Ivan
There was no sound louder than his ragged breaths and the violent beating of his heart in his chest like war drums. The ground cracked beneath his feet, and the sun scorched his body, which could barely drag itself along the paths.
"Faster," said the old man Van, standing there, silent-eyed, like a forgotten rock at the side of the road.
Ivan tried to push himself forward, to fight the pain tearing at his lungs and burning in his legs. But his body betrayed him. He collapsed to the ground like a worn-out puppet, gasping for air, as if every particle of air in the universe had abandoned him.
Van approached him, his gray eyes staring without mercy, and said in a low but steady voice:"The goal is simple... run at your top speed for a full hour without slowing down. That's all. If you can't... then you're not ready."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving behind the boy who burned between failure and resolve.
The days passed, like stones crushing his bones. Every morning, Ivan stood in the same place, his lungs screaming, and his legs on the verge of exploding after just a few minutes of running.
He would fall. He would gasp like a drowning man. His body begged him to stop. But each time, he got up. Each time, he ran again.
On the third day, he noticed something strange: the pain in his lungs came later. His legs could handle more steps before betraying his will.
On the fifth day, he began to feel his body getting heavier… but also more flexible, as if his bones and muscles had made a pact to endure a little longer.
Finally, the seventh day came. The sky was gray, breathing cold onto the earth. Ivan stood there, face bare, breathing slowly, his eyes staring ahead.
He felt something unusual، a deep sense within told him that this was the day he would succeed.
He had been close to reaching the goal yesterday, but Van had noticed his slowing pace in the last three minutes, preventing him from succeeding.
That small failure became new fuel for him. He had decided today would be different, and he would not repeat the same mistake.
Van stood beside Ivan, holding the countdown timer in his hands, and sighed deeply as he looked at him: "Another boring hour I'll spend watching you run."
Ivan felt the weight of the words but didn't let them affect him. He took a deep breath, straightened into a starting stance, his eyes glowing with a determination Van hadn't seen before.
There was something different in his gaze، something certain: "This time I'll make it," Ivan said quietly but full of power. Then he added, "The Ritters test is just three weeks away. Every day that passes shortens my training time."
"Start," said Van without raising his voice.
And Ivan took off. He ran like he never had before. He ran like the wind escaping its fate.
His steps never slowed. His resolve never wavered.
His speed burned on and on, as if he was setting fire to the ground beneath him.
Time passed... minute after minute... and this time, his heart beat like war drums of victory, not defeat.
His speed surpassed that of ordinary people — when he passed the trees, they looked distorted to him.
And when the clock signaled the end of sixty minutes, Ivan was still running… with the same speed… the same resolve… the same eyes burning with the flame of life.
He stopped suddenly, drenched in sweat, his body trembling, but he smiled for the first time in days — a small, tired smile, but one filled with pride.
Van approached him, for the first time with a slight smile on his face, placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, and said quietly: "Now… I can really begin shaping you."
Ivan felt a strange warmth and pride filling his chest, as if, for the first time, he could touch his shadow stretched out before him.
Just seven days ago, his body and lungs were weak. But now, he felt strength seeping into his limbs, growing like the roots of a young tree within his exhausted bones.
He clenched his fist with excitement, his eyes shining with a new light he had never known before.
Then, with a tone full of longing and determination, he said: "Shall we start training now?"
He expected Van to mock him, or perhaps give him a verbal slap back to the ground.
But Van only gave him a steady look, before breaking the silence between them with a quiet nod، not a single word.
Van raised two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle that sliced through the air, echoing into the distant horizon, awakening something that had been waiting in the heights.
Ivan raised his head, eyes glowing with awe, following the sound's source.
There, in the sky, he saw something approaching.
It was a large bird, the size of a horse, gliding between the winds.
Its feathers were a mix of brown and white, its legs long and strong, pulsing with flexibility.
Its vast wings spread with elegance.
Its beak was long and sharp, ending in a gently curved tip.
The bird landed beside Van with a grace unbefitting its massive body, and it bowed its head like a loyal pet, with no sign of savagery or violence in its movements.
Van reached out and stroked its beak gently, like one would caress a faithful horse.
Then, without lifting his eyes from the bird, he said clearly: "This is a fickle bird… it's tame, as long as you feed it. It's used as an air transport link."
What astonished Ivan wasn't the bird itself, but the idea that suddenly struck him… flying.
