The tenth bell’s resonant tone echoed through the Sanctum’s halls. The corridors were quieter at this hour, with most of our brothers and sisters either at prayer or retiring to their chambers. My footsteps, though careful, seemed unnaturally loud against the stone floor.
Baylin’s quarters were in the Hemlock Wing, in the northern section of the dormitories. His chambers were modestly sized but well-appointed, befitting his veteran status in the order. A massive battle axe was mounted outside his door, gleaming dully in the purple light of the wall sconces.
I knocked softly on the heavy wooden door, which opened to reveal Baylin’s grinning face. The warm light from his chamber’s braziers cast deep shadows across his scarred features.
“Right on time, lad,” he said, ushering me inside. “Come in, come in.”
The chamber was arranged for intimate conversation, with several comfortable chairs drawn close around a low table. Light from the purple flames burning in wall sconces reflected off the various weapons and trophies that decorated the walls—souvenirs from Baylin’s many years of service to the order.
Elena was already there, lounging in one of the chairs with a glass of deep red wine. Grath sat nearby, while Dominic was reclining with his feet propped on a wooden stool.
“Ah, there’s our guest of honor.” Elena grinned, lifting her glass.
I settled into an empty chair and took in the impressive array of bottles on the table. There were several varieties of wine and spirits—some I recognized from the sanctum’s cellars, others bearing unfamiliar labels that hinted at more exotic origins. But what caught my attention were the mysterious dark bottles and decanters that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.
Baylin lowered himself into his favorite chair—a well-worn leather piece that had clearly been sized for dwarven comfort. He reached for one of the darker decanters and poured a generous amount of what looked like black ale into his flagon. The liquid seemed to absorb the purple light from the braziers rather than reflect it.
“Quite a collection you’ve got here,” I commented, eyeing the various vessels.
“Aye,” Baylin grinned, his beard twitching with pride. “Been collecting these beauties for years. Each one has a story, though some are best saved for more... private occasions.” He gestured at the spread before us. “Help yourself, but mind the labels. Some of these brews ain’t for the faint of heart.”
“He means that literally,” Grath muttered from his corner. The half-orc’s yellow eyes gleamed with remembered discomfort. “That special battle-brew of his... even I couldn’t handle more than a few sips.”
I raised an eyebrow at Grath’s warning. Coming from a half-orc with his legendary high tolerance of alcohol, such caution was noteworthy.
Baylin took a long drink from his flagon. After lowering it, he let out a hearty belch. “Ahh, that be the good stuff.”
“Careful, brother,” I warned with a smirk. “Any louder and you’ll have the whole Sanctum knowing about our private little gathering.”
“Ha! Can’t help that the legendary spirits always need to announce themselves,” the dwarf rumbled.
I eyed the dark-colored liquid in the decanter. “That stuff looks potent.”
“Aye, it’s a family recipe. The secret’s in the highland herbs we add during the distillation. Been in my clan for generations.”
“The last time I tried that brew,” Grath said, his deep voice carrying a note of grudging respect, “I spent three days feeling like I’d been stomped by a war mammoth. Never again.”
“Comes down to breeding,” Baylin replied with dark pride. “Dwarven blood and dwarven brew—a combination forged in the depths of Aetheria itself.”
I examined the various bottles with newfound wariness. “Uhh… Maybe I’ll start with something that’s not so… legendary.” I reached for one of the less intimidating wine bottles, but Baylin stopped me with a raised hand.
“Here, lad,” he said, reaching for a crystal decanter filled with amber liquid. “This one’s more your speed. Aged whiskey from the Eastern Kingdoms. Strong enough to put hair on your chest, but won’t leave you cursing your ancestors come morning.”
He poured a generous amount into a heavy glass and passed it to me. The liquid caught the purple light from the braziers, seeming to hold it within its depths.
Elena raised her wineglass. “To successful missions and surviving to tell about them.”
We all toasted our drinks. The whiskey burned pleasantly as it went down, leaving a warm trail that spread through my chest. It was excellent quality—smooth yet potent, with subtle notes of smoke and honey.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally set fire to Archmagister Thorne’s robes during the winter solstice ceremony?” Dominic said with a sheepish grin.
