Brando walked toward the shuttle exit with his backpack on his shoulder and the puppy held tightly to his chest. When his feet touched the ground, he looked up and was left breathless, again.

  The Vesuvius Academy rose before him. Hundreds of feet tall and just as wide, it seemed to emerge directly from the volcano's bowels, as if its foundations sank into the heart of the mountain itself. Its shape resembled that of a colossal lotus bud: about twenty petals of dazzling white marble opened toward the sky, resting gracefully on eight monumental openings.

  The morning light played on the surface of the marble petals, creating reflections that branched out in every direction. The entire structure emanated an aura of power, as if those walls had seen generations of Bearers pass before him.

  The imposing nature of the building instilled a strange form of reverence. It was a silent reminder of what it meant to be a Cold Soldier.

  "It always has that effect the first time," Giordano said, appearing at his side and for once without his usual mocking smile. "Like it's judging you, right?"

  Brando didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the eight openings at the base of the structure, each as large as a five-story building. Through one of them, he could glimpse what awaited them: the corridors that would lead to their first lesson, their first step toward becoming true Cold Soldiers.

  The Academy's corridors seemed to swallow the light. Brando and Giordano followed the flow of other students through passages of polished volcanic stone. The puppy in Brando's jacket had made itself very small, as if sensing the solemn atmosphere of the place.

  The classroom was exactly as Brando had imagined it: austere, with tall black basalt walls that rose dozens of meters. The vaulted ceiling amplified every sound, transforming the whispers of students into an unsettling buzz.

  Eight rows of desks rose like steps in an amphitheater, each designated for one of the great houses of Nea-Polis. Students sat following a well-defined hierarchy, while the seats at the back were reserved for everyone else.

  "Come on," Giordano said, completely ignoring the row reserved for his house. "The seats in the back have the best view."

  "Are you sure?" Brando asked, noticing how the other students followed them with disapproving looks.

  "You can sleep here without getting caught," Giordano grinned, dropping into a chair in the last row. "Trust me, I know how it works."

  Brando sat down next to him, carefully placing his backpack with the puppy under the desk. He could feel the weight of generations of Cold Soldiers who had passed through that same room, who had faced the same trials that awaited them.

  The classroom door swung open with a sharp crack.

  A muscular man entered with a military stride, his winter uniform so starched it seemed it might break with each movement. He had a face that might have been attractive, if not for that expression of perpetual disgust, as if the universe itself had personally offended him. A purplish birthmark deformed his right cheek, pulsing slightly when he spoke.

  "Silence," he said, and it wasn't a request. His voice had the same temperature as the winter outside. "I am Lieutenant Esposito, and I will be your Cryokinesis instructor. If you're lucky, some of you will survive my course."

  Giordano raised an eyebrow. "Charming," he murmured.

  The Lieutenant turned toward the blackboard like a predator that had heard prey move. From his hand rose a green mist that condensed into a piece of chalk. "Cold Powers," he began, writing, "are classified into seven Stages, like the colors of the rainbow."

  Violet.

  Blue.

  Azure.

  Green.

  Yellow.

  Orange.

  Red.

  "Think of it this way," he continued with a voice dripping condescension. "The ice we create is pure energy, crystallized. The more powerful it is, the more it tends toward the warm end of the spectrum. But it's not that simple. Each Stage is like a mountain to climb, divided into seven levels. And only when you reach the peak of the seventh level of one Stage can you begin to climb the next mountain."

  As he spoke, the chalk danced on the blackboard, adding numbers from one to seven under each color. "At this moment, you aren't even at the beginning of the scale. Awakening the Cold Veins is just the first step; you'll have to sweat blood just to reach [Violet One]. A beginner who reaches that level can create weak, fragile ice. With practice and dedication, they can reach [Violet Seven]. Only then can they even hope to touch [Blue One]. And, above all, only a true genius among geniuses can reach [Red Seven], creating ice so dense with energy that it burns to the touch."

  "Like the one you're using now, sir?" asked a voice from the back.

  The silence that followed was atrocious. Brando felt Giordano stiffen beside him.

  "Shit," Giordano whispered. "This guy is dead."

  The Lieutenant turned slowly, and the temperature in the classroom suddenly plummeted. The birthmark on his cheek pulsed like a diseased second heart, faster and more violent than the first.

  "Stand up," he said. "You who spoke. On your feet. Now."

  The boy stood up trembling. He didn't seem to come from an important family.

  "Come up here to the front."