That dream which had never gone beyond a child's imagination had now become a living reality before him.
He stared at Van in disbelief and asked hesitantly: "Are you… really going to fly on this bird?"
The old man smiled faintly, almost like a muffled laugh, then replied as he lightly mounted the bird's back: "Yes."
He didn't wait any longer but extended his hand, signaling Ivan to follow him.
He invited him to an experience he hadn't even dared dream of in his wildest nights.
For a moment, Ivan felt a strange excitement — a raw, pure feeling that filled his chest without showing on his face or in his movements.
All his life, he had never imagined he would see the world from above… to look down on the earth like birds do from the sky.
With hesitant steps, he approached, then leapt onto the bird's back just as he had seen Van do.
He pressed close to the old man, holding onto his cloak tightly.
The bird spread its wings powerfully and launched into the sky, slicing through the air with a soft whistle.
Strong winds hit Ivan's face; he felt them crawling over his skin, playing with his hair.
He looked down and saw the ground shrinking beneath his feet, growing smaller and smaller until it looked like tiny drawings children make.
Ivan said in an awed voice, staring downward with the wind whipping his hair: "Things look so small from up here…"
Van replied in a calm, deep voice, with words that carried a different meaning within them: "That's exactly what happens when you look at things from a perspective different than the one you're used to."
A sarcastic smile spread on Ivan's lips — a mix of wonder and surprise — then he said with light mockery: "Did you bring me up here just to give me a philosophical lecture in the sky? and Where's the training you promised me?"
Van chuckled softly, didn't answer, and let the wind finish their conversation.
The old man remained silent. A heavy silence, as if even the wind had paused out of respect.
Long moments passed until doubt crept into Ivan's heart…
Would he get an answer, or was this flight just another test of patience?
But before he could drown in his doubts completely, Van spoke in a cold voice, without turning to him: "We're going to your first training… we'll see how much progress you've made this week."
Simple words, but they ignited something deep within Ivan.
He clenched his fist tightly and struck his other palm with a light punch, then said with a tone full of challenge: "I'm ready! But… what kind of training will it be?"
No reply came. Van remained silent, as if he hadn't heard anything.
That silence — that strange habit of the old man — deeply bothered Ivan.
He had always hated ignorance, hated the darkness that hides things from his eyes.
After two full hours of flying, boredom began to creep into Ivan's heart. He hadn't expected the training location to be this far. He let out a long sigh and then said, annoyed and unable to hide it anymore: "How much longer are we going to keep flying? I'm bored… Why do we have to go all this distance for training we could've done anywhere?"
Van cut him off by calmly raising his hand, then said briefly: "We're here."
At that exact moment, the bird began descending gradually. Ivan felt an unexpected relief. Though flying had been enjoyable at first, it had become tedious over time—like a delicious piece of candy that loses its flavor after the third bite.
The bird finally landed on the ground in a cloud of light dust. Ivan quickly jumped off its back, his muscles stiff from sitting for too long. He stretched his arms upward and took a deep breath, as if trying to expel the fatigue from his chest. Then he turned toward the old man Van, who was still sitting atop the bird as if glued to it. Ivan smirked and said, hands on his hips: "Did your butt get stuck to the bird or what? Come on, get down—we don't have time to waste!"
But the old man didn't move. He remained on the bird, his serious features even harsher under the broken sunlight on his face. Then he said, without a trace of humor: "You won't need me for this training… You'll only need what you've gained so far."
Ivan's smirk froze on his lips. His eyes widened in surprise at the old man. For a moment, he thought Van had abandoned him—or maybe never intended to train him at all. As he stepped forward anxiously, seeking an explanation, he asked in restrained frustration: "What do you mean by that? If you didn't plan to train me, then why bring me all the way here?"
The bird spread its wings with a powerful flap, preparing to take flight again. The ground's dust rose like a theatrical curtain. Amidst it, Van's voice came—calm, but carrying a weight Ivan wasn't used to: "This training… will be a real simulation of what you'll face in the Reiters' trial."
Ivan stepped toward the bird as if trying to stop it from flying off. His steps were tense, and his eyes clung to its outstretched wings. Reaching out, he said nervously, trying to suppress his anxiety: "You said before that I'd die in minutes if I took the trial… So how do you expect me to simulate it now when you haven't taught me anything yet?"