Elena nearly choked on her drink. “You didn’t!”
“Oh, yeah. It was my first year in the order, still learning to control shadow flames. The Archmagister was giving this incredibly long-winded speech about proper magical conduct...”
As Dominic launched into his tale, I found myself relaxing despite my earlier reservations. The drinks were warming, and the company was surprisingly engaging. In this moment, these weren’t the stern, disciplined warriors I trained with daily. These were people, with stories and jokes and lives beyond their duties.
“Remember when Elena first arrived?” Baylin chuckled. “Knocked three senior warriors flat on their backs during her first training session.”
Elena’s cheeks flushed slightly. “They underestimated me because of my size. A mistake they didn’t repeat.”
“I still remember the look on Brother Aldrich’s face,” Grath added. “Like he couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or outraged by the elf woman’s strength.”
The conversation flowed as freely as Baylin’s spirits, moving from topic to topic with an ease I hadn’t expected. They all shared stories from their lives before the order, careful to avoid the darker aspects that had led them here. Dominic spoke of his childhood in a coastal village, where he’d learned to navigate by the stars. Elena revealed she’d once been a dancer before finding her calling in shadow.
“What about you, Caelum?” Dominic asked. “What did you do before... all this?”
I hesitated, taking another sip of the warming spirit. “I was born to the Steelwind family in the Western Kingdoms,” I said, the practiced words coming easily after so many tellings. “My father was a prominent nobleman, though he cared more for his books and hunting than actual governance.”
“Ah, that explains your excellent swordsmanship,” Elena nodded. “Noble children start training young, don’t they?”
“Indeed,” I replied smoothly. “Though I preferred more... practical applications than the showy techniques favored at court.” That much, at least, wasn’t entirely a lie. My combat skills had been honed through necessity rather than privilege, but they didn’t need to know that.
“I also served in the city guard for a time,” I continued, noting their interested expressions. “My father believed every noble son should understand how law and order actually functioned, not just study it in books. Said it would make me a better leader, eventually.” I smiled slightly at the irony of those words.
“A nobleman serving in the guard?” Dominic raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s unusual.”
“Not as much as you might think,” Elena corrected. “Many noble houses require their heirs to serve in some military or law enforcement capacity. Builds character, they say.”
“And practical experience,” Grath added with a nod of approval. “Theory is worthless without application.”
“Exactly,” I agreed, grateful for their assumptions filling in the narrative. “Those years taught me more about real combat and justice than any court instructor ever could.”
“So you’ve always had a taste for justice,” Elena observed, her eyes sharp despite the drink.
“Justice,” I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “I thought I knew what that meant once. Turned out to be nothing but an illusion.”
“Most things are,” Baylin said, refilling our cups. “That’s why we serve a higher purpose now. True power doesn’t hide behind pretty words like ‘justice’ and ‘mercy.’”
Grath nodded in agreement. “Power is power. Better to embrace it honestly than pretend it’s something else.”
“That must have been quite a change,” Dominic mused, “going from noble luxury to the ascetic life of a blackguard.”
I allowed a dark smile to cross my face. “Some changes are worth making, brother. Especially when they lead to true power.”
“Aye.” Baylin raised his flagon in agreement. “To power worth having,” he declared, and we all drank to that.
The conversation drifted to other topics—training mishaps, memorable missions, the strange quirks of some of our fellow blackguards. Through it all, I found myself growing more relaxed, the constant tension of the past few days easing slightly.
“You know,” Baylin mused, “we’re bound by something stronger than mere brotherhood in arms. We’re a family forged in darkness and blood. We would kill or die by Lord Valic’s command without hesitation. There’s power in that kind of absolute loyalty. It binds us stronger than any common family ties.
“May our enemies tremble at our unity.” Elena raised her cup, a dangerous glint in her eye.
“And may our powers grow stronger in darkness.” Grath saluted his drink.
“To loyalty,” Dominic contributed, raising his own cup.
