The walk back to my quarters felt longer than usual, as Malachai’s threats echoed in my mind, particularly his pointed mention of Evangeline. The casual way he’d revealed his knowledge of her survival sent shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the Sanctum’s usual chilly temperature. My paranoia grew stronger as I anticipated each shadow in the corridors concealing potential observers.
My chambers, when I reached them, felt different somehow. Nothing appeared disturbed at first glance, yet something felt off, as if the very air had been examined in my absence.
I began a careful inspection. The dust patterns on the shelves were slightly disturbed in a peculiar way—two distinct lines of movement, one careful and precise, the other more aggressive. A faint whiff of incense lingered in the air.
The rug beneath my writing desk had been lifted and replaced, but not quite perfectly aligned. The corner was off by the width of two fingers, something only someone shorter than me would overlook.
A careless misstep, I mused.
I thought about all the blackguards who were significantly shorter than me. There were quite a few, though most lacked the authority to enter private quarters without permission. The list of those who could was far fewer, but still included several of Malachai’s inner circle.
My books had been examined too—the spines weren’t quite flush with each other as I’d left them. Someone had pulled them out to check behind them, then replaced them hastily. A rookie mistake. Any experienced investigator knows to memorize exact placement before disturbing evidence.
I chuckled bitterly at the irony. How many times had I conducted similar searches as a watchman? Those skills served me well now, though from the other side of the investigation.
The shelves and drawers showed signs of thorough searching, though whoever had inspected my quarters had been careful to replace everything precisely. But the little careless details stuck out conspicuously to my keen, roguish intuition. Even the mortar between the stones bore fresh scratches from gauntleted hands, the distinctive black metal of elite armor having left its mark. They’d been purposeful in their inspection.
A knock at my door made me freeze. “Who is it?” I called, keeping my voice steady.
“It’s me, lad.”
I relaxed a little, recognizing Baylin’s voice. “Enter.”
The door swung open and Baylin stepped inside, his usually jovial expression replaced by something more guarded. “Brother Caelum,” he said formally, using my title rather than my name. “I assume your meeting with the Grandmaster was... enlightening?”
I studied my friend carefully, noting the tension in his stance. I considered Baylin’s possible involvement in the search of my quarters, but quickly dismissed the idea. While he held senior rank, and he was certainly much shorter than me, he wasn’t part of Malachai’s inner circle. Besides that, the dwarf was as stealthy as a war hammer to the face. The careful precision of the search spoke of someone else’s handiwork.
“Enlightening isn’t quite the word I’d choose,” I replied at last.
Baylin closed the door behind him and glanced around the room with a knowing look. “They’ve been through here, haven’t they?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
“Because they went through my quarters as well. Right after our little gathering last night. Quite thorough, they were.” He grunted. “Found my special reserves, too. Confiscated the lot of them, the bastards.”
“Who did?”
“Thaddeus and two others. Didn’t recognize them under the hoods, but they carried themselves like senior members.”
I blinked several times as realization dawned. “Wait... Thaddeus? That nervous, skittish attendant who can barely string two words together without stammering?” The contrast between the confident figure who had escorted me earlier and the anxious man I’d known before seemed impossible. “He’s always jumping at shadows, constantly wringing his hands... yet the man who came to my chambers carried himself like a strong veteran warrior.”
“Aye.” Baylin’s expression darkened. “Surprised me too at first. But there’s more to that one than what he seems. The way he moved tonight... it was like watching a completely different person.”
I thought back to how Thaddeus had shadow-stepped through my door earlier, his usual nervous demeanor replaced by cold efficiency. “An act, then? All this time?”
“Makes sense, don’t it?” Baylin shrugged. “Who better to gather information than someone everyone dismisses as harmless? No one guards their tongue around a nervous bootlicker.”
The realization made me reevaluate countless past interactions. How many conversations had Thaddeus overheard while playing the role of the anxious servant? How many secrets had been carelessly revealed in his presence?
“But that incense smell...” I mused.
“You mean that funny sage and iron scent? That’s special oil for shadow-stepping.”
“Shadow stepping oil?” I furrowed my brow. I clearly was not yet advanced enough in my blackguard training to know the intricacies of that elusive ability.
