Several days passed, and life settled back into a routine for Sorin, who threw himself into his training with renewed focus. That afternoon, he stood with Zane Warbringer in the academy’s private training grounds, the dim afternoon light casting long shadows over the expanse. Vestian was off playing somewhere. Each and every day, the familiar enjoyed hunting small prey around the academy while Sorin trained but always came back when night began to fall to sleep in their room.
During this particular training session, Zane was attempting to teach Sorin a power he did not possess. They were working on a new ability: Shadow Strider. If Sorin were able to grasp this power, then it would genuinely be proof that everything he had been told about Demigods by others and from his father was true, and he truly stood a chance at becoming a true powerhouse in the Dark Pantheon.
Zane paced back and forth, explaining his own mastery of the technique. “Shadow Strider is a challenge. The power to move between shadows in the blink of an eye isn’t about speed; it’s about precision. For every benefit this skill offers, it demands just as much control.”
Sorin nodded, listening intently as Zane continued, his voice carrying a certain reverence for the art.
“When you’re moving between shadows, distance isn’t the concern,” Zane said. “You need absolute awareness of where each shadow begins and ends—and whether or not it’s connected to others. If you need to know exactly where the shadow is, because if you are unable to picture it within your mind once you have lost vision while attempting to Shadow Stride, the ability will just split you right back out where you were. You must see the path in your mind and connect the shadows together as you move between one and the next,” he said, gesturing to a set of pillars casting staggered shadows across the field, “with focus, you can reach your destination.”
Zane stopped in the middle of the shadowed path, glancing back at Sorin. “Watch.”
In a single fluid motion, he dissolved into the shadow beneath his feet, his form dissipating into darkness. He reappeared a dozen feet away, seamlessly merging into the next shadow, then disappeared and reappeared again in a rapid series of movements. Each jump was precise, his transitions between shadows instantaneous. After several jumps, he stopped, giving Sorin a look of encouragement.
“The key is to focus your spirit into the first shadow and let it draw you forward. Imagine it as an extension of yourself. You don’t simply ‘enter’ the shadow—you blend with it, letting it pull you into the next one. It’s less like teleporting and more like slipping through an unseen current.”
Zane moved back toward Sorin, his gaze steady. “Once you’ve found the connection, you’ll feel the pull. But be careful. If you overestimate your range or lose focus halfway, you’ll be spit back out where you originally were, and if you were Shadow Striding in order to escape, that could be disastrous.”
Sorin took a breath, considering the instructions. The concept made sense, though he knew mastering it would be another challenge entirely. Shadow Strider was not just a physical maneuver; it required him to immerse himself in the shadows, to trust that the darkness would carry him forward fully.
“Give it a try,” Zane said, motioning to the shadows between the pillars. “Find the first shadow, focus your spirit there, and let it guide you.”
Sorin nodded, stepping forward and feeling the pull of the shadow beneath him. He steeled himself, mentally reaching toward the next shadow, ready to test his control.
Sorin spent the next half hour trying to get a handle on Shadow Strider, but each attempt only led to another frustrating failure. Every time he thought he had the connection, he would lose focus, or the connection would just split through his grasp. He tried using different amounts of spirit, brute force, and gently reaching out, but nothing worked. His focus slipped again, and he found himself still sitting in the dirt in the shadow of the column.
Zane crossed his arms, watching Sorin with a critical but encouraging eye. "You’re focusing too much, Sorin. Shadow Strider is about letting go of control—not forcing it. You must trust the shadows to form a connection and carry you, not try to muscle through."
Sorin muttered a curse under his breath and rubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. "I am trying to let go, but every time I reach out, the shadows just…" He trailed off, feeling the surge of impatience in his voice. “It’s like they’re slipping right past me.”
Zane let out a small sigh, his gaze steady. “Then you’re too tense. You’re holding onto the frustration, and it’s clouding your mind. Relaxation is crucial in this technique; without it, the shadows will reject you. Take some time to cool down.”
Sorin scowled, feeling the weight of his impatience, but he nodded. “All right. I’ll try.”
Zane placed a hand on his shoulder. “Meditate, or maybe pray. Connect with the part of you that calls the darkness.” He paused, his voice softening. “I have a meeting to attend to, so I’ll leave you to it. Spend some time alone, and when you’re ready, we’ll try again.”
