Chapter 14 — Blood, Beasts, and Shadows
(Year 288 AD — Volantis, under the chains of power)
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The Shadow Tournaments
The Dragon Pit was more legend than place. Hidden beneath the ruins of an ancient Valyrian temple, it was accessed through damp tunnels where the smell of mold mingled with the stench of fear.
Flickering torches lit the corridors, and as they descended, the shouts of the crowd grew louder. The rumble of drums marked the tempo of violence.
Ronnel advanced at the front, followed by Kael and Mira. Noctis, his raven, rested on his shoulder, restless, as if sensing the blood that would be spilled.
Kael approached, lowering his voice:
"If you go down into that arena, there will be no rules... only knives and corpses. No one plays fair here."
Ronnel smiled calmly, adjusting Night Rain's scabbard on his hip.
"Perfect. Neither do I."
Mira looked at him with that half-smile of hers, a mixture of mockery and concern.
"Just make sure you don't die, Captain. I still need you alive for my plans."
Ronnel didn't respond. There was no fear in his blue eyes, only calculation.
---
The Dragon's Pit
The central arena was surrounded by grandstands carved from black rock. Hundreds of faces stared from the shadows: merchants, thieves, assassins, courtesans, smugglers—all seeking blood, spectacle, and gambling.
A master of ceremonies, dressed in red robes stained with wine and dried blood, raised his hands.
"Ladies and bastards! Welcome to the banquet of the forgotten gods! Today, the arena will devour dreams… and men."
Cheers echoed like thunder.
Ronnel moved toward the center. He felt the heat of the torches, the smell of wet sand and rusted iron. Noctis took flight, perching on a high beam to keep watch from above.
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First Combat — The "Dancer" of Braavos
His first opponent entered barefoot, carrying two needle-thin swords. He was a Braavosi duelist, famous for "dancing between blades." His face was covered by a silver mask.
"I'll make you bleed quickly, stranger," he whispered with a cutting accent.
Ronnel drew Night Rain. The long, pale blade gleamed as if absorbing torchlight.
"Try it."
The Braavosi moved like wind in a storm, throwing swift, almost invisible thrusts. But Ronnel entered the transparent world: time seemed to slow. He saw every angle, every muscle tense before the blow.
First move: He blocked with a flick of his wrist, deflecting the thrust into the sand.
Second move: He used his opponent's strength against him, breaking his balance.
Third move: He sank the pommel of his sword into the Braavosi's jaw, causing him to fall unconscious before he hit the ground.
The crowd roared.
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Second Combat — The Horseless Rider
The next opponent was a tall, muscular Dothraki, bare-chested, with long braids and two curved arakhs in each hand.
"A sheep with a sword..." the warrior laughed, baring wine-stained teeth. "Today your head shall adorn my saddle."
Ronnel smiled slightly.
"Today your saddle shall remain empty."
The Dothraki charged like lightning. His first arakh sliced through the air; Ronnel spun beneath the blade, taking advantage of the enemy's speed. With a precise movement, he caught the warrior's wrist and twisted it, breaking it with a sharp snap.
The second arakh descended, but Ronnel ducked and brought his elbow up, slamming it into the rider's stomach. The Dothraki fell to his knees, gasping.
Ronnel met his gaze, cold.
"Laugh now."
With a graceful twist, the blade of his sword, Night Rain, fell upon him, severing his head from his body. It rolled away as his blood fell onto the arena.
The crowd went wild. Gold and cheers filled the stands. His name was beginning to grow.
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Tournament Final — Two on One
The final challenge arrived without warning: two sand fighters, slaves freed only to die. One wielded a spiked steel mace; the other, two poisoned daggers.
Ronnel closed his eyes for a moment. From above, through Noctis's eyes, he saw the entire field. The patterns in the sand, the footprints, the blind spots. When he opened his eyes, he had already won.
The one with the mace charged first. Ronnel slid to the left, using the force of the blow to bury the weapon in the sand. In one fluid motion, he severed the tendons in the man's leg.
The one with the daggers attacked from behind, but Ronnel had seen him before he moved. He spun around, blocked both blades, and with a sharp thrust, drove his knee into the assassin's stomach, making him vomit blood.
In less than a minute, they were both on the ground. Alive… but defeated.
Silence stretched before the roar.
—Ronnel! Ronnel! Ronnel!
His name echoed in the stone like an omen.
---
Kael found him later, while cleaning up Night Rain's blood.