Baylin nodded. “Aye. Expensive stuff, that. Only the elite shadow-steppers have access to it. Helps prevent the armor from degrading during rapid transitions through shadow.”
“And Malachai trusted Thaddeus with searching our quarters...” I trailed off, thinking. “Damn it. This is all so frustrating. I don’t know what has suddenly triggered Malachai’s paranoia. And I don’t know how he suddenly knows things—things he shouldn’t know.”
“About your past?” Baylin lifted a bushy eyebrow.
I looked at him sharply. “What do you know about my past?”
The dwarf shrugged. “Nothing specific. But I’ve been around long enough to recognize when someone’s running from something. We all have our secrets here.” He lowered his voice. “But whatever yours are, they’ve got Malachai spooked. And a spooked leader is a dangerous one.”
“He claims to have had visions,” I said. “Visions from Lord Valic.”
Baylin’s expression darkened. “Aye, he’s been claiming that more and more lately. Spending hours in the oratory, emerging with wild proclamations and new ‘divine insights.’ He’s obviously taken a special interest in you, brother. Best be on your guard.”
The warning in his tone was clear. Baylin was trying to tell me something without explicitly breaking his loyalty to Malachai. “The Grandmaster’s interests are varied and complex. One can only hope to serve them adequately.”
Baylin’s gaze darted to the corners of my chamber, then back to me. “Aye. Though some interests prove more... demanding than others.” He sighed. “Listen, lad. I came here to let you know that you’ve been... reassigned a new area for your training.”
The implications were clear–I was being isolated, moved away from the main training areas where I might interact with my fellow brethren. “I see. And where is that?”
“The lower levels. You are to report there tomorrow at dawn.”
“What about my usual sparring partners? Like Grath?”
“Reassigned as well.” Baylin’s expression remained carefully neutral, but I could see the conflict in his eyes. “Brother Thaddeus will be overseeing your training personally.”
Thaddeus... The message couldn’t have been clearer if they’d carved it in stone. I was to be watched, controlled, perhaps even tested to my breaking point.
“How thoughtful of the Grandmaster to take such personal interest in my development,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
Baylin hesitated, then added, “About Brother Corvus...”
My attention sharpened.
“He’s been sent to retrieve something from the eastern territories. Something rare and valuable.” Baylin’s eyes met mine meaningfully. “Something commonly used in certain... rituals.”
Before I could press for more details, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Baylin straightened immediately, his manner becoming formal once again. “Remember your training, lad. Every shadow has eyes, every wall has ears.”
The footsteps passed without stopping, but the warning had been delivered. I nodded to Baylin, understanding both what he’d said and what he hadn’t. “Thank you for the information about tomorrow’s training schedule, brother.”
He bowed slightly and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the growing certainty that my position within the order had become precarious indeed.
***
The hour was late, but sleep would have to wait. I needed information, and the library would be relatively empty at this time of night. I left my quarters and made my way through the Sanctum’s darkened corridors.
The library was as vast and imposing as ever, its towering shelves disappearing into shadows above. Only a handful of black-robed attendants moved between the stacks, their hooded figures barely distinguishable from the darkness around them. Sister Gretta was nowhere to be seen, but another familiar face appeared from between the shelves.
“Brother Caelum,” Ilphrin nodded. The dark elf mage’s grey-skinned face creased with what might have been concern. His snow-white hair seemed to glow faintly in the purple light of the sconces. “Burning the midnight oil yet again, I see.”
“The pursuit of knowledge knows no time, Brother,” I said in a hushed voice. “I’m particularly interested in our order’s history with the Infernal Realm.”
Ilphrin’s thin, white eyebrows rose slightly, his red eyes glinting. “An... interesting choice of study. The Grandmaster has been similarly consulting ancient texts about fiendish pacts and bindings.” Ilphrin gestured towards a particular section of shelves. “Though perhaps you already knew that.”
I kept my expression neutral. “The Grandmaster’s studies are his own concern. I merely seek to better understand our order’s relationship with such entities.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Of course.” Ilphrin’s tone suggested he didn’t believe me for a moment, but his loyalty to knowledge seemed to outweigh other concerns. “You’ll want Chronicles of the Shadow Pact and Hierarchies of the Infernal Courts.” He pointed to a particular shelf nearby.
