The second challenger stepped through the gate.
He was older than Kael, lean and wiry, with silver tattoos running down both arms—marks of someone who had killed more times than he could count. His weapon was a whip forged from blacksteel, said to be dipped in poison and soul fragments. As he walked, it hissed behind him like a serpent tasting the air.
"I am Varik," he said, voice sharp and cruel. "And I bind what cannot be broken."
Kael tilted his head slightly. "Try."
Varik didn't waste time. The whip snapped forward with lightning speed, and Kael's instincts kicked in. He dodged—barely. The blacksteel cracked into the ground where he had stood, the floor hissing and fracturing as if acid had struck it.
The second lash came faster. But this time, Kael didn't move.
Instead, the shadow beneath his feet surged up and caught the whip mid-air.
Varik blinked.
"That's not possible," he growled. "No one's caught it before."
Kael's shadow coiled around the weapon, dragging it toward him with eerie strength. As Varik pulled back, trying to resist, Kael's hand extended—his fingers crackling with that same shadow energy, darker than night, pulsing with something ancient.
Kael murmured, "Obey."
The whip trembled. Then, it snapped out of Varik's hand and flew to Kael like a trained hound. The shadows swallowed it whole.
Varik took a step back. "You... You used a command?"
Kael's expression darkened.
Something was changing within him.
He wasn't just manipulating shadow. He was beginning to command it. Not just as a weapon—but as a will. A force that responded not only to thought, but to intent.
Kael stepped forward, raising his hand again. The shadow surged toward Varik's legs like a wave. He tried to jump, but the tendrils burst from beneath his own shadow and dragged him down.
"Please—!" Varik screamed.
Kael's voice was cold, detached. "No."
The shadows closed in. Bones cracked. Then silence.
---
The Watching Eyes
High above the arena, hidden behind enchanted barriers, the council of the academy watched.
The Grandmaster, an old man wrapped in violet robes and gold sigils, leaned forward. "He's not merely talented. That power is... ancestral. Not from any bloodline I know."
A younger councilor beside him, a woman with half her face hidden behind a bone mask, said, "He's dangerous. He's commanding shadows like they have memory. That's... not normal."
The Grandmaster gave a faint smile. "Which makes him perfect."
---
Echoes of Loyalty
After the duel, Kael was escorted to the inner barracks. Unlike the other initiates, he walked freely, his guards more for formality than restraint. Every assassin or slave he passed gave him a wide berth.
But not everyone fled.
At the edge of the training yard, the girl with red tattoos from the first trial—Talia—watched him. When he met her gaze, she didn't look away.
"You're not like the others," she said simply.
"No," Kael replied.
She hesitated. "Then don't act like them. If you intend to rule, you'll need more than just death. You'll need those willing to follow you."
Kael considered her words. He didn't trust them—yet. But she was right.
Fear built empires. But loyalty sustained them.
His eyes flicked down to her shadow. A test.
He sent a ripple of his own power toward it—subtle, like a breeze.
To his surprise, her shadow shimmered, but didn't resist. It didn't try to flee. It welcomed the connection.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You let me in?"
"I'm choosing," she said. "Better a king than a tyrant."
Kael smiled faintly. It was the first real smile in weeks.
"Then kneel."
She didn't hesitate. One knee on the ground, head bowed.
The first link in Kael's shadowbound court had formed.