"Is this the way to Vesuvius Academy?" Brando asked, stepping off the bus into the early morning fog.

  The driver shot him a boring glance in the mirror. "It's all on the map," he barked.

  "You were sixty minutes late," Brando insisted. "At least tell me how—"

  "Kid," the driver sighed with a frown. "I've got three more stops to make. The map. Use the map."

  Brando stepped down, stumbling slightly under the weight of his large backpack, and watched the bus pull away in a cloud of exhaust. He pulled the crumpled map from his jeans pocket and studied it in the weak dawn light.

  "Holy shit," he muttered, tracing the official route with his finger. Following the main road would take at least forty minutes. Too long. He ran a hand through his hair, searching for alternatives. He should have taken the earlier bus, the one at four-thirty. But who the hell takes a bus at four-thirty in the morning? And being awake at that hour... not that he'd slept much anyway, with all those thoughts swirling through his head.

  "There must be another way," he murmured as he adjusted the backpack on his shoulders. That's when his eyes settled on a secondary path cutting through the National Park. It wasn't marked as an official route, but it seemed to go directly through the eastern section of the park. The main road, instead, headed north before making a U-turn toward the southeast. If his calculations were correct...

  "Fifteen minutes," he whispered, tracing the route with his finger. "Twenty max, this damn backpack weighs a ton."

  It was a gamble. The Park wasn't exactly the safest place to venture alone, especially in unpatrolled areas. There was a reason the official paths took those long detours. The kind of reasons that got you added to the statistics of missing people.

  "To hell with it," he finally decided, taking the side road and stuffing the map back into his jeans pocket. It was dangerous, but he didn't want to be late. Besides, walking for forty minutes on the main road, where everyone would notice his shabby appearance, was the last thing he needed.

  "You're an idiot, Brando," he muttered to himself. The path was much narrower than it had appeared on the map. It was climbing up between volcanic rocks and dense vegetation. His backpack kept getting caught in the branches, forcing him to yank it free.

  "A complete idiot. You should have left earlier. You know public transportation in Nea-Polis is totally unreliable. Earlier than early you should have left. But no, you had to..."

  He stopped, noticing something strange ahead. The path split in two, but the fork wasn't marked on his map. Brando paused to double-check the route. According to the map, there should only be one left turn.

  "Perfect," he hissed, wiping sweat from his forehead with his jacket sleeve. "Just perfect."

  He studied both paths. The one on the right seemed more traveled, but it rose at too steep an angle. His map was old, had they recently added this route? In any case, the last thing he needed was to climb with that load on his back. The left one had to be the right one. The slope was more gradual, and he'd be playing it safe since his map only showed the left path.

  But he had only taken a dozen steps in that direction when a sharp cry cut through the air like an ice blade.

  Brando stopped. Fifty meters up, in an area where the path opened into a small clearing, three figures moved like vultures around something small and trembling. A puppy, he realized, as the largest of the thugs raised a stick above his head.

  "Not your business," he told himself, gripping his backpack strap tightly. "You need to get to the Academy. You're late. You still have time to take the right path. You can't afford distractions. Not today."

  The puppy took another blow from the stick and yelped amid their laughter, making a sound that reminded him too much of Adelaide when she cried in secret at the orphanage.

  "Fuck it," Brando hissed, already running up the slope. The volcanic stones slid beneath his feet as he tried to maintain his balance with the weight of his backpack threatening to topple him with each step.

  "Hey, assholes!" he called, stopping breathlessly a few steps from the group. The three turned around. The biggest one, a bulky guy with a face that looked like it had been shaped by punches, sized him up.

  "What do you want, loser?"

  "I didn't think there were people pathetic enough to pick on a dog," Brando said, trying to catch his breath. "What's wrong, too many childhood traumas?"

  The big guy stepped forward, twirling the stick. "Are you anyone important?! HUH! Who are you? Don't bust our balls.You know what we do to heroes around Vesu—"

  But he stopped mid-sentence. His eyes widened as he observed the ground around Brando's feet. The rocky surface was beginning to crystallize, and thin veins of ice were spreading like cobwebs from where his boots touched the earth. The puppy, which had cowered trembling against a tree, stopped whimpering and tilted its head, curious.

  "You know what?" Brando said, feeling the cold rising up his arms like an electric current. "If you enjoy being such assholes, I'll show you what it's like to be on the other side."

  The smallest of the three widened his eyes. "Shit, he has the Cold Veins! He's one of those from the Academy!"

  "Impossible," the big one said, but he still took a step back. "He's dressed like a homeless person, and his backpack looks like it came from a dumpster."

  Brando raised his right hand. The cold pulsed in his veins like liquid mercury. He let a thin icy mist dance between his fingers.

  "Want to find out if it's impossible?"

  The three looked at each other for a second, then ran away cursing, and the sound of their footsteps quickly faded among the trees. He hadn't yet learned to control this thing, but it was more than enough to scare off three common thugs.