As Zane turned to leave, Sorin found himself alone in the academy’s courtyard, surrounded by the elongating shadows of the late afternoon. He settled himself on the ground, attempting to meditate. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and tried to still his mind. But every attempt only seemed to amplify his frustration, making his concentration slip even further. Thoughts spiraled in his mind, memories of his recent battles and the humiliation of the trial clawing their way into his focus.
After several restless minutes, Sorin let out a sigh. Meditation clearly wasn’t going to work.
His thoughts drifted to Zane’s words—pray. It had been so long since he’d last done it; everything had just been so busy that he had neglected to pray to his father. It had been too long since he’d truly felt his connection to his father, Vesperos, the God of Darkness, Secrets, and Fear. Sorin swallowed, feeling a mixture of hesitation and vulnerability well up inside him, but he closed his eyes and lowered his head.
"Father," he began, his voice low and rough. “It’s… been a long time since I reached out like this. But I’m here because I need help. I thought I could do this on my own, that I could make it through by sheer strength and training alone. But I… I don’t feel like it’s enough.”
He hesitated, choosing his words with care, feeling a strange vulnerability in the act. “I can’t seem to grasp the darkness that is a part of you. If there’s something in me, that’s part of you… something you passed down that can help me understand… then I’m ready to learn.”
The silence in the courtyard was profound, as though the shadows themselves had leaned in to listen. Sorin kept his head lowered, feeling a sudden chill spread through him, the air around him thickening. It was as though something ancient and dark had stirred, waiting in the silence.
Just as Sorin felt he was on the verge of reaching some deeper connection, a voice cut through the silence, smooth and teasing. “Why so broody, Sorin?”
He snapped his eyes open and scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding as he recognized the figure before him—Celeste Marrowvale, the City Overlord’s daughter. She stood with one hand on her hip, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. Her dark hair, long and sleek, framed her face in silken waves, and her eyes sparkled with that same gleam that had unnerved and attracted him in court.
Celeste’s gown was a deep, dark blue, bordering on black, with intricate silver stitching that glinted faintly in the dim light. The fabric hugged her figure elegantly, tapering down to the floor, the high slit along one side revealing glimpses of her slender legs as she moved. Her neckline plunged tastefully, just enough to command attention, and her wrists were adorned with delicate silver chains that caught the light. She was the very image of dangerous allure, an almost untouchable beauty.
“What… what are you doing here?” Sorin asked, trying to gather himself. He hadn’t even heard her approach. "And how did you get in?"
She waved off his question with a lazy gesture. “I’m the City Overlord’s daughter,” she replied with a grin. “I go where I want when I want… with whomever I want.” She cocked her head, her gaze sliding over him appreciatively. “And you looked so dark and sinister, sitting there in the shadows. I have to say, I like that in a guy.”
Sorin blinked, momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of her flirting. A smirk crept onto his face, though, as he decided to return the favor. “Well, I try to make brooding look good,” he replied smoothly, holding her gaze. “Though I didn’t realize I’d caught the eye of royalty. Must be my lucky day.”
Celeste’s eyes gleamed, a hint of satisfaction in her smile. “You’re bold. I like bold.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Come with me. I’m in need of company, and you look like you could use a distraction.”
Sorin raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “And what if I had other plans?”
“Then you’ll just have to change them.” Her tone left no room for argument, though her smirk softened the command. She turned on her heel, expecting him to follow without question, and after a brief hesitation, Sorin found himself falling into step behind her.
As he followed, he couldn’t help but wonder what Celeste’s intentions were. But the intrigue in her presence was undeniable—and for the moment, he found himself willing to follow wherever it might lead.
As they walked along the moonlit path leading from the training courtyard, Celeste glanced at Sorin with a mixture of amusement and mild disbelief. "You’ve been awfully quiet," she remarked, her tone casual but pointed. "Usually, someone who makes a splash like you did in the city scene would follow it up with something equally daring. You know, to cement their reputation. But it has to be impressive—and in line with my father’s wishes. Otherwise, you’ll cement yourself as a troublemaker."