Like all the other books I’d previously read about fiends and the Infernal Realm, the ones Ilphrin indicated were bound in black leather and felt warm to the touch.
As I reached for them, Ilphrin added quietly, “You might also find Succession Rites of the Dark Orders informative. Though that one isn’t technically in our public collection.”
I paused, studying him carefully. Like most dark elves, Ilphrin’s face was difficult to read, but there was something in the mage’s ruby eyes—a hint of calculation, perhaps even concern.
“And where might one find such a text?” I asked.
Ilphrin’s eyes darted to the shadows between the shelves before returning to me. “The restricted section contains many... interesting volumes. Though access requires the Grandmaster’s explicit permission.” His lip curled slightly. “Or exceptional skill at remaining unseen.”
The message was clear enough. I nodded my thanks, gathered the two books he’d indicated in the public section, and moved to a reading table partially hidden by the towering shelves. I positioned myself with my back to a solid bookshelf, giving me a clear view of the main approaches to my secluded reading area.
A few hours passed as I delved into the texts. The first book detailed numerous pacts between the blackguard order and various fiendish entities, each carefully negotiated and bound by complex magical contracts. The hierarchies described in the second book were intricate and deadly, with power flowing both up and down the chain of command through carefully maintained relationships of obligation and debt.
Every few minutes, I glanced up from the pages and scanned the shadows for any sign of movement. My paranoia from Malachai’s ominous threats kept me in a constant state of unease. The purple flames in the wall sconces cast shifting shadows that made every corner suspect. Every rustle of paper from the few remaining attendants felt like a potential threat.
I composed myself and continued reading. One passage particularly caught my attention: “The binding of fiendish entities requires perfect adherence to hierarchy and protocol. Any breach in the chain of command, any disruption of established order, weakens the very foundations upon which such pacts are built.”
The implications were clear. If Malachai saw me as a threat to the established order, then he might try to preserve the stability of the relationships that gave our order its strength.
Another chapter detailed the intricate process by which blackguards could bind fiendish creatures to their command. “A blackguard of sufficient power may command infernal cohorts...” I paused a moment, my eyes darting about the area again to check the shadows. “Through careful ritual and binding, these beings become extensions of the blackguard’s will, bound by both magical compulsion and a shared devotion to order and hierarchy.”
The text went on to explain how these relationships worked: “Unlike the chaotic dealings of warlocks or the temporary bindings of common summoners, a blackguard’s connection to their servant is one of mutual purpose. The fiend recognizes the blackguard’s position within the greater hierarchy of darkness and serves willingly, knowing their own power grows as their master’s influence expands.”
I turned the page. “However, such bonds are not without risk. Should the blackguard’s position in the hierarchy be threatened or their authority questioned, the fiend may begin to doubt the worthiness of their master. In extreme cases, particularly when the natural order of succession is disrupted, bound fiends have been known to turn against their former masters.”
The implications made my blood run cold. If Malachai had indeed bound powerful fiendish cohorts to his will, any challenge to his authority–even an unintentional one–could have consequences far beyond mere political maneuvering.
A soft sound from behind a nearby shelf made me tense. I carefully marked my place and peered around the edge of the nearest shelf, but it was only one of the hooded attendants replacing a book. Still, the constant need for vigilance was wearing on my nerves. The very air seemed charged with tension, as if the library itself was watching, waiting.
I scooted warily to the edge of my seat and returned to my reading. The texts spoke of elaborate rituals, of carefully negotiated terms with beings of shadow and flame. Some passages hinted at darker practices—ways to bind unwilling participants, to twist loyalty into something unbreakable.
Was that Malachai’s plan? I wondered.To use some ancient ritual to ensure my compliance? Or was something else at work here?
The complex relationships between blackguards and fiends, the careful balance of power within the order, the importance of proper succession–it all painted a picture that grew more disturbing with each page.
A sound from the restricted section caught my attention. Through a gap in the shelves, I caught a glimpse of dark robes moving purposefully between the stacks. Something about the figure’s movements seemed familiar, though I couldn’t place how or why.