But the bird gave him no time to argue. It rose powerfully into the air, beating its wings and sending up a cloud of dust that forced Ivan to step back, shielding his face with his elbow. He then raised his head, staring in confusion at the sky, wondering what kind of strange training he'd suddenly been thrust into.
He had expected something simple—physical exercises or basic combat—something his mind could grasp, not another mystery added to the chain of confusion.
From afar, Van's voice rang out, raised to bridge the distance: "In the Riters' trial… all you need is the ability to survive! If you have that, you'll succeed—even without power!"
In the next moment, the giant bird cut through the sky, and Van atop it, flying higher until he became a mere dot watching everything from above—watching Ivan from a great height, as if testing him with the eyes of a bird.
Ivan scratched his head slowly, the motion full of both irritation and confusion. He still didn't understand what awaited him. All he knew was that he'd been left here alone, in a place unlike anything he'd ever seen before.
He looked around, scanning the surrounding land, trying to comprehend the situation he'd been thrown into.
The trees around him were tall, with black trunks and dark leaves that danced slowly in a gentle breeze—unlike any he'd seen in his life.
And nearby, he saw a massive cave, like an ancient beast—its mouth wide and shrouded in darkness, exuding a foul stench.
Ivan slowly advanced toward the cave, heavy curiosity filling him. He pinched his nose, trying to block out the growing stench with each step he took. The smell was a suffocating mix of burning tar and feces, twisting his insides with disgust.
He briefly raised his eyes to the sky, searching for Van—hoping he might signal him or offer a hint of what to do. But all he could see was a tiny dot drifting among the clouds, as if Van had deliberately left him alone to face the unknown.
Ivan shook his head in despair and looked back toward the cave—but suddenly stopped when his ears caught a strange sound. A low, coarse noise slipped from within the darkness.
He instinctively stepped back, as if his body was trying to warn him not to approach.
A discomforting feeling crept over him—a heavy sense that something was waiting in there, something he didn't want to meet.
Questions slithered into his mind like snakes.
Was there a monster inside? Did the old man want him to face it unprepared?
Was this really training—or just a trap to execute him?
Doubts swirled in his head, and a chill of fear twisted inside him like a cold current.
He raised his voice and looked to the sky, shouting with unfiltered emotion: "You crazy old man! Just as I thought… it was all a lie! Did you lure me here just to feed me to some monster?!"
Despite the distance, Van heard his words clearly. He laughed out loud, as if enjoying Ivan's confusion, and said: "This boy still doesn't trust me!"
The cave didn't give Ivan time to reply. The ground near him began to tremble slightly, and small rocks started to fall around the cave's entrance.
Ivan's heart pounded faster. He took two steps back, eyes wide, watching what was happening.
From deep within the darkness, a huge head slowly crept outward.
The creature had an oddly shaped head with two long horns pointing upward and two curved downward. A single large eye sat in the center of its forehead, staring forward with a cold gaze.
Dread overwhelmed Ivan's heart without mercy.
It was a familiar feeling—the same one that had consumed him that day…
He felt his mouth go dry, his tongue heavy. Fear drove him to sneak behind a nearby tree, hiding in its shadows, trying to steady his ragged breathing.
Only one thought echoed in his mind: "How am I going to survive this time?"
The monster fully emerged from the cave.
Its enormous body was a moving mass of shiny black material, reeking of the same foul odor that polluted the place and choked the air.
It had a massive mouth in the middle of its chest, lined with irregular, decaying bone-like teeth that danced grotesquely.
Ivan stood behind the tree, frozen.
His breathing was shallow, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to think fast.
His eyes darted left and right in panic, desperately searching for an escape route—a way to get out of sight of the hideous beast.
He moved his head around, scanning every corner, every trunk, every bend—hoping to find a tiny window to flee before he was discovered.
What Ivan didn't know was that the slimy monster didn't need to see him.
The black trees themselves served it—as if invisible cords connected them to the beast, feeding it the location of every movement among them.
He wasn't hiding. He was exposed—and didn't know it.
Suddenly, the monster launched several sticky black projectiles with astonishing speed at the tree Ivan was hiding behind.
He heard the air tear, and instinctively dropped low, hugging the ground.
The projectiles whizzed just above his head and smashed into the tree trunk—blasting half of it apart and sending shards of black wood flying in every direction.
Ivan slowly lifted his head and looked at the shredded remains of the tree, his heart pounding violently in his chest.
