We walked in silence to the old training chamber, boots echoing off the stone. The walls rose around us, cracked and blackened from a hundred duels, their scars etched deep by blades and blood. No banners hung here. No names adorned the stone—just cold, unyielding rock and the faint echoes of those who'd come before us, their ghosts lingering in the stillness.
This was where Arcainius had earned his place, his legend forged in sweat and steel. Where leaders were shaped, recruits hardened. Where the Shadow Hand had been sharpened, year after year, into a blade that cut through the dark.
The air was heavier here, thick with memory—each gouge in the stone a story of members broken down and reforged into the perfect weapon for the Hand. I could almost hear the clash of steel, the grunts of effort, the sharp commands that had once filled this space.
I stepped into the circle, the worn ring at the chamber's heart. This was where it would be decided—where the Shadow Hand's future would hang. I unsheathed my blades slowly, Celerius and Mors whispering free like an old promise renewed, their edges catching the dim torchlight. Across from me, Kaelen stood still as a statue, daggers loose in his hands, dark eyes locked on mine—calculating, waiting, a predator sizing up its prey.
They called him the Viper. For speed. For precision. For the fact that if he struck, you didn't know until you were already bleeding. I'd seen him drop foes before they even knew he'd moved, a shadow with a blade's edge.
I fought like my life depended on it. Because it usually did—years of instinct honed in alleys and battlefields. But that wasn't me anymore, lashing out in desperation, fury unchecked. I had control to the storm now, a leash on the lightning in my veins. Maybe that was the difference. I wasn't trying to be the best. I was trying to be free.
And I was going to prove it—here, against the best.
If I lose, I don't just lose a fight. I lose what the Shadow Hand could be. What we could become again.
Torglel was right about one thing—I was stronger than before, forged anew in the forest's crucible. Doubt flickered, but I crushed it down, grip tightening on my swords.
I closed the distance in a heartbeat, every step charged with static, the air tingling around me.
Kaelen reacted instantly, like a coiled snake unleashed. He leaped into the air with a twisting flip—daggers flashing downward in a deadly arc. I caught the strike on my crossed blades, the force jarring up my arms, rattling my teeth.
He twisted as he landed, driving a dagger straight toward my ribs. I sidestepped at the last second, feeling the wind of his strike graze my side. I swung my blades cutting sharp arcs.
I didn't swing to kill—I swung to break his rhythm, to throw off that relentless flow.
He blocked the first blade with a flick of his dagger, ducked beneath the second with a bend so smooth it was almost inhuman. Then he rolled to my blind side—fast, a blur of shadow—striking again, dagger aimed for my side. I turned, catching the blow on the flat of my sword.
We broke apart in an instant, circling like wolves. Breathing steady. Watching—eyes locked, searching for the next move.
I darted back two paces, boots scuffing the stone. Then—light sparked beneath me. I pushed off, and the world stuttered. My body tore through space like a lightning bolt with intent, no arc, just destination. One moment I was there. The next, behind him—blades drawn, motion a memory.
For a heartbeat, time froze—dust hanging in the air,
torches flickering like distant stars. Then, a single bead of blood welled on his cheek—slow like a falling tear.
In that instant, I saw it—the briefest glint of something like respect in his eyes. Not for power. For restraint. For control.
He gave a single, approving nod, wiping the cut with a thumb. "You're much stronger than the boy I met ten years ago," he said, voice low but firm, carrying a rare warmth. "You are fit to lead the Shadow Hand. All I ask is that you allow me to continue serving as the right hand." He didn't say 'perfect.' He saw what mattered.
I sheathed my blades. The weight of his words settled on me—honor, trust, a mantle I hadn't sought but couldn't refuse. "Every leader needs someone they can trust at their back. You've always been that—stronger than anyone I know."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Kaelen's mouth, there and gone like a shadow.
"Let's head back to the office," I said, turning toward the tunnel. "We've got work to do."
