Chapter 23: The Shadow Pact

The pre-dawn air bit with a ferocity that even seasoned Volgunder warriors found unsettling. It wasn't just the cold—a constant companion in the Eastern Wastes—but a dry, rasping wind that seemed to scrape the very spirit bare. Liam Volgunder, his breath misting before him, shifted his weight, balancing precariously on a narrow ledge of rock.

He was trying to be still, to be silent, but his muscles—accustomed to the broad, powerful movements of Volgunder swordsmanship—protested the constrained posture.

Below him, the makeshift training ground, carved from the unforgiving landscape, looked like a child's discarded playthings: scattered boulders, thorny scrub bushes, and treacherous patches of loose scree.

Brad stood before them, not as a distant relative of the Volgunders nor as a formally ranked officer, but as something… else.

He was a figure cloaked in a past he rarely spoke of, his red hair a stark splash of color against the drab landscape, his movements possessing a lethal grace that spoke of a life lived on the edge.

He wore no armor—only simple, dark clothing that seemed to absorb the light, making him almost disappear against the backdrop of rock and shadow.

"You six," Brad began, his voice low and carrying—surprisingly audible despite the wind's howl. "You've been chosen. Not for your strength, though some of you possess it. Not for your rank, though some of you hold it. But for something… more elusive. A willingness to adapt. To learn. To become something different."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across their faces, assessing, judging. Liam, standing beside Lia Razakia, felt a familiar knot of apprehension tighten in his stomach.

He was the least experienced of the group—a barely two-star swordsman thrust into a world of seasoned warriors. And he had secrets, dark and potent, that he was struggling to contain.

"You already know Volgunder," Brad continued, nodding toward Liam. "He's shown… potential. A certain… adaptability." His eyes flickered toward Liam's tunic, where the Umbral Core lay hidden—a silent acknowledgement of a burden shared, not yet a secret revealed.

"Lia Razakia," Brad continued, his gaze shifting to the dark-haired woman. Lia, clad in her Razakia-crafted armor—sleek and dark, emphasizing agility over brute protection—met his gaze with a confident smirk. The falcon crest of her house, subtly embossed on the leather, appeared as if it were watching over them. "Archer. Swordsman. Scout. And," he added with a ghost of a smile, "a master of… unconventional tactics."

Lia chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "I prefer the term 'resourceful,' Brad."

"Elara," Brad said, turning to the lean, sharp-featured knight who had advocated for caution in the previous war council. Elara, her expression serious and focused, simply nodded. She was known for her strategic mind, her ability to assess situations quickly and accurately—a mind that could cut through chaos as keenly as any blade.

"And you two," Brad said, addressing the newcomers. "Introduce yourselves. Quickly."

The first, a young man with a surprisingly pale complexion—almost snow-white against his shock of brown hair—stepped forward. He was shorter than Liam, but wiry and quick, his movements betraying a restless energy that bordered on anxiety. "Anthony," he said, his voice a little too loud for the pre-dawn stillness. "Four stars. Medium sword." He offered a quick, almost awkward salute—a clear attempt to project the confidence he didn't quite feel.

The second newcomer was an archer, judging by the longbow slung across her back and the quiver of arrows at her hip. She was even shorter than Anthony, her build compact and powerful, like a drawn bowstring ready to be released.

Her skin was a warm, dark brown, contrasting sharply with her short, cropped black hair. She met Brad's gaze with a steady, unblinking stare that held no trace of nervousness. "Anayis," she said, her voice low and controlled, devoid of any inflection. "Four stars. Bow. Dagger." No salute, no extraneous words—just the facts.

Brad nodded, accepting their introductions. "We're going to be hunting," he said, his voice taking on a harder edge. "Not Rubaks, not yet. Mountain goats."

A ripple of confused murmurs went through the small group. Liam frowned. Mountain goats?

"These aren't your average livestock," Brad continued, his voice cutting through their unspoken questions. "They're agile, wary, and incredibly sensitive to sound. They live on the steepest slopes, the most treacherous terrain. They're the perfect training for what's to come."

He gestured with a calloused hand toward the surrounding mountains, their jagged peaks piercing the sky like broken teeth. "The Rubaks know this land. They use it to their advantage. We need to learn to do the same. We need to become… invisible.

We need to become… shadows." He let the word hang in the cold air—a challenge and a promise. "This isn't about brute force. It's about stealth, speed, and teamwork. You'll learn to move silently, to use the terrain for concealment, to anticipate your prey, to work as a single unit. You'll learn to hunt, and you'll learn to survive."

Before any further discussion, Brad turned to Lia, his expression carefully neutral. "Razakia," he said, his voice low but firm. "You outrank me. Five stars to my four. This… arrangement… might be unconventional. Any objections?"

Lia's dark eyes sparkled with amusement. "Objections? To following the man who taught Liam Volgunder the art of the hunt? Please." She gave a short, sharp laugh. "Besides," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I've always preferred to work outside the rules. And," she glanced at Liam, a playful smirk playing on her lips, "I'm intrigued by our young Volgunder's… unique talents. I think this will be… interesting."

Brad nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Then let's begin."

The training was brutal—a relentless test of endurance and skill. Brad pushed them, demanding absolute silence, absolute precision, absolute control.

They spent hours navigating the treacherous terrain, learning to move across loose scree without dislodging a single pebble, to climb sheer rock faces using only their hands and feet, to blend with the shadows so completely that they became almost invisible.

