"You probably don't know yet why I asked you to come here."
Kolya's voice cut through the heavy air of the room like a cold blade. Nikolai remained silent. Not that he wasn't curious — he was, very much so — but he had learned early on that curiosity without hierarchy is foolishness.
In any case, just being there was reason enough for unease. Very few were summoned to the top level of the Svarog Tower. It was the direct domain of the leader — and the mere fact that his group was on that floor was something almost no one witnessed and came out of unscarred.
He glanced sideways at Kuzma, who remained still, posture impeccable, expression blank. The veteran had only said, curtly, that "Kolya wanted to speak with the group." No explanations. No theories. And, as usual, no one questioned him.
"You may sit,"
said Kolya, her voice now more composed.
"I'll wait for the other group to arrive, and then we'll talk."
The tone seemed neutral, but Nikolai sensed the contained irritation in between the lines. Even Kuzma noticed: Kolya was waiting for someone — and the delay did not please her one bit.
As silence filled the room, Nikolai took the opportunity to look around. The leader of Svarog's room was unlike anything he had ever seen. The walls were covered with dark wooden shelves that rose to the ceiling, crammed with books and scrolls. A faint smell of incense and old paper filled the air, mingled with the tower's metallic scent.
Driven by curiosity, he approached one of the shelves and pulled out a book at random. The leather cover was worn, and the golden letters almost faded. He opened it carefully. "Chronicles of a Northern Traveler, Through the Southern Lands." Nikolai frowned. He expected grimoires, rune treatises, conjuration manuals — anything that sounded like magic. But the book was just… a story. A travelogue.
He flipped through a few pages, but soon returned the volume. Stories about travelers didn't interest him — especially when the real world seemed on the verge of collapse beneath his feet.
He continued scanning the space with his eyes. The velvet cushions scattered throughout the hall stood out: almost luxurious in comfort, the kind of furniture only imperial nobility could afford. But Kolya could have whatever she wanted. And seeing her there — seated, imposing, posture straight, gaze of someone who carried not just authority but a silent kind of weariness — Nikolai understood that perhaps the comfort was only a reflection of how much weight she bore.
The large circular window behind Kolya let in a soft bluish light. Outside, most of Svarog's territory could be seen — smaller towers beneath the walls, and the frozen river cutting across the distant plain. Right in front of the window was a small ledge, but Nikolai hesitated to approach. He didn't know if it was allowed. Still, he was naturally drawn to something ahead. Kolya's desk.
A magnificent piece, made of dark, polished wood — certainly not native to the North. Expertly carved, it featured two wyverns in combat, their wings entwined in flames and lightning.
"My great-grandmother had a fascination with wyverns,"
said Kolya, with a half-smile, noticing Nikolai's interest in the carved desk.
"After all, they were — and still are — formidable enemies."
Kuzma crossed his arms, brow furrowed.
"Yes… but because of them we're trapped in the North. Thousands of our people died in the wars against those creatures,"
he replied, unable to hide the bitterness in his tone.
Kolya turned slowly, her gaze calm, but as sharp as ice.
"I agree,"
she replied, deliberately.
"But that only shows respect."
She raised her hand and ran her fingers over the imperial wood carving.
"Even here, in the North, power still matters more than any word. You, as a black bear tamer, should know that better than anyone."
The silence that followed was heavy. Kuzma didn't seem irritated. In the North, "respect" and "strength" were two sides of the same blade. And he knew — Kolya hadn't lied.
Nikolai watched the two of them, torn between understanding and discomfort. As contradictory as it seemed, he agreed with both: Kuzma's prudence and Kolya's reverence for strength. In the North, survival was the greatest act of faith.
To distract himself, he continued exploring the library. But the more books he flipped through, the more frustrated he became. They all seemed to be stories — chronicles, travelers' journals, ancient poems. No grimoires, no spells. What did Kolya actually study?
When he lifted his eyes to the leader in confusion, he noticed Kolya's faint smile. She had been watching him from the beginning, with the calm of someone who sees everything.
"Boy,"
she said, her voice firm but almost maternal,
"if you're looking for magic books, I suggest you check that shelf."
Nikolai froze, unsure whether to thank her or feel ashamed. But deep down, he felt relieved. It was a chance — an opportunity he might never have again.
While the group remained silent, bound by an almost tangible tension, Nikolai approached the shelf Kolya had pointed out. It was smaller than the others — discreet, almost hidden beside a closed door, likely her room. There were only twelve volumes lined up, and their spines showed a limited but harmonious color palette, divided into three copies of each color: white, blue, black, and brown.
The colors seemed intentionally chosen — and with a clear purpose. The spines were smooth, with no visible titles — but the aura they gave off was different. Something heavy, almost tangible, as if the air around them vibrated in silence.
Nikolai ran his finger over the covers until he chose the thickest one, with a dark brown spine, old stitching, and signs of wear. When he opened it, a faint scent of iron and burned leather escaped from the pages. In the preface, words written in faded ink caught his attention:
"To the tamers of Browns I say: your magic is not weak. Its strength lies in skill and technique. Here I reveal the training of the body, the path of metamorphosis, and the power that is born when man and beast become one."
Nikolai closed the brown book carefully. The leather creaked softly, as if the tome regretted being interrupted. He immediately pulled another — with a blue spine. It was thinner, lighter, but the energy it gave off was completely different.