I raised my glass, the amber liquid catching the purple light. “To power through order, and order through shadow.”
“Aye, I’ll drink to all of that,” Baylin concluded, and we all drank together.
Dominic set down his empty cup and looked at me pointedly. “All right, brother. Now that we’re here in private, you can tell us what really happened in Ebonheart.”
I tensed slightly, but the warmth of the spirits and the comfortable atmosphere made me less guarded than usual. “It was... complicated.”
“Everything about that cursed city is complicated,” Elena muttered.
“The magical disturbances the mages detected... that was your doing, wasn’t it?” Dominic said.
I met his knowing gaze. “Perhaps.”
“Huh. Now the lad’s got me curious,” Baylin said. “What happened? You can tell us. We’ve all had our share of... interesting missions, after all.”
I took another sip, letting its warmth spread through me before speaking. “There was… a fiend,” I said finally. “A powerful one, masquerading as a city official.”
“A fiend?” Dominic’s eyes widened. “In Ebonheart itself?”
I nodded. “A masphroth, to be exact.”
Grath scowled. “They are clever ones known to hide in plain sight. I thought they preferred the lower planes of the Infernal Realm.”
“Aye, nasty business, dealing with those creatures.” Baylin stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“It had corrupted nearly the entire city,” I continued, finding a strange relief in sharing the burden of knowledge. “The people, the officials, even some of the clergy. All under its influence.”
Baylin grunted, refilling his flagon. “The fiends are getting bolder these days. More ambitious.”
“But you defeated it?” Elena asked, her voice carrying a note of respect.
“With help,” I acknowledged, thinking of Evangeline but not mentioning her. “The corruption ran deep, but in the end, shadow proved stronger than deception.”
“That must be why the mages are in such a state,” Dominic realized. “The sudden removal of such powerful corruption would create quite the magical backlash.”
“The fiend has been destroyed, though the effects may linger for some time,” I said.
Grath nodded with grim satisfaction. “Such corruption should be eradicated completely. No half measures when dealing with fiends.”
“To Brother Caelum then,” Baylin raised his cup again. “Who proved that even fiends should fear the shadows.”
As the others joined in the toast, I felt a curious mix of pride and unease. These warriors, my brothers and sisters in shadow, celebrated my victory without knowing its full cost. They didn’t know about Evangeline’s sacrifice, or the personal stakes involved. They couldn’t know about the promises I’d made in that underground chamber, or the weight of protection I now carried.
“You seem troubled, brother,” Elena observed quietly while the others launched into a debate about different types of fiends. “Despite your victory.”
I studied the dark liquid in my cup. “Victory always comes at a price.”
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“Ah.” She nodded knowingly. “And was the price higher than expected?”
Before I could respond, Baylin’s voice cut through the conversation. “Here now! No brooding allowed at my table!” He refilled my glass. As I drank, the others returned to sharing stories, though I noticed they kept the topics lighter, as if sensing my mood.
The laughter that followed was genuine and warm, a strange sound in the usually somber halls of the Sanctum. For a moment, I could almost forget the weight of recent events, almost believe we were just warriors sharing a drink rather than servants of shadow bound by dark powers.
But even as I joined in their mirth, a part of me remained alert and aware. Tomorrow we would return to our duties, to the stern discipline and dark purpose that defined our existence. But for now...
“Another round?” Baylin offered, already reaching for one of his mysterious bottles.
“Why not?” I said, holding out my cup. “After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”
Baylin chuckled. “Those are dangerous last words, lad.” He filled my cup with a different spirit, this one a deep gold color. “Especially in our line of work.”
The new drink was slightly bitter with hints of citrus and cloves. But like the first, it went down smooth. As I savored it, Grath launched into another tale about his early days in the order.
“...so there I was, trying to explain to Malachai why there was a shadow-touched chicken running loose in the library,” he gestured expansively, nearly knocking over his cup. “While behind me, Brother Corvus was actually trying to catch the thing!”
“How did he even know where it was?” Dominic asked.
“His crows told him, of course,” Grath replied, as if it should have been obvious. “They see everything.”