It was then he realized: staying put meant certain death.
He clenched his fists, bit his lower lip, and felt every muscle in his body scream, urging him to move.
Ivan dashed forward, his feet pounding the ground with force, while the monster chased him from behind like a mass of black slime, writhing and advancing oddly, releasing a sticky spray with every movement. At first, he thought the creature would be slow, but he quickly realized it was astonishingly fast—almost matching his speed, if not exceeding it.
Ivan pushed himself to run faster, cutting through the distance between the trees like a gust of stormy wind, constantly shifting direction—right, then left—trying to trick the monster, to confuse it, to break its focus. But no matter what he did, the creature pursued him like a shadow, never falling behind, clinging to him like glue wherever he went.
The creature began launching sticky black orbs at him. They exploded in front of him, tainting the ground and blocking his path. Their foul stench filled his nostrils and heightened his tension. He had no choice but to veer sharply to the right, avoiding the spreading darkness, moving lightly despite the fear clawing at his chest.
The attack continued relentlessly, and it was as if the creature were flooding the entire forest with that viscous substance—destroying trees, crushing stones, and leaving behind a suffocatingly foul ruin.
Despite this, Ivan started to feel his pulse slow a bit—not from weakness, but from awareness. The sensation was familiar. It was the same feeling he had trained for over an entire week of grueling effort. The memory struck him like a spark: running every morning, enduring until his muscles collapsed, bearing pain. It wasn't just running… it had forged something new within him.
He quickly turned his head as he spotted a sticky orb heading his way. He leapt without thinking toward the trunk of a nearby tree. He was briefly amazed at himself as he hung in the air—he hadn't known he could jump that far. When his feet touched the tree, he grasped the truth… his training had built not only endurance, but strengthened his muscles, sharpened his senses, and made him faster and more agile.
From that moment, his movement changed. He began gliding from tree to tree with astonishing lightness. His feet touched the thick branches without causing the slightest tremor; even the leaves remained still, as if the wind respected his newfound grace. He no longer ran on the ground; he had become part of the forest itself—dodging, weaving, outrunning even the breath of death chasing him.
Ivan kept running without pause, moving between trees lightly, leaping from branch to branch, sometimes swerving aside to avoid the merciless sticky orbs hurled by the monster. Half an hour or more had passed, and neither the pursued nor the pursuer had stopped, as if trapped in an endless loop. With every leap and every dodge, Evan panted and asked himself: "When will this hell end?... Am I to keep running like this all day?"
He kept waiting for the old man, Van, to intervene—to save him or at least throw him a hint. But he never showed up. It was as if he sat atop his bird, enjoying the game of cat and mouse with no intention of ending it.
Suddenly, without warning, the monster's behavior changed. Its slimy body reshaped oddly, stretching until it resembled the head of a giant arrow, then launched forward with power. This time, it wasn't just throwing orbs—it hurled its entire body like a missile.
Ivan heard the ground shatter behind him before feeling the tremor beneath his feet. He lost his balance for a moment and nearly fell. He hadn't expected the monster to turn into a living weapon hurling itself at him. The earth exploded from the impact, and a massive pit opened suddenly in front of him.
He felt the air sucking his body into the void, his heart leapt to his throat, but in the final moment, he gathered all the strength he had left and jumped with everything he had. His legs pushed off the ground with force, and he flew over the pit at the critical moment—his feet barely touching the edge of the earth.
He landed, rolling on the dirt, gasping for air, placing a hand on the ground to spring up again before giving the monster a chance to close in. As he jumped away from danger, he shouted through his heavy breaths as if blaming the old man: "What kind of training throws me to my death?!"
Ivan began to realize deep down that running wouldn't help. The only way to survive now was to defeat the creature at any cost. Running wouldn't last forever—sooner or later, his legs would fail him. But how do you defeat a creature like this? he wondered, continuing to leap and dodge, his eyes scanning for anything that might spark an idea.
Through observation, he was sure the creature's head was the only solid part of its slimy body—its core of strength and its weakness. If he could strike that big eye, he might cripple its movement, blind it. The idea seemed reasonable—but the question still gnawed at him: "How?"
His mind raced, eyes wildly searching for an opportunity. He caught a glimmer of water in the distance—a small lake in the heart of the black forest—and a wild idea flashed through his mind. It was crazy, but better than nothing. He clenched his fists and headed toward it with all the strength he had left. His shoes were tearing from the pressure of constant running, but he didn't care. Pain had become something far from his awareness.