Liam, despite his initial struggles, found himself adapting. His natural agility—honed by years of trying to keep up with his siblings (and often failing)—served him well. The "frost-step" footwork, once a clumsy imitation of his father's technique, now began to feel natural, a part of him. He was still slower than Lia, less experienced than Elara, but he was improving.

He felt a sense of grim satisfaction with each small victory, each successful traverse of a difficult patch of terrain. He started finding himself drawn to Anayis. He started to admire her style.

Anthony, on the other hand, provided a constant stream of whispered commentary—a mix of nervous jokes, insightful observations, and outright complaints. "So, Liam," he whispered, as they clung precariously to a narrow ledge, "this magic thing… can you, like, make us invisible? That would be really helpful right now."

Liam, startled, nearly lost his grip. He glared at Anthony. "Quiet!" he hissed. "And it's not… I can't just…"

"He means," Lia interrupted, her voice a low murmur from somewhere above them, "that magic is complicated. And dangerous. And best not discussed while dangling from a cliff."

"Right," Anthony said, his voice a little subdued. "Noted."

Brad, who seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere, cleared his throat from a nearby outcropping—a silent reprimand.

As the day wore on, they began the actual hunt. The mountain goats, as Brad had warned, were elusive phantoms, their grey coats blending seamlessly with the rock, their senses incredibly sharp.

Liam, using his newfound skills, managed to stalk a goat, his heart pounding in his chest. He drew his hunting knife—the cold steel a stark contrast to the heat of his anticipation. He had never killed an animal before, not like this.

He hesitated. The goat, sensing something, turned its head, its dark eyes meeting his—a strange connection, a moment of shared awareness.

Then, the goat bolted, disappearing over a ridge with a speed that defied belief.

Liam cursed under his breath, frustration and a strange sense of respect warring within him.

"Patience, Liam," Brad's voice came from behind him, surprisingly close. "You almost had it. But you hesitated. You need to be decisive. Ruthless."

Liam nodded, his jaw tight. He knew Brad was right. This wasn't a game. This was preparation for war.

As night fell, they had managed to kill only two goats—a meager reward for their efforts. They huddled around a small, carefully concealed fire, sharing the scant rations, their faces grim and exhausted.

Brad started to remember the time when he was on his mission, and the nightmare started coming back.

Darkness. The cloying scent of incense and something else… something metallic and foul. Brad—young, lean, clad in the black garb of the Silent Night—stood before a hooded figure. The figure's voice, a rasping whisper, sent shivers down his spine.

"The merchant," the figure said, extending a hand that held a small, intricately carved box. "He has displeased our patrons. Silence him. Permanently."

Brad took the box. Poison. He knew the routine. He'd done this before.

"His family?" Brad asked, the words barely audible even to himself.

A cold laugh. "Collateral. Eliminate all witnesses."

The scene shifted: a bustling marketplace. The merchant—jovial and unsuspecting—moved among his customers; his wife, her smile radiant as she held a young child. Brad's hand, holding a vial, moved with a practiced ease he despised. A bump, a murmured apology, and a stain spreading on the merchant's tunic.

He wanted to scream—to warn them—but he was trapped, a puppet dancing to the tune of his masters.

The scene shifted again, this time to a woman standing with an unreadable expression.

The dream ended abruptly, and Brad was met by Liam.

Later, after the others had drifted to sleep—exhausted by the day's grueling training—Liam found Brad sitting alone, staring into the dying embers of the fire. The wind whispered through the rocks, a mournful sound echoing the turmoil in Liam's own heart.

"Brad," Liam said softly, approaching cautiously. "Can I… talk to you?"

Brad looked up, his expression guarded, his eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. He nodded, a slight inclination of his head.

Liam hesitated, then reached into his tunic and pulled out the Umbral Core. He held it out—the dark, intricately carved object seeming to absorb the faint light, pulsing with a hidden energy.

"This," Liam said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I found it. In a hidden cave. Near that old tomb."

Brad's eyes widened slightly—a flicker of… something… crossing his face. He didn't reach for the Core or ask to examine it. He simply stared at it.

"What is it?" Brad asked, his voice low and careful. "What does it do?"

Liam explained, his words tumbling out in a rush, fueled by a mixture of fear and a desperate need to share his burden. He told him about the cave, the symbols, the feeling of ancient power. He told him about the accidental activation during training—the uncontrolled surge of energy.

Brad listened, his expression unchanging, his silence more unsettling than any interrogation. When Liam finished, he finally spoke.

"You said… it absorbs magic?"

Liam nodded. "And releases it. But I don't… I don't know how to control it. It just… happened."

"Show me," Brad said, his voice firm.

Liam hesitated. He was afraid of the Core—of its unpredictable power, of the darkness he felt lurking within it. But he trusted Brad. He had to.

He took a deep breath, focusing his will, channeling a tiny amount of his ice magic. A faint shimmer of frost formed on his fingertips. He held the Umbral Core near the frost and felt the familiar, unsettling pull.

The frost vanished, absorbed into the Core. The object pulsed faintly in his hand, a subtle warmth replacing the ambient chill.

Brad watched, his eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. "Interesting," he said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "And… dangerous. Keep it hidden, Liam. And be very careful."

"I know, but what should I do?" asked Liam.

"For now, keep practicing—keep training. I will take you with me and the others on a reconnaissance mission. You have proven yourself a capable swordsman, and with the basics of stealth you have learned, you will become a powerful warrior. Remember this, Liam you are a Volgunder, never forget that," Brad said, his tone a mix of warning and encouragement.