The mention of Corvus sobered me slightly, reminding me of his continued absence. “Speaking of seeing things, did any of you notice anyone entering my quarters while I was away in Ebonheart?”
The others exchanged glances.
“Can’t say that I did,” Grath replied, frowning slightly.
“I didn’t see anyone, either,” Dominic added. “Why do you ask?”
I swirled the gold liquid in my cup, watching it catch the purple light. “When I returned, things were... different. Small details out of place. As if someone had been searching for something.”
“Are you certain?” Elena leaned forward, her expression hardening. “That would be a serious breach of protocol.”
“I’m certain,” I confirmed with a firm nod. “Books slightly misaligned, candles moved, the lingering scent of unfamiliar incense...”
“Ah, now, don’t start down that path,” Baylin interrupted, reaching for the decanter again. “Not tonight. Tonight is for celebration, not conspiracy theories.”
“But if someone was in my quarters—”
“Then they clearly didn’t find what they were looking for,” Baylin cut me off firmly. “And working yourself up about it now won’t change anything.” He refilled my cup again, despite my protests. “Besides, we all know how paranoid we can get after dealing with fiends. They have a way of making us see threats in every shadow.”
“We are the threats in the shadows,” Grath pointed out with a slight smirk.
“Aye! So let’s focus on more important matters. Like whether anyone’s brave enough to try my special reserve spirit. Aged fifty years in Dragon-charred barrels.”
“Dragon-charred?” Dominic’s eyes widened. “How did you even—”
“Best not to ask too many questions, lad.” Baylin winked, producing a small, intricately carved flask from his vest. “Some secrets are best left in the shadows, eh?”
The conversation shifted again, but I couldn’t completely shake my unease. Still, Baylin was right. Tonight was meant to be a respite from such concerns. I forced myself to focus on the present moment. The special reserve spirit Baylin shared turned out to be exceptional—smooth as silk but with a kick like a war horse.
“You know what this reminds me of?” Elena said, savoring her small portion of the rare spirit. “The harvest festivals in my hometown. Before... everything…” Her voice trailed off.
“We all had a ‘before,’” Grath nodded sagely. “But the ‘after’ is what matters now.”
“To ‘after’ then.” Baylin raised his cup. “And to the power it brought us.”
We all drank to that. The special reserve burned pleasantly going down, leaving a taste like smoky honey and something darker—perhaps the essence of the Dragon-fire that had charred the aging barrels.
“Speaking of power,” Dominic ventured, his cheeks slightly flushed from the drinks, “did you really once shadow-step through three solid walls before, Brother Caelum?”
I blinked in surprise. The fantastic feat sounded so impressive that it was the first I was hearing of it myself. “Where did you hear that?”
“Oh, rumors are flying all over the Sanctum,” he replied eagerly. “They say you moved like a living shadow, passing through solid stone as if it were mist.”
“The truth is usually less dramatic than rumors suggest,” I said diplomatically, though I couldn’t deny feeling flattered at how my reputation had grown, even if I hadn’t yet mastered the ability to shadow-step two inches, much less through a solid wall.
“Bah, let them tell their tales.” Baylin waved his hand dismissively. “Better to be feared a little too much than not enough, I always say.”
“Is that why you sharpen your axe in the middle of the night?” Elena teased. “To be ‘feared a little too much’?”
Baylin bristled, puffing out his chest. “I’ll have you know that’s a sacred dwarven tradition!” he protested, though his eyes twinkled with amusement. “The midnight hour is when the metal is most receptive to enhancement through shadow-forging.”
“Is that actually true?” Dominic asked, fascinated.
“Of course it is! Would I lie about sacred dwarven traditions?”
“Yes,” Elena, Grath, Dominic, and I replied in unison, causing Baylin to clutch his chest in mock offense.
“The betrayal! The slander! After I’ve shared my finest spirits with you lot!” But his broad grin betrayed his amusement. “Just for that, I might not share the special dessert I managed to procure.”
“Dessert?” Dominic perked up. “You’ve been holding out on us?”