  As the boy advanced toward the desk, Brando watched the scene with a knot in his stomach. He knew that look in Esposito's eyes. It was the same one he had seen in the alleys of Rione Sanità, when someone was about to hurt someone else very, very badly.

  "Are you telling me," Esposito said when the student was in front of him, "that you can't distinguish green from red?"

  "I... I thought..." The boy's voice was little more than a whisper.

  He clenched his fist, and the green chalk in Esposito's hand shattered into a powder that fell heavily to the ground.

  "You thought?" The birthmark pulsed more and more violently. "No, that's the problem. You weren't thinking at all."

  Giordano leaned slightly toward Brando. "Should we do something?"

  "And end up like him?" Brando murmured, even though part of him wanted to stand up. "Look at Esposito's face. He's just waiting for an excuse."

  The Lieutenant raised a hand and a new piece of chalk materialized. "My ice is green. As everyone in this room can see. Everyone except you, apparently."

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  He moved so quickly that no one saw him. One moment he was behind the desk, the next he was an inch from the boy's face. "Do you know what happens to those who can't distinguish colors in combat? To those who confuse green with red when their life depends on this distinction?"

  The student tried to take a step back, but Esposito grabbed him by the collar of his uniform. "N-no, sir."

  "Then I'll show you."

  From the floor emerged a green mist as dense as mercury, which wrapped around the boy's legs. Where it touched, the ice crystallized instantly, swallowing flesh in an icy grip.

  "Green ice," Esposito explained, "can freeze a limb in three seconds. Red?" A cruel smile distorted his face. "Red would freeze it instantly."

  The ice had now reached the student's knees. His trembling was no longer just from the cold, but from pure terror.

  "Please," he whispered. "It hurts."

  "Hurts?" Esposito leaned to his ear. "This isn't pain. This is a reminder. The next time you open your mouth without thinking, I'll take you outside the Great Dome. I'm sure the Glacials will know how to teach you the difference between green and red. Too bad you'll be dead before you can put the lesson to use."

  With a flick of his wrist, the ice shattered into a thousand shards. The boy collapsed on his knees, his teeth chattering from the cold that had penetrated his bones.

  "Get up," Esposito ordered. "Return to your seat."

  A collective shudder ran through the classroom as the student dragged himself back to his desk. The demonstration had been all too clear.

  "And this," Esposito said, addressing the class, "applies to all of you. The Academy is not just any high school. Here, mistakes are paid for. Sometimes with blood, sometimes with something worse."

  The classroom was immersed in a deathly silence. Students even avoided breathing too loudly, as if the slightest noise might attract the Lieutenant's attention. Even the children of the most important families, those who usually flaunted their superiority with arrogance, kept their eyes fixed on their desks.

  "Now, let's resume the lesson."

  He turned toward a corner of the classroom, pointing to a machine that looked like a cross between a metal detector and a vending machine. "The KryoScanner will determine your Rank. It cannot be fooled, it cannot be corrupted. It reveals what you truly are."

  He began to write on the blackboard, and his hand moved with military precision:

  Ultima.

  Omega.

  Alpha.

  Beta.

  Gamma.

  Delta.

  Epsilon.

  "These are the seven Ranks," he said as his voice took on an almost reverent tone. "From the most powerful to the weakest. They indicate your talent in the cold arts. Ultima and Omega ranks are extremely rare. Nowadays, most Bearers fall between Alpha and Epsilon."

  He paused, studying the faces of the students. "Your Rank will determine how quickly or slowly you progress. An Alpha can learn in days what an Epsilon takes years to master. It's nature, and it's ruthless."

  A movement caught Brando's attention. At the back of the classroom, half-hidden in shadow, was a boy he hadn't seen before. He was enormous, not just tall but massive, as if he had been carved from the same volcanic stone as the Academy. His eyes, however, were the most disturbing thing: cold as those of a predator.

  "Davide Ripa!" the Lieutenant called.

  The giant rose with surprising grace for his size. As he approached the KryoScanner, the air itself seemed to make way.

  "One who wasn't on the bus," Giordano murmured. "I wonder how..."

  The display flashed: Ω

  It was as if someone had sucked all the oxygen from the classroom. An Omega. Not just a legendary rank but manifested with a naturalness that made it even more impressive. The giant didn't smile, showed no emotion. He simply returned to his place with the same lethal unease with which he had risen, like a predator who doesn't need to demonstrate its supremacy.

  "Impressive," the Lieutenant said, and for the first time he seemed almost pleased. "The Ripa family, the so-called “ninth”, doesn't disappoint this time. Giordano Volpe!"