Sorin raised an eyebrow, giving her a faint smirk. “I’m not exactly trying to build a reputation.”
Celeste paused her expression, a flicker of genuine surprise. “Not trying to build a reputation?” She scoffed slightly, looking at him as though he’d just admitted to having no desire to breathe. “What’s the point of even being here, then?”
Sorin shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly my goal to be the city’s new spectacle. I didn’t intend to be in the spotlight at all.”
Celeste tilted her head, scrutinizing him with a look that blended curiosity and skepticism. “Then why fight Aric at all? Why kill one of his teammates?” She crossed her arms, her eyes sharp as though she expected him to falter under her gaze.
“It wasn’t a choice, really,” Sorin replied evenly. “Aric and his friends didn’t exactly leave room for anything else.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
For the first time, Celeste’s expression softened into something resembling contemplation. She studied him a moment longer before she finally nodded as though reevaluating him. “So that’s it, then. You’re not some schemer looking for power?”
“Not all of us are.”
“Fine.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “But no matter what you say, the reputation is already yours. Whether you wanted it or not, you’ve attracted attention—the kind that’s impossible to shake now.” She leaned in with a playful grin. “With your name linked to taking on Aric, breaking away mid-fight, and killing one of his friends… you’re being watched, whether you like it or not. And trust me, if you don’t follow up with something equally as impressive, this reputation will fizzle out.”
Sorin rolled his eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll pass on the theatrics.”
They left the courtyard, and Sorin’s attention snapped to several approaching figures. A trio of Enforcers, clad in silver and black armor, closed in near them. He tensed, his mind flashing back to his arrest, but Celeste merely waved a hand at them.
“Would you mind giving us some space to speak?” she said. The Enforcers nodded, spreading out, though they remained close enough to intervene if needed. Sorin realized with a mix of relief and discomfort that they were her bodyguards.
Celeste resumed their conversation. “Even if you don’t care for your reputation, it’ll grow soon enough, especially with the Ranking Tournament coming up.”
Sorin glanced at her, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “The Ranking Tournament?”
Her lips curved into a smile, almost as if she enjoyed his ignorance. “Ah, the Academy Ranking Tournament. It’s one of the city’s most anticipated events. My father mentioned it after your trial. Academies from across the city send their best warriors to compete. The tournament isn’t just about fighting; it’s a demonstration of power and skill. The students who perform best not only solidify their own reputations but elevate their academy’s standing in the city.”
“So it’s a contest to show off?” Sorin asked, half-joking.
“More than that.” Celeste’s tone grew serious. “The results of the Ranking Tournament determine each academy’s access to resources, hunting grounds, and privileges in the city. The winners have the chance to secure prime territories and earn respect, both from their peers and from my father.” She tilted her head, her gaze assessing him. “A performance like yours could either boost your reputation as a rising warrior—or crush it completely.”
Sorin processed this; a faint determination was stirring in him. His training with Zane had been preparing him for battle, but now he saw how high the stakes truly were. "Sounds like a lot’s riding on it."
“Exactly,” Celeste said with a smirk. “And whether you like it or not, people are going to be expecting a lot from you. You’re the talk of the city now. The tournament is your chance to prove yourself—or to show everyone that you’re just another student trying to ride his reputation.”
Sorin met her gaze, something steely in his own. “Then maybe I’ll just have to give them something worth discussing.”
Celeste led Sorin out of the academy gates and toward a sleek, dark carriage waiting just outside. Without hesitation, she stepped up into it, casting a glance over her shoulder as if expecting him to follow—and he did, curiosity piqued.
Once inside, the carriage began to roll forward, the gentle sway of the ride providing a surprising comfort. Celeste looked at Sorin, her dark eyes glinting with a mixture of excitement and calculation. “I suppose you’ll need to know more about the Ranking Tournament,” she began. “You’ve heard about its importance by now, but I doubt you realize just how critical it is. Each academy treats it like a miniature war. To them, the resources mean the life and death of their academy.”
She went on, her tone turning serious. “The tournament is split by rank—Disciples and Acolytes each have their own tournaments and won’t interact. It starts as a massive free-for-all, with teams of five battling each other in the first round. The objective is to eliminate everyone until only five teams remain standing. That’s your chance to show your skill, earn your reputation, and ensure Warbringer’s position.”