Without hesitation, Ivan leapt into the lake's water, diving deeper and deeper as he held his breath, trying to disappear beneath the surface and hide from the monster's view. It seemed to work for a moment, as the creature stopped at the lake's edge, writhing hesitantly, unwilling to enter.
Underwater, Ivan felt the cold enclosing his body. Still, he was surprised at his ability to hold his breath despite the intense exhaustion gnawing at him all day. Instinct alone kept him going—pure survival instinct. But the monster didn't give up. Suddenly, it extended its slimy tendrils into the water and released its black substance, which quickly spread, coloring the lake in darkness, as if the water itself had turned into another monster.
Ivan saw the blackness creeping toward him, nearly engulfing him, but he spotted the opposite shore ahead. He surged forward with all his might, his body nearly tearing from the effort. A few strong strokes of his arms—and he reached the other bank just in time.
But when he lifted his head, he felt everything had just gotten worse. The monster was expanding, growing. Its form transformed into something massive, more colossal than before, like a black mountain rising from the earth. Water dripped from his clothes as his body trembled, drops racing down his face in retreat.
Ivan stood stunned, trembling in place, his eyes unable to believe what they saw. Despair began to creep into his soul, and his steps grew heavy—as if his legs were turning to stone. "Is this the Ritter test? It seems far beyond what I imagined…" he whispered bitterly to himself.
The monster raised one of its massive tendrils, one so large it could crush a palace and toss it like a doll. Ivan saw it descending toward him with tremendous force, and his body no longer had the strength to flee. All that remained was waiting… or a miracle.
At the last moment, Van stood atop the bird, watching everything from above. He muttered to himself while staring at the chaotic scene beneath his feet: "Looks like things have gotten out of hand."
Then, without hesitation, Van leapt off the bird's back, his body cutting through the air as he dove toward the ground—directly at Ivan—before the overwhelming strike could consume him.
The tendril was descending toward Ivan with an unstoppable speed, like a mountain of fury falling on him, while Ivan was paralyzed, every muscle in his body refusing to obey. Everything around him seemed slow; his inner voice screamed, but all he could hear were the terrified beats of his heart.
And in the moment the tendril was about to crush him, Van descended from the sky like a blazing meteor. He fell steadily, a short, gleaming sword in his hand, glowing with a faint blue light.
With a speed beyond sight, he sliced through the massive tendril in a single, sharp strike. The sticky substance exploded around them like a storm of darkness—covering the ground, the trees, and even the forest air grew heavier. The monster recoiled in pain, its massive body shuddering, and its single eye locked onto Van with ferocity.
Ivan had collapsed onto his knees, breathing hard, his wide eyes watching the scene as if it were a dream—or a nightmare he couldn't grasp. His heart screamed in silent astonishment: "He saved me…"
Van approached Ivan, his back facing the monster like a human wall shielding him from danger. Then he said calmly: "Stand. Don't weaken now. You didn't come this far just to fall at the first stumble."
Ivan slowly raised his head, his lips trembling slightly, but he said nothing. Something in Van's voice, in the way he stood between him and the monster, reignited the small flame inside him.
Slowly, Ivan gathered his strength, pushed himself up to stand, placing a hand on his knee for support, his gaze fixed on Van's back—which now looked bigger to him than the slimy mountain they faced.
Old Van lunged toward the monster like an arrow released from a drawn bow, his body moving with instinctive speed—no room for thought, only action. His heart pounded like a war drum, and his eyes were locked on the only target: the monster's eye.
He leaped between the writhing tentacles, climbing one after another, slicing with parts of his short sword at anything trying to coil around him. His body moved gracefully, like an ant climbing a moving mountain—yet an ant that knew its path well.
Sensing danger, the monster tried to swallow him. It wrapped its slimy body around him, forming a tight black bubble that trapped Van inside. But Van didn't stop—he gathered all the pressure in his body in a single moment, then burst the bubble from within and shot out like lightning, leaping upward until he reached head level.
Without hesitation, he raised his short sword, shouting inwardly: "Now!"
Then he hurled the blade toward the monster's eye. The sword cut through the air, gleaming as it ignited with a blue glow like a falling star from the sky. It sliced through the darkness at an unseen speed and landed in the monster's eye with astonishing precision.