I carefully closed the books and returned them to their proper places, making a mental note to return later—perhaps when the library was even emptier—to investigate the restricted section Ilphrin had mentioned. The succession rites he’d referenced might prove vital in understanding what was truly happening within the order.
Back in my chambers, I began preparing for the next day’s training session with Thaddeus. If Malachai intended to test me, I would need to be ready for anything. But as I checked my armor and weapons, my mind kept returning to Evangeline. Malachai’s casual mention of her had been no accident–it was a reminder that he could reach beyond the Sanctum’s walls if he chose.
I needed to find a way to warn her, to ensure her safety without revealing our connection or drawing more of Malachai’s attention. But how? Every message sent from the Sanctum was scrutinized, every movement watched and reported.
The deep toll of the evening prayer bell suddenly resonated through the Sanctum’s halls. I exhaled at the sound of its sonorous notes carrying both command and comfort. Rather than join my brothers in the chapel, I chose to remain in my chambers. Something told me this communion needed to be private.
I retrieved my prayer implements from their place of honor near my bed—a black silk rug embroidered with Valic’s symbol in crimson thread, and a matching kneeling pillow filled with shadow-touched down. The familiar ritual of setting them up before the fireplace helped center my thoughts, each movement precise and purposeful as protocol demanded.
The purple flames in the hearth pulsed in anticipation as I knelt and assumed the formal prayer position our order demanded—back straight, hands pressed together, eyes closed, head slightly bowed in deference but not submission.
“Honored Dread Lord,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper, “I seek understanding. Your servant Malachai moves against me, yet I have served faithfully. What transgression have I committed to warrant such... attention?”
The air grew heavy, charged with power that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. A familiar voice spoke from nowhere and everywhere at once: “You ask questions to which you already know the answers.” The voice held amusement tinged with cruelty. “The pieces lie before you, yet you refuse to arrange them properly.”
“My lord, I don’t understand. I’ve followed your teachings, embraced the path you set before me—”
“Have you? Or have you merely walked the path without understanding its true purpose?”
I fought to maintain proper composure despite my frustration. “Help me understand, my lord. What purpose am I meant to serve?”
“You were not born to serve, Caelum Steelwind.” The words carried a weight that made my chest tight. “You were born to rule.”
“Rule?” I whispered, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. “But how? I am nobody’s superior within the order. I have only just ascended in my training as a blackguard. My place is—”
“Your place,” Valic interrupted, his voice sharp as a blade, “is where I decree it to be. Did you think your arrival in Aetheria was mere chance? That the power growing within you was without purpose?”
“You speak of purpose, my lord, yet Malachai—”
“Malachai reads the signs but interprets them through the lens of his own ambition.”
“What signs?” I pressed, though I knew such directness walked the edge of propriety. “What am I meant to see that I’m missing?”
A bitter chill whisked over my face, and I felt Valic’s amusement like ice in my veins. “The hangman’s noose that failed to claim you. The masphroth that fell before your blade. The shadows that bend to your will with increasing ease. Are these not signs enough?”
“They are... indicators of your favor, my lord. But favor is not the same as destiny.”
“What is destiny but favor writ large across the tapestry of existence? You seek clarity, yet clarity is the enemy of growth. Understanding must be earned through trial and shadow.”
I fought back a surge of frustration from Valic’s cryptic responses. “What would you have me do, my lord?”
“What I would have you do and what you must do are not necessarily the same thing,” Valic replied. “The path before you requires both obedience and defiance, loyalty and betrayal, submission and dominance. It is not a path for those who require constant guidance.”
“You continue to speak in riddles, my lord.”
“I speak truth. That it appears as riddles to you reveals more about your current limitations than my intentions. A true king forges his path through darkness without needing light to guide each step. Those who must be led are destined only to serve.”
The weight of Valic’s words pressed down on me like a physical force. A... king? The very notion seemed absurd. I had spent my life in shadows and alleyways, surviving by wit and blade rather than noble birth or divine right.
“My lord,” I began carefully, “surely there are others more worthy. I am no noble-born leader.”
