"You will need to learn how to use the Cold Powers," Esposito began, standing in front of the desk while Michelotti was taking notes on her own. "Today I'll teach you how to reach [Violet One] Stage. I warn you now that it might sound easy in words, but it isn't."

  It was afternoon, and all the students were in their places. Brando and Giordano had taken their usual seats in the back row, and they weren't the only ones who noticed that Bianca's seat was empty again.

  "Hey," Giordano whispered, adjusting himself better in his chair. "She said she was going to sleep. Do you think that's true?"

  "Focus," Brando replied, though a half-smile escaped him.

  "No, seriously, do you think she did it on purpose? I mean, when she said she was going to sleep, was that true or not? I wonder if she was joking—"

  "Mr. Volpe," Michelotti interjected with a patient sigh. "If you've finished making assumptions about Miss Ruggeri, could we proceed?"

  Evidently, Giordano had spoken a bit too loudly, to the point where half the class had heard him, including the two professors. Everyone was snickering.

  "I apologize," Giordano flashed his best innocent smile. "You know how it is, intellectual curiosity..."

  "As I was saying," Esposito continued, ignoring the scene, "Cold Powers are not a game. They're the difference between life and death out there. Outside the Great Dome, I mean."

  He approached the blackboard and began writing a series of points as he spoke: "Today I'll explain the basics. First of all, you must understand that Cold Veins are a completely new organ that has adapted to our bodies thanks to nanospores. Something that can't be explained by the canonical laws of traditional science. Their origin isn't clear: some have hypothesized they exist through means of another universe. Others that they're something we cannot comprehend."

  "So we're monsters like the Glacials?" asked a student from the first row with legitimate curiosity.

  "No," Michelotti answered. "Glacials are uncontrolled mutations. Cold Veins, on the other hand, are something more refined and less invasive. They let us remain human while giving us the ability to use Cold Powers. Glacials are completely constituted of Cold energy. Pure aberrations, in short."

  Brando observed carefully, memorizing every detail. Next to him, Giordano had even stopped making jokes, such a rare event that someone had actually turned around to check if he was okay.

  "First the theory," Esposito continued, "then we'll move to practice."

  Esposito raised his hand, and a green vapor emerged, condensing into a perfect shape: an ice cube floating in mid-air.

  "Cold Powers manifest in two ways," the Lieutenant explained. "The first is Emanation: the natural cold that our body releases through the Cold Veins. It's instinctive, uncontrolled, like an aura. If you don't know how to control it, it will flow out of you when you're in a state of alert, danger, or strong agitation. It can exit from any point of the body, even unevenly."

  "Like when we freeze the ground beneath our feet?" a student asked.

  "Exactly, but as you can imagine, that's just an imperfect stage," Esposito continued. "The true power lies in Materialization, which implies the ability to transform that cold energy into solid, controlled ice. And to do this," he rotated the green cube in the air, "you need your hands, particularly your fingers and fingertips."

  "Why specifically the fingertips?" Giordano asked.

  Michelotti stepped in: "Because they're the points of the body with the highest concentration of nerve endings. They allow the control necessary for Materialization. To be precise, we could say that ice can be created from the rest of the body as well, but it's strongly discouraged because it's an unnecessarily inefficient practice."

  "As I was saying," Esposito added, "Emanation is total dispersion of your energies, and it's through Materialization that we channel our powers into something precise and controlled. It's what makes a Bearer a true Cold Soldier."

  Brando thought back to when he had frozen the ground to scare off the bullies. It had been instinctive and uncontrolled. Materialization seemed like something completely different.

  "[Violet One] Stage," Esposito continued, creating a small sphere of violet-colored ice in his other hand, "is the minimum necessary for Materialization. And even upon reaching it, don't expect miracles. This is what you'll be able to create at first. Small quantities, imperfect shapes, and weak ice that melts quickly."

  "It doesn't seem very useful," someone commented from the first row.

  "It's the first step on a very long ladder," Michelotti replied. "Each subsequent Stage and Level allows for larger, more complex, and more lasting creations."

  "Today is Tuesday," the Lieutenant concluded. "You have one week to reach [Violet One] Stage. Classes will resume next Monday. You'll need to give it your all. Those who don't make it will be left behind, and I really don't recommend that for any of you."

  "A whole week?" Giordano leaned toward Brando. "It must be really difficult if they're giving us so much time."

  "Or maybe," Brando whispered, "they already know some of us won't make it."

  Michelotti began distributing some papers with detailed instructions while Esposito continued the demonstration, creating increasingly complex shapes with his green ice. The difference between his ice and the violet example he had shown was glaring; it was like going from a child's drawing to a professional work of art.

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  "Alright, follow me to the practice area," Michelotti said, heading toward the back of the classroom.

  The rear part of the classroom was a large, open space, with the floor covered in dark blue tatami mats. Side shelves contained neat stacks of mats, and the lighting here was more subdued compared to the desk area.

  "Take a mat each and arrange yourselves in a circle," she said, continuing after everyone had positioned themselves. "Posture is fundamental. Sit cross-legged, back straight but not rigid, imagine a thread pulling you upward from the top of your head. Hands resting on your knees with palms facing up."

  "Sounds just like one of those meditation apps," Giordano whispered, settling next to Brando.

  "Mr. Volpe, your posture."

  "Sorry, sorry."

  Michelotti positioned herself at the center of the circle. "To feel the cold of the Cold Veins, you must first be aware of your body. Close your eyes. Start by breathing deeply."