  The puppy was still huddling against the tree, trembling. It was a ball of brown fur, no bigger than a cat, with a front paw that held up unnaturally. Brando approached slowly, and that's when he noticed, half-hidden by the ruffled fur, a third eye pulsing weakly. And when the puppy opened its mouth to whimper, a row of razor-sharp teeth gleamed. Definitely too large and dangerous to be those of a normal dog.

  "Ah," Brando murmured, suddenly understanding. "So that's why they were tormenting you, huh? You've got some Glacial blood in your veins."

  The puppy let out a low whimper, all three eyes fixed on him with a mixture of fear and hope. Despite its monster teeth, there was something innocent in its gaze.

  "You should be inside the Academy, not out here. It's dangerous for someone like you." Then he slowly knelt, extending his hand toward the trembling creature. "I won't hurt you."

  The puppy sniffed him cautiously and licked his fingers. Then it barked and rubbed against his hand.

  Brando looked at where the path continued, then back at the puppy. He didn't have time for this. The Academy was waiting, and he was already late. But that whimper...

  "I can't leave you here," he finally said, more to himself than to the puppy. He carefully lifted it with a sigh, mindful of the injured paw. "For now, you can stay warm in my jacket. We'll figure something out later."

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  The puppy snuggled against his chest while the third eye slowly closed, as if it finally felt safe. Brando adjusted his jacket to hide it better. After all, the last thing he needed was for someone to see those signs of Glacial mutation.

  He resumed walking along the path, and as he climbed, the ground under his feet gradually changed from packed earth to lava rock, a sign that he was approaching the Academy zone.

  After about ten minutes of climbing, past a particularly steep curve, he left the brush behind and finally saw it. And it took his breath away.

  A titanic wall loomed before him, extending out of sight in both directions. It was built entirely of dark volcanic rock blocks so perfectly fitted together that they hardly seemed made by human hands. It had to be at least fifty feet high, and its surface was so smooth that not even a gecko could scale it.

  "Wow," he murmured. He had seen numerous photographs of the place, but none had managed to capture the imposing nature of that barrier. It looked like an actual mountain transformed into a wall.

  The only interruption in that expanse of stone was a massive entrance portal. As he approached, Brando noticed the inscription carved above the arch in large characters:

  Δ?ναμι? κα? Συντ?ρησι?, 'Αδυναμ?α κα? Καταστροφ?.

  And beneath it was fixed the translation:

  STRENGTH AND PRESERVATION. WEAKNESS AND RUIN.

  He paused for a moment to stare at those words. He had read them dozens of times in the Academy brochures but seeing them carved into the volcanic stone was different. Four words, no verbs. Like an unfinished equation, or perhaps a warning.

  Two Cold Soldiers stood guard there, their white uniforms standing out against the dark stone. Above them, patrol drones silently moved back and forth in precise formations.

  This was one of the few entrances to the Academy, and he didn't see anyone nearby. Why not?

  "Obviously, I'm late!" he told himself. He should have been there at least twenty minutes earlier.

  Brando took a deep breath and advanced toward the entrance. The two Soldiers noticed him immediately, and their gazes slid over his worn clothing with barely concealed contempt.

  He stopped in front of them, trying to ignore the restless movement of the puppy in his jacket.

  Damn it.

  "What do you want?" one of the Cold Soldiers asked without looking up from the strange watch he was fiddling with. His fingers moved methodically over the complex gears, as if Brando's presence was just another small annoyance in his day.

  "My name is Brando Casadei," he said, keeping his voice steady despite the weight of his backpack. "I have the Cold Veins, and I'm here to become a Cold Soldier."

  Giovanni, the other one, slowly exhaled cigarette smoke while his eyes seemed absorbed in nothingness. "It's eight-fifteen," he said with the bored tone of someone who repeats the same thing ten times a day. "The entrance is closed. Come back tomorrow."

  "I have a summons for today," Brando insisted. "The bus was late, and I had to take a shortcut through—"

  "A shortcut?" Marcus, the first one, finally looked up from his watch, more out of professional habit than genuine interest. "Specify the route."

  "The one that cuts eastward, after the fork."

  The two soldiers exchanged a glance. "That path is a red zone," Giovanni said. "Off-limits to civilians. There are signs everywhere."

  Brando felt a shiver run down his spine that had nothing to do with his Cold Veins. Now he understood why those three thugs had seemed so out of place. No one was supposed to be in that area. He had charged in without even looking around.

  "I didn't know," he said, and this time his voice trembled slightly. "I practically ran the whole way, I didn't notice. And besides, I'm here so I won't be one anymore. A civilian, I mean."

  Marcus stood up with an inquisitorial manner. "So, besides being late, you're also a trespasser? Do you know this is the most protected zone in all of Nea-Polis? Not just anyone can enter here. I'm also authorized to put my hands on you and kick your ass out, if necessary."

  It was at that moment that the puppy decided to make its appearance. A sharp yelp escaped from Brando's jacket as the third eye on its forehead began to glow faintly, and a small head peeked out.

