"A Shield in the Storm: The Captain’s Oath"

The Frozen Bastion

The mountains stretched endlessly before him, their peaks jagged as broken swords, their valleys buried under oceans of ice. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of frost and distant storms.

Steve Rogers—Knight of the North, Soldier of a Forgotten War, Witcher in the Making—pressed forward through the blizzard, his breath a mist in the bitter wind.

He had survived the Wolves, endured the ruthlessness of the Cats, and sharpened his mind under the Griffins.

Now, he faced the Bears.

A roar thundered across the slopes—not a monster, not a man, but something more.

Then, they emerged from the storm.

Massive figures, clad in thick furs and battered armor, their faces scarred, their eyes burning like embers in the dark.

They did not speak. They did not introduce themselves.

They attacked.

Lesson One: Strength Is Not Given—It Is Earned

Steve barely had time to react before the first Bear struck.

A massive fist crashed into his chest, sending him hurtling into the snow, his ribs screaming in protest. He gasped, trying to rise—only for another to slam him down again.

The Bears fought with brutality, their every move carrying the force of an avalanche.

Steve fought back.

He rolled, evaded, struck—but it wasn't enough.

A boot pressed against his back, shoving him deeper into the snow.

Above him, the largest of them all loomed—his beard thick with frost, his arms as thick as tree trunks.

Gunnar Grimjaw, the first Bear Witcher.

His voice was a rumble of stone and thunder.

"Stand."

Steve gritted his teeth, pushed up—but the weight increased.

"STAND!"

The boot lifted, and Steve surged upward, his body burning with effort. He had fought against gods, battled armies, but this—this was different.

This was not skill. Not strategy.

This was endurance.

Lesson Two: Pain Is a Teacher, Not an Enemy

The Bears did not believe in words.

They trained through suffering.

For weeks, Steve was beaten, frozen, starved, pushed beyond his limits.

He ran barefoot across razor-sharp ice, carried boulders up mountains, sparred until his knuckles bled against shields as hard as iron.

There were no complaints. No hesitation.

Pain was nothing. Survival was everything.

One night, as he sat by the fire, bandaging his wounds, a voice rumbled beside him.

It was Hjordis the Unshaken, a warrior so massive she looked carved from the mountain itself.

"Your bones ache, your body screams. Yet you keep going. Why?"

Steve exhaled, watching the steam rise from his breath.

"Because I can."

She laughed, a deep, booming sound. "Good."

"And because I have to."

The laughter faded. She nodded.

Lesson Three: The Trial of the Frozen Heart

When the time came for the final trial, Steve stood before a massive glacier, deep within the heart of the mountains.

Gunnar Grimjaw stood beside him. "No food. No weapons. No fire. Three days. If you live, you are one of us."

No further instructions.

Survive, or die.

The cold was relentless, sinking deep into his bones. The wind sliced like daggers, and the hunger gnawed at his stomach like a beast.

He walked through the storm, his body screaming for rest, for warmth, for relief.

But Steve Rogers did not break.

He tore through the ice with his hands, dug deep into the snow for shelter.

He caught a snow hare with nothing but his bare hands, bit into its raw flesh for sustenance.

He kept moving, even when his legs felt like stone, even when the dark whispered in his mind.

On the third night, the blizzard raged, and Steve collapsed, his strength finally failing.

But he did not close his eyes.

His mind drifted—to Brooklyn, to battlefields, to friends lost and futures uncertain.

He thought of the mission ahead.

Of Westeros.

Of the darkness that would consume it if he failed.

His eyes snapped open.

With a roar, he forced himself upright, fire blazing through his veins.

By dawn, he returned to the Bears' stronghold, frost clinging to his skin, his breath ragged but steady.

The Bears stood in silence.

Then—Gunnar Grimjaw stepped forward.

He grinned.

"You are no cub, Rogers. You are a Bear."

The Bear's Legacy

When Steve left the mountains, he carried more than just strength.

He carried unyielding endurance.

Pain did not frighten him. Hunger did not break him. The cold did not weaken him.

He would endure. Always.

And as he descended from the mountains, one last trial awaited.

A trial of poison and pain, of venom and shadows.

The Trial of the Viper.