there was one face he couldn't find. When the name came to his mind, his heart skipped a beat.
"Excuse me, Miss Daria."
Before she could answer, he began walking through the corridors, leaving her behind — watching him with a sad, understanding gaze.
Nikolai moved slowly at first, but before he realized it, he was speeding up, pushing through the crowd that was now gathering around the slates. The corridor buzzed with murmurs and heavy breaths. The harsh sound of chalk scraping against stone still echoed — as if each new name carved another wound.
Some wept silently. Others simply stared at the ground, empty. But the air… the air felt like it weighed tons. It was like breathing inside a grave.
Nikolai looked around and, for a moment, wanted to turn back. He had never imagined seeing so many names. So many snuffed-out fates. And then he remembered: Svarog wasn't alone — the groups from Medved and the Outpost had joined the expedition. Now their names were there, side by side, eternalized in white chalk and silence.
Time ceased to exist. Each step was a hammer blow to the chest. The voices around him grew distant, dissolving into a shapeless hum.
When he finally reached the front of the slate, Nikolai realized his hands were trembling. Cold sweat dripped down his neck. He knew what he was looking for — and at the same time, he prayed not to find it.
"She couldn't have gone…"
The phrase pounded in his mind, repeating like a desperate mantra.
"She was strong. She was sensible. She knew the Empire doesn't change…"
But his heart was screaming something else. It screamed her name.
He scanned the letters. One. Two. Three rows. His eyes darted out of focus, stumbling over the words — until they stopped.
His body froze.
For a moment, he thought he had read it wrong. But then the letters stood out against the black background, as if glowing with fire:
IRINA ALEKSEEVA — WHITE BEAR — MISHA
Nikolai felt his stomach drop. The air vanished from his lungs. The sounds around him disappeared. He read it again. And again. And again. The letters were still there. Fixed. Eternal. Each chalk stroke felt like a knife wound.
"…No."
His voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper.
"No… it's not possible…"
His single leg buckled. He reached for the wall for balance, but his body no longer responded. His throat burned, his chest blazed. All he could see was her smile — the same smile that believed the world could be changed. And now the whole world seemed to collapse. The weight crushed him.
What came out of him wasn't a cry — it was a muffled roar, a silent scream that tore through the stillness and vanished into the tower's thick air. For a moment, the slate before him seemed to dissolve. The letters blurred, the walls bent, and the world spun in a whirlwind of pain and disbelief.
He tried to breathe. But all that came was emptiness.
Irina.
The name echoed inside him like mourning bells that would never stop ringing. He hadn't even known he was so connected to her. Couldn't explain it. He saw her eyes — he wasn't blind. He knew she was a beautiful woman and that she felt something for him. But his self-esteem had died the day he lost his leg. Bitterness and anger were the only things he could offer everyone around him. In the end, all he managed was to push away the one person who had tried the most to get close.
Still, she had never been cruel to him. On the contrary: she had always tried to be near, always showed concern. And no matter how much he tried to push her away in his mind, to see her like everyone else, she insisted on proving otherwise. She was someone who sought the best in him. Who tried to make him belong, when everyone else just wanted to bury him.
His chest tightened even more. A rage surged through his body, heating him up and making his teeth grind.
And for the first time since arriving at the tower, Nikolai felt that all the time he had earned in the Rehearsal Room had been useless.
Because now he understood: no amount of training would ever be enough to fight for someone who's already gone.