  The announcement of the name broke the tension created by Ripa. Some stifled laughter rose from the desks. After Ripa's imposing presence, the Volpe bastard almost seemed like a joke.

  "Moment of truth," Giordano murmured to Brando, rising with a theatrical sigh. "If I'm an Epsilon, my father will disown me. Not that I care."

  He approached the KryoScanner with his usual carefree air, but Brando noticed a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before. For once, the jester's mask seemed to crack.

  The display flashed: Ω

  The silence that fell in the classroom was different from Ripa's. It wasn't respect, it was pure shock. Even the Lieutenant seemed momentarily thrown off.

  "Impossible," someone whispered. "A half-blood..."

  "It must be a mistake."

  "The KryoScanner is broken."

  "A bastard can't..."

  But the display didn't lie. A second Omega. In a bastard. Everything the great families believed in was being questioned by those simple luminous values.

  Giordano returned to his seat with an even wider smile than usual. It wasn't his usual playful grin; there was something sharp, almost fierce about it. "Oops?" he said softly to Brando, but his eyes shone with a savage satisfaction.

  "Bianca Ruggeri!"

  It was at that moment that Brando saw her.

  In Rione Sanità, Brando had learned to distrust anything that shone too brightly. But this was a different kind of beauty: burning in its coldness, dangerous like fire on ice. She seemed unapproachable and untouchable.

  He didn't know how he had missed her before. It was as if she had emerged from the shadows themselves, materializing like a vision from the dimness of the classroom. Blonde hair gathered in a braid that seemed to catch and reflect every ray of light, skin so pale it seemed translucent, eyes a deep green. Not like emeralds, but like the first sprout to break through the snow after winter.

  She moved toward the KryoScanner as if gravity didn't act on her. Each step was so precise and delicate that it produced no sound. She didn't look at anyone as she approached, yet Brando would have sworn he'd seen her eyes meet his for a fraction of a second.

  The display had no hesitation: U

  The classroom collectively held its breath. An Ultima rank. The first seen in quite some time.

  Bianca detached herself from the KryoScanner with the same grace with which she had approached. There was no satisfaction on her face, no complacency. It was as if that extraordinary result was exactly what she expected. The students followed her with their eyes as she returned to her seat, motionless at their desks like ice statues. Some stared at her with reverential admiration, others with poorly concealed fear, but all with the same awareness: they were witnessing something extraordinary. Even the lieutenant observed her for a moment, completely speechless. But immediately after, he returned to the present.

  "Brando Casadei!"

  The classroom seemed to grow quieter, if possible. The orphan. The anomaly. Brando stood up, feeling the weight of every gaze. As he approached the KryoScanner, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye: Bianca had turned to look at him with her intense and inscrutable green eyes.

  The puppy in his backpack moved restlessly, as if sensing the tension in the air.

  He placed his hand on the reader.

  The display remained black for a long moment. Then, inexorable as fate itself, a single letter appeared:

  ζ – Zeta.

  A bewildered murmur ran through the classroom. Zeta? Was it possible? Even lower than Epsilon, a rank so inferior that it was thought to be just a legend, a joke to scare the less gifted cadets. The silence transformed into a muffled buzz, and the faces of his classmates became a parade of incredulous and disdainful looks.

  Brando perceived the restrained laughter, saw the sneering smiles. Two Omegas and an Ultima in the same class, and then... him. But he didn't lower his gaze. He never had, he wouldn't start now.

  "Ridiculous," the Lieutenant said in a tone of contempt that was never more evident. "I said Epsilon rank was the bottom. It seems you've reminded us that you can always dig deeper at the bottom."

  Brando returned to his place with his back as straight as an ice blade. In the silence heavy with scorn, he could hear every whisper, every stifled laugh. Two Omegas, one of them a bastard. An Ultima emerged from nowhere. And then him, less than zero, an urban legend become reality in the worst way. Giordano patted him on the shoulder without saying anything.

  Before sitting down, his eyes met Bianca's again. And this time he was certain: there was something in her gaze. But what?

  "Good," the Lieutenant's voice resonated in the classroom. "Now that you know your Ranks, we can begin. And remember: here at the Academy, fate gives no discounts to anyone."

  Brando clenched his fists under the desk. No, he thought, but it can be challenged.

  The puppy in his backpack moved, as if to agree with him. And for a moment, despite everything, Brando smiled. Perhaps being last didn't mean having to remain so forever.