Baylin rose from his chair with exaggerated dignity, his beard still twitching with suppressed laughter. He moved to a small cabinet in the corner and withdrew a carefully wrapped package.
“Behold,” he announced dramatically, unwrapping the package to reveal several dark, rich-looking pastries. “Nutmeg-spice cakes from the finest bakery in Shaiadale’s lower city. Convinced the kitchen master they were ‘necessary supplies for maintaining dwarven combat efficiency.’” He grinned darkly. “Amazing what you can accomplish with the right combination of intimidation and carefully worded requisition forms.”
“How did you manage that?” I asked, eyeing the treats with interest.
“Oh, it might have involved convincing Brother Aldrich that they were necessary components for a special shadow-enhancement ritual,” Baylin replied loftily.
“You didn’t!” Elena gasped.
“Oh, but I did. You’d be amazed at what you can get away with if you throw in a few made-up dwarven terms.”
The cakes were indeed exceptional—dense and rich, with a complex blend of spices that seemed to dance on the tongue. The flavor reminded me of autumn evenings and forbidden pleasures, with an underlying darkness that perfectly complemented Baylin’s spirits.
As we enjoyed the illicit dessert, I found myself studying my companions in a new light. Elena, typically so composed, was actually giggling at one of Grath’s outrageous stories. Dominic had relaxed enough to share a surprisingly witty observation about the Sanctum’s architecture. And Baylin... well, Baylin seemed in his element, playing the gracious host while maintaining just enough awareness to catch any approaching footsteps in the corridor.
“You know,” I said, “this is... nice.”
“Course it is,” Baylin said. “Better than brooding alone in your quarters, isn’t it?”
“I do not brood,” I protested, though the others’ skeptical looks suggested otherwise.
Dominic laughed. “Brother Caelum, you brood more than a mother hen.”
“More cake?” Baylin offered, pushing the plate toward me.
I accepted another piece, savoring the complex flavors. “You know, Baylin, for someone who claims to be purely focused on warrior traditions, you have surprisingly refined tastes.”
The dwarf grinned. “Ah, well, a warrior who can’t appreciate life’s finer pleasures is just a weapon without a wielder. Besides,” he added with a wink, “who says you can’t enjoy good food and drink while serving the shadows?”
“I don’t think that’s quite what the training manuals suggest,” Dominic pointed out.
“Training manuals!” Baylin scoffed. “Written by people who’ve probably never enjoyed a properly aged spirit in their lives. Even the darkest warrior needs moments of... tactical relaxation.”
“Tactical relaxation?” Elena raised an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling this?”
“Better than calling it ‘breaking about fifteen different Sanctum regulations,’” Grath observed dryly.
The laughter that followed was genuine, if slightly conspiratorial. As I looked around at my brothers and sister in shadow, I realized that Baylin had been right. This gathering, illegal as it might be, was exactly what I’d needed. A reminder that even in our dark calling, there was room for lighter moments.
“I wonder…” Elena refilled her wine. “Why is it that none of us knew about the fiend in Ebonheart before?”
An awkward silence filled the room.
“Good question,” Grath mused.
I took another sip of Baylin’s excellent spirits as I pondered. “To my understanding, masphroths are a unique kind of fiend,” I began, remembering my previous conversation with Corvus. “They don’t just hide their presence, they weave themselves into the very fabric of society. Their corruption is so gradual, so subtle, that it becomes nearly impossible to distinguish from the natural darkness in people’s hearts.”
“But surely someone should have sensed something… right?” Dominic shrugged.
“Some people were suspicious, yes, but it was always met with a level of uncertainty. Think about it. How do we usually detect fiends? We sense their corruption, their malicious intent, their dark power. But in a city already steeped in all of that...”
“The fiend’s presence would blend right in,” Elena concluded, her eyes narrowing in understanding.
I nodded. “Exactly. The masphroth didn’t need to hide its nature. It simply became part of the city’s natural corruption. Like a drop of poison in an already tainted well.”
“Clever bastards,” Baylin muttered. Then he took a long drink. “Using our own assumptions against us.”