Sorin raised an eyebrow. “A massive free-for-all, just to get to the real tournament? Sounds chaotic.”
Celeste smirked. “It is. Many students think they’ll just coast through, but it’s cutthroat. With so many teams, alliances are often made on the spot—only to be betrayed at the worst moment. It’s not just about who’s the strongest. It’s about who’s smart enough to adapt.”
He nodded, storing the information. “And after that?”
“Once only five teams remain,” she continued, “it transitions into a single-elimination tournament. Teams break down into one-on-one duels until only two finalists remain. By then, the whole city will be watching.” She leaned back, her voice taking on an almost conspiratorial tone. “And for the final matches, it’s not just one fight. It’s a best-two-out-of-three setup. Each finalist will compete in one match per day, meaning the final round spans three days.”
Sorin frowned slightly, thinking through the implications. “That gives the fighters time to strategize and adapt between matches as well as replenish their spirit. Makes it tougher.”
“Exactly,” Celeste confirmed. “Only the best can make it through that. While the finalists are fighting it out, the rest of the academy leaders and higher-ups negotiate deals, establish alliances, and secure favors. The tournament’s as much about politics as it is about combat.” She grinned, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Meanwhile, the students not in the finals? They’re either sulking over their losses or celebrating victories. It’s a city-wide party after each day.”
Sorin let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a spectacle. So, it’s a test of endurance, reputation, and a little bit of strategy for everyone involved.”
“Very much so. This is why it’s essential for you to be at your best if you plan to make an impression. And trust me, Sorin,” she said, her gaze sharp and unyielding, “people already expect that from you.”
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Celeste stepped out, gesturing for Sorin to follow. She led him up a gentle incline, and as they crested the hill, Sorin’s gaze fell upon a sprawling complex of stone and silver below: the Silverblade Masters Academy.
The academy was a study of elegance and sharp, imposing lines. Tall, polished towers of gleaming silver stone reached toward the sky, catching the sunlight and reflecting it in cold, metallic gleams. The walls surrounding the academy were high and fortified, with intricate carvings of swords and mythical beasts adorning the stone—a silent proclamation of both prestige and intimidation. The academy’s insignia, a silver blade piercing a black shield, was etched above the grand entrance and on various banners that fluttered in the breeze around the academy grounds.
At the far end, rows of carefully maintained training fields spread out in neat patterns, each separated by low, polished stone walls. Students in gray and silver uniforms moved across the fields with disciplined precision, practicing forms, sparring, or drilling in groups. The fields were well-equipped, with racks of weapons and training dummies set up in lines. Training pavilions surrounded the fields, each casting broad shadows in the late afternoon sun.
A courtyard closer to the academy's entrance housed a large, open-air forum where students and instructors alike gathered between training sessions. Marble statues of famous Silverblade warriors lined the paths leading into the forum, casting long shadows over the stone tiles below.
At one of the training fields, Sorin caught sight of Aric Eversteel. Dressed in the sharp, silver-embroidered uniform of his academy, he was going through a series of drills with cold, focused intensity, his silver hair catching the light. His movements were fast and precise as he struck at dummies and spun through footwork patterns, his focus unwavering and his expression a mix of anger and determination.
Celeste watched Sorin’s reaction, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Impressive, isn’t it?” she asked. “The Silverblade Masters are as proud as they come. Their reputation is everything to them.”
Sorin glanced at her, a question in his eyes, and she pointed down at Aric, who struck hard at a training dummy with a powerful slash. “You may have hidden yourself away in Warbringer Academy,” she began, “but the rest of the city has been talking. Aric Eversteel has not let go of his vendetta over the death of his friend. But it’s not just about that.”
She leaned in, lowering her voice as though savoring a secret. “Aric’s grudge is far more personal. He’s furious about the blow to his ego and the humiliation he suffered in my father’s court. Since that day, his reputation has taken a hard dive. People say he ran away from you rather than standing his ground. Now they see you as the stronger Acolyte.”
Sorin looked back at Aric, watching the calculated ferocity of his movements as he practiced. The silver-haired student’s face was twisted in concentration, his anger barely concealed. Aric’s every move spoke of someone with something to prove.