“You think nobility flows in the blood?” Valic’s echoing laughter was like ice cracking. “Such mortal delusions. True power is forged through dominion over others, tempered by ruthless ambition, honed through absolute control. Tell me, Caelum Steelwind, who better understands the nature of power—one who inherits it through weak bloodlines, or one who seizes it through force of will?”
I considered this, remembering the corruption I’d witnessed as a watchman, the broken system I’d tried to serve. “But... understanding power doesn’t qualify one to rule, my lord.”
“Doesn’t it?” The chilling cold gripped my bones. “You survived in a world of weakness by embracing strength. You achieved ranks not through birthright but through calculated dominance. Even death itself bent to your will. These are the qualities of one destined to rule through fear and absolute authority.”
“They are the qualities of a survivor,” I argued, though carefully maintaining proper respect. “A ruler needs—”
“What?” Valic interrupted, his voice sharp with disdain. “The approval of lesser beings? The hollow traditions of mortal kingdoms? You still think like one bound by their pathetic constraints, seeing only the facade of power rather than its true nature—absolute dominion over all.
“But, even so, your doubt serves a purpose in my design. It prevents the chaotic arrogance that makes rulers weak. Yet you must learn to replace it with the cold certainty of one who rules through fear and absolute order.”
I shivered. “How can I rule when I doubt my own worthiness to do so?”
“Those who never question their right to rule are too weak to maintain control through proper hierarchy and fear. You have walked in both light and shadow, served both justice and vengeance. You understand power not as a right but as a weapon to be wielded with precision and purpose. That understanding, that doubt tempered with ruthless ambition, makes you far more suited to rule than those who merely inherit their crowns.”
I absorbed this, feeling the truth of it resonate with the darkness growing within me. “And Malachai? He sees me as a threat to the established order.”
“Malachai sees what his ambition allows him to see. He serves his purpose in my design, just as your doubt serves yours. Let him weave his webs of deceit. Each strand shall be another thread in the tapestry of your ascension, tempering your spirit in the flames of calculated malice until you emerge as the crown demands. A true king’s authority is forged in the crucible of betrayal.”
“How should I proceed, my lord?”
“The path lies within your understanding of power’s true nature. Your instinct for survival serves you well, but true dominion requires calculated precision. Remember this truth—those who master the art of terror need not fear the daggers of betrayal. It is the weak who show mercy who must forever watch the shadows at their backs.”
I felt the Dread Lord’s latter words etch into my mind. The air shifted again, and the chill disappeared. I could sense Valic’s presence fading slowly.
“You cling to mortal notions of worth, blind to the true measure of power,” Valic added with grim satisfaction. “When you learn to gauge your value by the terror that precedes your name and the iron grip with which you bind others to your will, then you shall understand why I had chosen you. Until that moment, let your uncertainty shield you from weakness, but do not allow it to obscure the dark throne that awaits.”
The connection faded, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I slowly opened my eyes and remained kneeling, processing the Dread Lord’s words. A king. Not through birthright or nobility, but through the pure exercise of power and domination. The idea both thrilled and terrified me.
The evening prayer bell tolled again, signaling the end of the devotional hour. Soon, my brethren would be returning from the chapel and retiring to their quarters for the night. I rose from my spot and began rolling up the prayer rug with precise, ritual movements. My mind continuously went over Valic’s words.
A king forged through darkness rather than born to light. The concept aligned with everything I’d learned about power since arriving in this realm, yet it still felt like wearing armor that didn’t quite fit. Perhaps that too was part of the test—learning to embrace the belief that I was meant to wield this power.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Thaddeus’s “training” sessions would no doubt be designed to test more than just my combat skills. I needed rest, needed to be sharp and ready for whatever trials awaited.
I extinguished all but one of the purple flames, leaving just enough light to keep the deepest shadows at bay. As I lay in bed, Valic’s words echoed in my mind: “The path before you requires both obedience and defiance, loyalty and betrayal, submission and dominance. Let your uncertainty shield you from weakness, but do not allow it to obscure the dark throne that awaits.”
Whatever game was being played in the shadows of the Sanctum, it was clear I was no longer merely a pawn. The question was, what would be the price of my dark ascension?