“Not even Malachai mentioned anything. Do you think even he was tricked?” Elena asked.
“If he was, then that’s deeply disturbing,” Grath said. “His connection to shadow is far stronger than ours.”
I stared at the dark liquid in my cup. “If that is true, then it further shows just how dangerous masphroths really are. They don’t announce themselves with obvious displays of power or corruption. They work within existing systems, exploiting the darkness that’s already there. By the time anyone realizes what’s happening...”
“The corruption has spread too deep to trace its source,” Elena finished grimly.
My explanation based on my limited knowledge seemed to satisfy them, though I could see they were still troubled by its implications. The idea that a fiend could hide so effectively within the natural darkness of mortal society was unsettling, even for servants of shadow like ourselves.
“But even after that entire ordeal, something still bothers me,” I continued. “I suspect the fiend was just one piece of a larger puzzle. Corvus sensed it, too.”
“Why do you say that?” Elena asked.
I shook my head. “I can’t explain it. It’s just… a feeling…”
Baylin grunted. “Could be the same feeling that’s been going on around here.”
I lifted an eyebrow, noting the hint of seriousness in the dwarf’s tone. “What do you mean?”
Baylin settled deeper into his chair. “I believe we’re overdue for some proper conversation. Things have been... interesting lately in the Sanctum.”
“Interesting is one word for it,” Elena commented, swirling her wine thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen Malachai so... distracted.”
“Nor Corvus so absent,” Grath added, his yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Something is moving in the shadows. Something that has even our leaders unsettled.”
Dominic shifted nervously. “The mages say—”
“Careful, lad,” Baylin interrupted, though his tone remained friendly. “Even these thick walls have ears sometimes.”
I took another sip of whiskey, letting its warmth fortify me. “You organized this gathering for more than just celebration, didn’t you, Baylin?”
The dwarf’s expression grew serious. “Aye. That I did.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Changes are coming to the order. Big ones. And some of us think it might be wise to... prepare ourselves.”
“What kind of changes?” I asked.
Baylin glanced at each person in the room before continuing in a quieter voice. “There are whispers… about prophecies. About chosen kings and ancient powers stirring in the depths of Aetheria.”
We all sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the weight of Baylin’s words.
“Chosen kings?” I kept my voice neutral, though my pulse quickened. “That sounds like tavern talk.”
“Perhaps,” Elena said, studying me intently. “But even tavern talk sometimes holds kernels of truth.”
“None of it makes sense on the surface,” Grath said, “but I’m sure the mages know and understand. However, they have chosen to keep it secret.”
“And Malachai...” Dominic added. “The way he’s been spending more and more time in the private oratory...”
I took another careful sip of whiskey, using the moment to gather my thoughts. “What does it all mean?”
Baylin leaned back, his weathered face serious despite the drink. “Simple, lad. It means, whatever’s happening, our path remains clear. We serve Valic, and through him, we serve Malachai.”
My gaze drifted between my companions. “Do you think Lord Valic is testing our faith? Our loyalty?”
“He is always testing us,” Elena said. “But we also must have faith in our leader. His wisdom guides us all. If he spends all his time in isolation, it’s because the Dread Lord demands it.”
“Exactly,” Grath said. “Our duty is to serve. To be ready when called upon.”
I nodded slowly, finding it ironic how everyone still showed such rigid deference to Malachai’s authority even as we gathered in secret to defy it. Here we were, conspiring behind the Grandmaster’s back, yet still speaking his name in hushed, reverent tones. “Of course. Though I can’t help but wonder what kind of changes might require such... preparation.”
“When the time is right, we will be told what we need to know,” Elena said.
Baylin raised his flagon. “To Malachai, who leads us in Valic’s name. May his power grow ever stronger.”
“To Malachai,” we all echoed, though I noticed Baylin’s eyes lingering on me as we drank.
“Still,” Elena mused, “it’s interesting that all this coincides with your mission to Ebonheart, Brother Caelum. A powerful fiend, ancient prophecies, strange energies...” She let the thought hang unfinished.
“Sometimes seemingly unrelated events are connected in ways we can’t see,” I muttered. I thought about Corvus, and his ability to see things that none of us could not.