As we made our way back through the tunnels, the others greeted me with congratulations, their voices bouncing off the stone. Torglel slapped me on the back, his laugh booming. "I knew you'd show him, brother!" Alythiel smiled warmly, her hand lingering briefly on my arm—a quiet, steady reassurance. Laboritus gave me a small nod of approval—the kind he rarely gave, his stern face softening just enough to notice.
When we stepped into Arcainius's old office, Kaelen paused, glancing over his shoulder before shutting the door behind us with a dull thud. I caught the sigh he let out as he turned back to face me—soft, weary, a crack in his iron facade.
"Solari," he said, his tone carrying the weight of memory. "Do you know what happened here?"
I clenched my jaw, the answer bitter. "Telegarani betrayed us," I said flatly. "Ran Arcainius through like a traitorous coward." The words burned like coals.
For a moment, the memory crashed in—Arcainius slumped against the stone, blood pooling beneath him, his hand reaching out but never quite making it. I'd knelt beside him, helpless, as his eyes lost their fire.
Kaelen's expression darkened. "That rotten—" he spat a Diminari curse so sharp it could've cut steel. "I told Arcainius that snake couldn't be trusted."
I didn't respond, just stared at the desk where Arcainius once sat—some warnings come too late, and it costs everything.
Kaelen exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. "How many of us are left?"
"Including you two?" he asked. "Eight." His voice dropped lower, rough with loss. "Everyone else was here when the attack happened."
"Eight," I echoed. The word felt like a candle in a crypt. Too small to matter. Still burning anyway.
Only eight. From an army of shadows, we were now a flicker of flame in a storm.
I exhaled, the number sinking in like a blade. "Who are the other five?"
"Corven Talos," he said first, ticking them off. "Varra Sorn. Mavik Grell. Drennar Thorn. And Nysera Veyne."
Torglel let out a low snort. "Drennar," he muttered. "That shifty little gnome. Never trusted him."
Kaelen arched a brow, almost amused.
Laboritus stepped forward, his voice quieter. "I'm relieved to hear my sister is alive."
Kaelen blinked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Your sister is Varra?"
Laboritus nodded, and Kaelen reassessed him with new weight. "Then you'll make a fine addition to the Hand as a Whisper."
I grinned, leaning in. "That's actually how we met. Varra dragged him into one of our missions—claimed she needed a better shot, and Laboritus here never misses."
Laboritus snorted. "You never said no to Varra, not if you value your shins."
Kaelen's lips twitched—almost a smile—as he nodded his approval. "A good recommendation. And a better shot is always welcome."
I leaned over the table, knuckles pressed into the wood. "Do we know where they are?"
Kaelen gestured to the map on the wall, worn and yellowed. "Varra went home to see her family." His finger tapped Thoringard. "Mavik and Drennar are there." His hand moved. "Nysera's in Soreanth, helping rebuild." Another shift—south of Adrestia Forest. "Corven's near here, investigating a cultist lair."
He looked at me. "They're waiting. They just don't know it yet."
I looked to each of them in turn—Laboritus, steady. Torglel, grinning. Alythiel, radiant. Kaelen, silent but resolute.
"Find your sister," I told Laboritus. "Bring her home—to us."
He nodded once.
"Torglel," I said, "go to Thoringard. Find Drennar and Mavik. Even if you have to knock them out and drag them."
Torglel laughed. "Gladly. Wouldn't be the first time."
"Kaelen—you know Nysera best. Go to Soreanth. She'll follow you back."
"She always does," he said simply.
I turned to Alythiel. Her gaze met mine with quiet certainty.
"That leaves us," I said. "We'll find Corven."
A stillness settled in the room—no fanfare, no speeches. Just silent understanding.
I looked down at the map, fingers brushing its creases, the inked paths worn by time and loss.
We weren't just gathering survivors. We were shaping ghosts—arming ourselves for the fight ahead.
"We head out at first light."
We'd been shadows once—tools sharpened in silence. But now?
We weren't just shadows. We were the embers they failed to bury. And this time, they will know our name.
I didn't feel like a leader. I felt like a blade someone else had drawn—and now didn't know how to put away.