Chapter 24: Shadows Stir
In the desolate highlands of the Hollow Peaks, a blizzard howled over jagged cliffs and ancient ruins left behind by civilizations lost to time. But beneath the storm, hidden in caverns carved into the stone itself, the Shadow Guild gathered.
No banners. No honor. No law.
Only purpose.
In the dark of a cold council chamber lit by flickering soul-lanterns, masked figures whispered among themselves. Some were assassins. Others, sorcerers of forbidden arts. A few bore no aura nor magic—but were just as deadly with schemes.
At the head of the chamber stood Vaelros the Hollow, unmoving.
His face was hidden beneath a carved bone mask shaped like a screaming skull, his robes a flowing weave of ink-black shadows that never touched the ground. None knew if he breathed, ate, or even slept. Some whispered that he had died long ago and that the man who stood here now was a vessel for something far older.
He raised a hand.
Silence fell instantly.
---
"We have seen the Light rise in Iron," Vaelros said, voice echoing unnaturally. "Jean Luther. The girl who bears the sun and carries the name that wounded Antares."
A ripple of disdain moved through the guild.
"She unites pieces of this shattered world. Even the Empress listens. That is dangerous."
One of the council stepped forward, her mask painted like a grinning fox. "Do we move against her?"
Vaelros tilted his head. "Not yet. We observe. We influence. The dragons are not our enemy. Nor the Luther Clan."
He paused.
"The gods themselves are."
Gasps echoed in the dark.
---
Vaelros turned toward a massive, stone altar at the chamber's center. Upon it lay the Black Codex—an ancient tome bound in scaled hide and sealed with dragonbone chains.
He broke the seals with a whisper.
From the pages rose tendrils of black mist—knowledge forbidden to both mage and swordsman.
"She bears a divine light. But light, like any flame, casts a shadow. And I intend to find it."
---
Back in Drakenshold, Jean felt unease. She stood atop a balcony overlooking the capital, Whitney curled near her feet. The air was thick with heat and metal, yet something deeper stirred—a presence she couldn't name.
The sun dipped below the horizon.
"Do you sense it too?" she asked.
Whitney lifted his head, ears pricking.
A whisper, carried by the wind, brushed against her thoughts:
"They watch you now, Child of Celeste. From places the light cannot reach."
Jean turned swiftly—no one was there.
She gripped Solstice tighter.
---
Elsewhere, deep beneath the ruins of a forgotten chapel in the Sovereign wilds, another emissary awoke in silence.
The Emissary of Frost opened her eyes.
And the ice began to crack.
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