  Shit. Not now.

  "What the hell..." Giovanni flicked, and the cigarette fell from his fingers. "That's..."

  "A puppy with Glacial mutations," Brando completed, maintaining his calm despite feeling the situation slipping out of his control. "I found it out here. Some thugs were tormenting it."

  "And you thought it was a good idea to bring it here?" Giovanni laughed, but it was a laugh of derision, judgmental. "First you infiltrate a red zone, then you show up late, and now this?" He stepped forward. "Where did you say you're from?"

  "The Stella district, Rione Sanità," Brando replied with pride. "I live in the Casadei orphanage."

  The silence that followed was sharper than the previous laughter. One of the patrol drones approached, and its lenses zoomed alternately on Brando's face and the puppy's head.

  "An orphan," Marcus said with his voice dripping with contempt, sitting back down. "An orphan who claims to have the Cold Veins, violates security protocols, and picks up monsters from the street. This is rich."

  "The puppy belongs to the Academy Park," Brando insisted. "Not to Nea-Polis. If it grew up out there, it could become dangerous."

  "Oh, now you're giving us lessons on how to manage Glacials?" Giovanni approached threateningly. "Kid, you've got the wrong place. Go hang out with the homeless in the historic center. This isn't a shelter for stray puppies or dreamer orphans."

  "Exactly, shoo!" the other said, making a gesture with his hand as if he were shooing away an insect.

  Brando felt anger building inside him, cold as his Cold Veins. But he controlled himself. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

  "What would be the point of lying?" he said quietly, with a steady voice. "We're in the most protected zone of Nea-Polis, you said it yourselves. There are drones and cameras everywhere. And besides..." he pulled out a letter from his jeans pocket, "I have an official summons."

  Giovanni grabbed the letter with a brusque gesture; the broken seal of the Protector was unmistakable. His contemptuous attitude not only faltered but completely collapsed when he saw the signature.

  "This is..." His voice broke in his throat. He had to clear his throat. "Marcus."

  "The Protector's signature," Marcus confirmed with strong skepticism, leaning forward to look. "But it must be fake. Cold Veins are hereditary. They don't just appear out of nowhere, especially in an orphan."

  "Indeed, I don't know who my parents are," Brando said, holding their gaze. "How can you be so sure?"

  "In seventy years of Academy history," Giovanni retorted, "never has a Cold Soldier's child ended up in an orphanage. The Vesuvius Academy pays great attention to bloodlines. If you were one of them, we would know."

  "Then maybe it's time to rewrite history," Brando replied. The puppy, as if to support him, showed its unnaturally sharp teeth.

  "Show me your ID," Marcus ordered, almost like a plea rather than a command.

  Brando handed over his ID without hesitation. He was prepared for this. The soldier passed the card through his strange watch, scanning it with almost obsessive care. A green ray crossed the document once, twice, three times. And the confirmation beep sounded each time, making the air feel heavier with each instance.

  "It's authentic," Marcus murmured, incredulous. "Giovanni, it's all authentic. The boy is telling the truth."

  Giovanni looked at Brando as if seeing him for the first time, confusion and suspicion mixing in his gaze. "Who the hell are you really, Brando Casadei?"

  "I already told you," Brando replied, stroking the puppy to calm it. "I'm just someone who has the chance to become a Cold Soldier. And this," he indicated the puppy, "is someone who deserves a chance, just like me."

  The two soldiers consulted in silence, while the drones continued their aerial dance above their heads. There was something surreal about the situation: an orphan with a letter from the Protector, the ultimate attestation of being declared a Bearer.

  "Cold Veins shouldn't exist in someone without lineage, but there you have it. Welcome to Vesuvius Academy," Giovanni finally said, returning his documents with reverence. "The southwest sector has enclosures for Glacials and Pseudo-Glacials." He paused, carefully choosing his next words. "However, I warn you that you're an anomaly here, and anomalies don't please anyone."

  "What do you mean?"

  "That no one knows who you really are. In this place, everyone has a history, a family, a lineage. You are something new. And that will make you a target."

  The portal opened with a sinister hiss, revealing a corridor that seemed to swallow light. Brando thanked the two Cold Soldiers and advanced with the puppy held close to his chest, feeling the weight of the gazes following him.

  "You know what?" Marcus said when Brando was far away. "That boy seems too good for this place."

  Giovanni lit a new cigarette, observing the solitary figure moving away down the corridor. "This place changes people, Marcus. It tempers them or breaks them. It's all up to him now."

  "How do you see it?"

  "For him?" Giovanni shook his head. "He's a different kind of kid than the ones we see here. He saved a monster and defended it in front of us without trembling. He went through an off-limits zone aware of the risk just because he was late; he could have encountered a Pseudo-Glacial bear, and if that had happened, he wouldn't have stood a chance. I don't know if he's a complete idiot or someone full of good qualities. Who knows, maybe he'll become the best Cold Soldier we've ever seen."

  "Or?"

  "Or this place will completely destroy him."