As he leafed through the first pages, a theory began to form in his mind: the blue books for the Blue Bears, the browns for the Browns, the black ones for the Blacks, and the white ones for the White Bears.
Nikolai stood still, his gaze fixed on the colored spines. The colors of the books represented the types of bears. Each color, a path. Each path, a distinct magical nature. It was strange — almost unsettling — to think that knowledge was divided by invisible borders. As if each bear, each tamer, was condemned to a single destiny… and violating that order was a crime against their very essence.
But something didn't add up. Marya's book — the one that had accompanied him from the start — had never made distinctions. It treated magic as it truly was: without borders or labels. In its pages, magic was just magic — pure, fluid, free. No mention of species, bloodlines, or affinities. To him, magic had always been something to be understood — not limited.
Now, leafing through Kolya's books, he felt like something was missing — as if there were an invisible piece absent from the board. And amid this storm, a question pounded in his mind like a drum:
Ashen… where does it fit? Why can I use different kinds of magic without difficulty? Am I doing something wrong?
The thought unsettled him. For the first time, Nikolai questioned himself: should all knowledge be learned? From the beginning, he had believed that magic was a gift to be mastered — a ladder leading to strength, a path of no return for those who sought to understand power. He knew there were distinctions between bear bloodlines, but he had never imagined the chasm between them was so vast that even the books were separated.
With Ashen, everything felt different. He couldn't pinpoint where his limitation began. It was as if there was no clear limitation at all — a constant sense that all types of magic fit him perfectly. Of course, Nikolai felt that some spells were unreasonably taxing, but he suspected they were difficult even for those they were made for.
Even when using metamorphosis magic — which should be exclusive to the Brown Bears — he had never felt resistance. His body reacted naturally, his energy flowed effortlessly, and the result… was above average. That's what Ekaterina had said, and everyone had agreed. But Nikolai could also cast spells from the Blue and White Bears, and none of them felt harder or less effective. There were no failures, no friction — and that bothered him. Because it meant something was outside the known rules.
For a moment, Nikolai considered asking Kolya directly — she, of all people, would know the answer. But he held back. His intuition told him it was better to speak with Ekaterina first. She would understand. She always did.
He tried to flip quickly through the two books — the blue and the brown — looking for any additional clues, but didn't have time. The heavy groan of iron echoed in the room. The main door to the hall opened with a metallic boom.
"Hey, everyone! We're here!"
The noise snapped Nikolai out of his daze. The sound of scraping iron and the echo of firm footsteps sliced through the room's silence. When he looked at the door, he immediately recognized who was entering — and their words overlapped with Kuzma's:
"The Moranas."
The unison carried different meanings. For Kuzma, it was the end of curiosity and the beginning of concern. He knew that group — and he knew the weight they carried. For Nikolai, however, it was pure astonishment. He knew who would be among them.
And indeed, the redhead with green eyes appeared just behind the leader. Zoya. Nikolai's heart skipped quietly in his chest. No doubt — it was her. Zoya, now dressed in the standard Morana uniform, the silver standard embroidered on her shoulder, and a posture far removed from when they used to study together.
The woman at the front of the group stepped forward. Tall — absurdly tall. Her black hair fell to her waist, her gaze sharp like a predator used to winning. When she stopped in front of Nikolai, he realized she was looking down at him with a teasing smile. And before he could react, her ample breasts brushed against his face as she leaned in to inspect him more closely.
Nikolai froze. Not knowing whether to step back, greet her, or implode with embarrassment.
"Hm…"
the woman raised an eyebrow.
"I think our boy here likes boobs."
And then she laughed, a strong and infectious laugh that momentarily broke the tension in the air. The sound echoed through the hall, drawing even a few nervous chuckles.
Ekaterina, however, wasn't amused. She stepped forward, grabbed Nikolai by the shoulder, and pulled him back sharply, placing herself between him and the giant.
"Tatiana,"
she said, cold as ice,
"could you stop groping our rookie?"
The entire hall fell silent. The choice of word and the acidic tone caught everyone off guard. But what truly shocked them was Tatiana's reaction. The woman raised her hands, chuckling softly, but her eyes softened.
"Auntie…"
she replied in an almost childlike tone,
"you know I like groping men."
"Auntie?!"
Nikolai exclaimed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He looked around at the group and saw the same stunned faces. Even Kuzma raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
The tension rising between the two groups — the Moranas and Kuzma's team — was about to return, but Kolya stepped in before things could sour.
"Everyone, silence,"
her voice echoed, firm, slicing through the confusion like a blade.
"Tatiana, we'll talk about your tardiness after this meeting. For now, take your seats. We have serious matters to discuss."
Tatiana hesitated for a moment. Her jaw clenched, pride clashing with Kolya's authority. But she knew that woman's power — and even the leader of the Moranas knew when not to challenge the top of the tower. With a sharp gesture, she led her companions to the cushions on the other side of the room.
Kuzma, impatient, was the first to break the silence:
"So… what are we here to talk about?"
Kolya looked at him with a slight smile — not one of kindness, but of someone who enjoys watching tension boil before the reveal.
"I understand your impatience, Kuzma,"
she said as she sat behind the desk with the battling wyverns.
"I need to talk about something of the utmost importance."
She paused. The torch flames flickered, reflecting in her eyes.
"I want to talk to you about a Mission."