  Brando closed his eyes, trying to ignore the feeling of embarrassment that permeated the entire situation.

  "Start from your feet," Michelotti continued with a noticeably softer voice. "Feel the contact with the mat. Notice the temperature. Don't try to change it, just observe it. Let your attention slowly rise up your ankles and calves."

  "It's like a body scan," someone murmured.

  "Exactly. But it's all aimed at finding the cold. It's already inside you, in your Cold Veins. Don't try to create it, discover where it's hiding."

  Brando felt his body responding in a strange way. There was a sensation, like icy water flowing beneath his skin, but every time he tried to focus on it, it seemed to slip away.

  Michelotti's voice was almost hypnotic now, "Imagine all the cold you've found in your body flowing toward your hands. Don't force it. Let it happen naturally."

  Giordano, for once, seemed completely absorbed in the exercise. His normally cheerful face was dead serious, and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration.

  "The cold is like liquid mercury," Michelotti continued. "Dense, heavy, it collects at the lowest points. Let it accumulate in your fingertips, feel the pressure building."

  Brando sensed a change. It was as if something freezing was really flowing down his arms, gathering at the tips of his fingers. But the more he tried to grasp that sensation, the more it eluded him.

  "Don't fight the cold," Michelotti's voice seemed to respond to his thoughts. "It's not an enemy to subdue. It's part of you. You just need to be aware of its existence and concentrate it in the right way."

  "My fingers are itching," someone complained.

  "That's normal. Keep breathing. The cold responds to the rhythm of your breath. Inhale, and feel it descending toward your hands. Exhale, and let it gather in your fingertips."

  Brando felt drops of sweat forming on his forehead despite the icy sensation traveling down his arms. It was like trying to catch water with a sieve: the cold was there, he could feel it, but he couldn't contain it.

  "Continue breathing," Michelotti's voice was hypnotic. "Once you begin to feel the cold settling inside your fingertips, maintain that sensation. Once stabilized, try to push that energy outward."

  The silence in the classroom was total, broken only by the focused breathing of the students. Some were visibly shaking from the effort, others had drops of sweat running down their foreheads despite the icy sensation.

  "Don't force it," Michelotti continued. "The vapor must emerge naturally..."

  The students had been trying for forty-five minutes. The differences between them were beginning to emerge, but not as everyone had expected.

  "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Giordano stared at his trembling hands. The presence of an Omega was palpable, to the point of destabilizing others. The cold was pulsing under his skin so evidently that some classmates had momentarily interrupted their meditation and moved a few steps away.

  "I can feel it, it's right—it's HERE, damn it!"

  "Calm down, Mr. Volpe," Michelotti intervened. "The cold responds to emotions. The more agitated you become..."

  "I know, I know!" Giordano clenched his fists in frustration. "But it's like having an itch I can't scratch. It's all blocked."

  Michelotti nodded understandingly. It wasn't the first time she had seen a high-ranked Bearer in this situation. The potential was there, but precisely because of this, the pressure to live up to one's potential could become paralyzing.

  Other students showed different progress. A raven-haired girl had practically frozen fingers, and Marco Ruocco managed to create tiny ice crystals that melted immediately. But it was clear to everyone that Giordano was the closest to success, and paradoxically, this seemed to only worsen his frustration.

  "Everyone's watching me," he whispered to Brando. "They expect an Omega to be the first to succeed."

  Brando could only nod silently; he wouldn't distract him in any way. Sweat was sliding down his forehead, but Giordano seemed to pay no attention to it. His eyes were fixed on his hands, and every fiber of his body was concentrated on succeeding.

  Then, like a spark, a tremor made the air vibrate. Giordano's hands froze in an instant, but not uniformly. A thread of very thin vapor began to rise.

  "Mr. Volpe!" Michelotti's voice interrupted their conversation. "The vapor! It's..."

  "You've got it," Brando murmured, barely able to contain his excitement.

  Giordano narrowed his eyes. For an instant, a very light mist had begun to form around his fingers. But the moment he noticed it, it vanished like smoke in the wind.

  "SHIT!" His fist slammed onto the tatami with a dull thud. "I was so close!"

  Giordano's breathing was labored, and the sound of his fist resounded in the room. Everyone turned with their mouths open. The ice wasn't there; there was only the residue of vapor now dissolved into a thin mist.

  "Was that condensed vapor?" someone whispered, as if afraid to raise their voice.

  "An Omega after all..."

  "But am I wrong, or isn't he a pure Volpe?"

  "Yet he almost succeeded."

  The comments began to blend together. Brando looked at Giordano and saw him gritting his teeth. The cold he had tried to control had slipped from his hands, and now his near-success was being observed from every corner of the room. Every eye was on him.

  "Silence!" Michelotti's voice tore through the chaos. The class froze as if struck by an invisible blow. "What happens in here is not a comedy."

  "Remember," she resumed, "the cold responds to intention, not force. The more agitated you become..."

  "The more elusive it becomes, yes," Giordano interrupted bitterly. "But how can I not get agitated when..."

  He stopped. He realized that suddenly, everyone was staring at someone who had set himself apart. Brando followed his gaze.

  Davide Ripa was sitting in a perfect position, as motionless as an ice statue. He hadn't said a word since the beginning of the lesson. He hadn't shown any sign of progress. Yet there was something about his stillness that sent chills down the spine.

  "That guy," Giordano murmured, "is someone who knows what he's doing."

  DING DING!

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