The monster let out a massive scream that shook the entire forest. It writhed, its single eye exploding with light and pain, unable to open again. Its head trembled like a cracking mountain.
Van seized the moment, diving down from above, his small fist clenched, wrapped in a pure blue glow. He struck the center of the monster's head with a single blow—not just a powerful one, but one charged with his latent energy.
At the moment of impact, a silent wave pulsed out, then the skull exploded from within—like a bomb of energy had torn it apart from deep inside. Fragments of the head and its slimy body scattered in all directions.
Ivan stood frozen, his breath still ragged, sweat dripping down his face, eyes fixed on Van who landed calmly after that lightning-fast strike. Time felt like it had slowed for a moment—what he had just witnessed wasn't easy to comprehend.
He slowly turned his head, staring at the old man who looked like he had just returned from a casual stroll, not a battle. He muttered in a barely audible voice, a mix of awe and amazement: "That old man… unbelievable… makes it look so easy."
Van approached Ivan with calm steps, opening his arms as he spoke with a tone of relief: "Congratulations, you've completed your first training… How do you feel?"
Ivan remained where he was, his body stiff, breath still hot, and eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion and emotion. His mouth hung open for a moment, unable to reply, trying to grasp what he had just heard. Then he clenched his teeth tightly and shouted with a voice filled with anger and frustration: "What training are you talking about? What success?! All I did was run!"
Van looked at him, then smiled calmly—a smile that held a hint of gentle mockery, as if speaking to a child refusing to see the full picture. He spoke with confident tone: "Escape training. You survived the monster for over half an hour—and that alone is enough."
Ivan's eyes widened suddenly, as if something had shattered inside him. He clenched his fist tightly until his fingers trembled, and said with sharp resentment: "Running away?! Are you joking with me?! I started all of this to stop running... to become strong enough to face anything! And here you are... training me to run away!"
His voice rose at first, then dropped with the last words, as if exhaustion had taken what was left of him.
But Van remained standing where he was, then said in a steady voice without breaking eye contact:
"You greatly underestimate running... Running is what has kept humans alive until now. When facing something that surpasses you, nothing will help except running—if you don't want to die. That's not cowardice... it's intelligence."
Then he continued more calmly, with a tone where every word was placed deliberately:
At that moment, Ivan felt something strange inside him, as if a cold current flowed through his chest, extinguishing the fire that had been burning in his nerves.
Van nodded slowly, and said in a deeper tone: "There's something you need to know... This creature is classified among the fastest B-class beasts—its speed reaches one hundred and twenty kilometers per hour. Yet it couldn't catch you. Do you know what that means?"
Ivan's eyes widened again, this time in pure astonishment, and he said, stunned: '...That my speed... exceeds his?'
Van answered confidently: "Yes. Your speed reached one hundred and twenty-five kilometers per hour. But what sets you apart even more... is that you can maintain that steady pace for a full half hour."
Ivan collapsed to the ground with his full weight, as if the burden on his back had finally slipped away, allowing his body to breathe freely after a long torment.
He exhaled deeply, stretched slightly over the damp soil, his eyes half-closed, his face washed with sweat and dust, then said in a tired voice laced with reproach:
Van smiled, but didn't answer directly. He raised two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle that pierced the forest's stillness—a call to the shapeshifter bird.
As the whistle's echo echoed across the horizon, he spoke calmly while watching the sky:
Then he bent slightly and extended his hand to Ivan—a rough yet steady palm, waiting to be grasped.
Ivan looked at the hand for a moment, then grabbed it and stood up heavily, as if his body still couldn't believe it was alive.
This time, Van looked into his eyes with a gaze unlike the previous ones—a gaze filled with seriousness, warning, and gravity. Then he spoke in a low voice, as if speaking to the boy's heart rather than his ears: "There's something else you need to know, before you rejoice too much in your success today... The Riters' exam doesn't rely on physical ability alone. There are tests that depend on intelligence and sharp observation."
Ivan didn't reply, as if quietly confident in his abilities. He simply looked toward the distant horizon where the sky was beginning to redden, and the wind carried the whistle of the approaching bird.
Van mounted first, then signaled to him with a short gesture. Ivan climbed up behind him, holding on tightly, his eyes watching the forest he had emerged from—alive... and changed.
The bird flapped its massive wings and rose with them above the trees stained with black substance, then soared off.