Celeste’s voice was light, almost amused. “He’s vowed to beat you in the tournament. He’ll definitely be after you, Sorin. To him, you’re a mark on his reputation—a stain he needs to remove if he wants to restore his standing. He won’t stop until he’s proven himself.”
Sorin nodded, his gaze narrowing on Aric. The animosity in Aric’s eyes, the anger in his strikes—it was clear the upcoming tournament would be about more than just academy rankings. It would be a test of strength, reputation, and, for Aric, vengeance.
Sorin sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Why should I care?”
Celeste shot him a sharp look, her gaze hardening. “Because strength is everything within the Dark Pantheon, Sorin. When people think you have strength, they’ll leave you alone. But if they realize you’re weak? They’ll pick you apart. Take everything from you.” Her voice softened slightly. “Look around you. If you’re defeated—publicly shown as weak—after the spectacle you’ve already made, you’ll face no end of trouble.”
Sorin’s brow furrowed as he listened, but Celeste wasn’t finished. She lifted her chin, her tone turning almost lecturing. “And it’s not just you. Warbringer Academy is in a fragile place. Their reputation has been declining for a decade. In the next tournament, the other academies, especially Silverblade Masters, will definitely unite against them. They’re all tired of being kept down.”
Sorin’s interest was piqued, and she gave him a knowing look. “Warbringer Academy is Zane’s life’s work, but if they lose here, the City Overlord could cut their resource allocation drastically, crippling their hold over the city’s ranking system. They’re only hanging on by the reputation of their past glory.”
“And why is that my problem?” Sorin replied, though he already felt a sense of responsibility tugging at him.
Celeste smirked as though she had anticipated his response. “Because, like it or not, you’re Warbringer Academy’s biggest card. Your potential is the first real sign in years that Warbringer is nurturing powerful fighters again. You’re Zane’s direct disciple—people are watching you, Sorin.” She tilted her head, her voice lowering. “If you fall short, it’ll be more than just a personal blow. You’d be dragging Warbringer down with you.”
Sorin frowned. “Who told you I was Zane’s disciple?”
Celeste laughed, the sound rich with amusement. “Oh, come on. I know everything that happens in this city. Zane taking a disciple? That’s big news, Sorin. Do you think I wouldn’t hear? You came out of nowhere and appeared in the city with no history, but you immediately became his direct student. I will say, however, I am curious about where you came from.”
Sorin crossed his arms, an amused smirk on his face. “I guess you don’t know everything then.”
She narrowed her eyes playfully, pouting slightly. “Fine, dodge the question, but don’t think I’ll let you off that easy.”
Sorin rolled his eyes but felt a flicker of respect for her persistence—and perhaps a bit of intrigue. There was something undeniably fascinating about Celeste, with her sharp mind and her knack for reading him. But he couldn’t shake the weight of what she’d told him, the unexpected burden of his role at Warbringer Academy resting on his shoulders.
Sorin followed Celeste as she turned and went back down the hill, his mind still mulling over her words. When they reached the carriage again, she suddenly spun around, stopping him in his tracks. She raised a finger, wagging it with a sly grin.
“If you don’t answer my questions, you don’t get a ride back,” she teased.
Sorin blinked, surprised. “You’re joking, right?”
She smirked. “Nope. Besides, I’m heading to the City Overlord’s castle, and you’re headed back to your academy in the opposite direction.” She turned and began to climb into the carriage, leaving him standing there.
“Wait… you’re serious?” he asked, but her only answer was a laugh as she slipped inside. The carriage door shut, and the horses began moving, her bodyguards following closely on foot. As the carriage rolled away, Celeste leaned out of the window, her gaze glinting with mischief.
“By the way,” she called back, “you might want to get out of here quickly. You’re kind of recognizable in your uniform, and I doubt the Silverblade Masters are thrilled to see a Warbringer Acolyte wandering through their territory.”
Before Sorin could retort, shouts erupted from further up the hill. His stomach dropped as he spotted several figures cresting the rise, dressed in the unmistakable uniforms of Silverblade Masters. Weapons glinted in their hands, and their eyes fixed on him with a mixture of anger and hostility.