“Even the blindest crow sees what others miss,” Grath said in an absent tone.
His metaphor, whether intentional or not, made me wonder if he was also thinking about Corvus. “Is it wise to interpret what may simply be divine will?” I asked him.
“I’m not interpreting,” Grath defended. “Merely observing. As we’re trained to do.”
“Interpretation without understanding can be dangerous,” Elena said. “We must trust in Malachai’s guidance. He alone truly comprehends Valic’s will.”
“Well said.” Dominic raised his cup.
I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching how it caught the purple light. “And if Valic’s will should manifest in... unexpected ways?” I dared to ask, thinking about my first time coming to Aetheria and meeting the Dread Lord face to face.
“The shadows speak with many voices,” Grath muttered. “At this point, only the Grandmaster can discern their true meaning.”
I furrowed my brow curiously, noting the shift in the room’s tension. Is that why Malachai has been locked away in the oratory for so long?
Baylin’s eyes, though clouded by drink, held a fierce intensity as he raised his flagon one last time. “Brothers and sister, we’ve gathered here not just as warriors of shadow, but as family forged in darkness. Whatever changes come, whatever trials await, we stand together.”
“Together,” Elena echoed, raising her glass.
“To the shadows that guide us,” Grath said.
“To power through unity,” Dominic said.
“To the ties that bind us stronger than blood,” I said, completing the circle of toasts.
“And above all,” Baylin concluded, his voice growing deeper with emotion, “to the order that gave us purpose when the world cast us aside. May our loyalty never waver, our resolve never weaken, and our brotherhood never break.”
We all drank deeply, sealing the moment in shadow and spirit. As I lowered my glass, I caught Baylin’s knowing look—a reminder that even in our darkest calling, we were never truly alone. In this moment, I felt a connection to these warriors that went beyond mere allegiance to the order. They were, as Baylin had said, family forged in darkness. And in the shadows of Aetheria, family might be the strongest weapon of all.
Midnight approached. While the others took their leave, I stayed behind and helped Baylin gather the empty bottles and cups. However, he waved off my attempts with typical dwarven stubbornness. Finally, I stood at his doorway, the warmth of good spirits and better company still coursing through my veins.
“Thank you for this evening,” I said, meaning it more deeply than I could express.
Baylin’s weathered face creased in a smile that reached his eyes. “Listen, lad,” he said, his voice gruff but warm. “We may serve in darkness, but that doesn’t mean we walk alone. You’re one of us now—truly one of us. And I’m proud to call you brother.”
The words struck something deep within me, something I thought had died on the gallows a long time ago. In my previous life, I’d known camaraderie amongst the city watch, but it had always felt conditional, tainted by politics and personal ambition. This was different. These bonds were forged in shadow and sealed in blood—deeper, darker, but somehow more genuine for their very nature.
“I...” I started, then stopped, struggling to find the right words. “I haven’t felt like I belonged anywhere in a very long time.”
Baylin clasped my forearm, his grip firm and steady. “Well, you belong here, brother.”
I stepped into the darkened corridor, the echoes of tonight’s gathering still resonating within me. My footsteps were steady despite the spirits I’d consumed.
The evening’s conversations played through my mind—the shared laughter, the careful warnings, the underlying currents of loyalty and preparation for whatever changes lay ahead. In my previous life, such gatherings had always carried an edge of suspicion, each word measured for advantage or weakness. But tonight had been different. Even our discussions of dark prophecies and hidden powers had been tempered by genuine concern for each other’s welfare.
This was where I belonged now—amongst warriors who understood the meaning of true strength.
Baylin’s words echoed in my mind: “Family forged in darkness.” Once, I would have scoffed at such a notion. But now, with the taste of dwarven spirits still on my tongue and the warmth of fellowship in my heart, I understood. In the end, we were all outcasts who had found our true home in the shadows, bound by something stronger than blood or conventional loyalty.
The shadows wrapped around me like a familiar cloak as I walked, and for the first time since my execution, I felt truly at peace with what I had become.