"You know you've made your presence felt now, right? The Triarchs, the merchants, the smugglers... they'll all be looking at you."
Ronnel said slightly, his gaze lost in the steel gleaming in the torchlight.
"That's exactly what I want."
Look, she's sipping wine, leaning against the wall, smiling dangerously.
"Then prepare yourself, Captain... because the Storm has just been born."
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The Forbidden Market
The Chamber of Bones
The entrance was hidden behind a red temple dedicated to the Lord of Light.
A blind priest let them in without a word, and Mira led Ronnel through a damp stone passageway that spiraled downward.
The darkness smelled of iron, sulfur, and ancient secrets.
Torches crackled on the walls, casting shadows that seemed to move of their own volition.
Mira walked ahead, light and silent, a feline smile on her lips.
"You're about to see what even the Triarchs can't control," she whispered, without turning around. "Everything here is for sale, Ronnel. And everything has an owner... even souls."
"Sounds like a dangerous place," he replied, instinctively touching the hilt of Night Rain.
Mira paused for a moment, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes glittered in the red light.
"It is. Those who have gold don't survive here. Those who know when to bare their fangs survive."
He turned a corner, and the passageway swung open... revealing The Chamber of Bones.
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The Forbidden Spectacle
The air was thick with sweet spices, smoke, and the metallic stench of fresh blood.
There were dozens of makeshift stalls between ancient columns carved with worn Valyrian runes.
A few vendors offered common wares: weapons, jewelry, spices.
But most… peddled the forbidden.
Mira walked beside Ronnel, narrating in a low voice as they went:
"There, beasts of Sothoryos," she said, pointing to some cages. "Winged serpents, giant felines, black birds that drink blood. They're usually sold as guardians… or executioners."
In another cage, a green-furred feline with dagger-like teeth snarled at them.
Ronnel looked at it for a moment, then murmured,
"Dangerous."
"Only if you don't fear them," Mira replied, with a disturbing smile.
They passed a stall where three hooded men were trading weapons wrapped in black cloth.
Mira leaned toward him, whispering in his ear:
"Steel of Qohor, tempered with dark rituals. If you wield them unprepared, the weapons slowly drain your soul."
Ronnel glanced at her.
"Interesting... for my enemies."
Up ahead, an old man was offering powdered dragon bones in glass vials.
"Aphrodisiacs, sorcery catalysts, poisons. Depends on who uses them," Mira explained.
"Depends on who survives," he corrected, smiling.
---
The Branded Slaves
A piercing scream caught his attention.
He turned and saw a long line of naked slaves, each marked with red runes that burned like embers.
Mira approached slowly, lowering her voice:
"They are not common slaves. Their minds have been anchored. They obey without thought, without hesitation... without soul."
"Blood magic?" Ronnel asked.
She nodded.
"Of the worst kind. These men don't eat unless ordered. They don't breathe unless ordered. They are weapons disguised as flesh."
Ronnel stared at them, cold as steel.
"Dangerous. Useless to me. I prefer true loyalty to hollow obedience."
Mira smiled, assessing him out of the corner of her eye.
"You're more ambitious than I thought."
---
Heartbeat
That's when he felt it.
A pulse.
A call.
A roar muffled by the beating of his own heart.
He followed the sound until he came to a steel cage almost hidden in darkness.
Inside, a snow-white creature stared at him:
A Hrakka cub, a lion with snowy fur, barely fourteen months old, but with golden eyes like suns trapped in ice.
When their gazes met, time stood still.
The beast's roar echoed within his mind, not outside.
The bond was born silently, deep and inevitable.
Ronnel closed his eyes and let his spirit drift into the creature.
There was no resistance. Only acceptance.
He felt the Hrakka's heartbeat, the warmth of its blood, the weight of its still-young strength.
When he opened his eyes, he knew the creature already belonged to him.
"I want it," he said, his voice firm as an oath.
Mira looked at him in surprise.
"A Hrakka... do you know what you're asking for? It's a white lion. Even slavers consider it a bad omen."
"It won't be an omen," Ronnel replied, stroking the cage. "It'll be my roar."
---
But Ronnel didn't stop there.
That night, he left the Vault with more than just acquisitions:
Hrakka, the white lion, under his warg bond.
Two shadow cats, creatures drawn from beyond the Wall, as large as men and swifter than arrows, almost smoke and living blades. Their connection with Ronnel was so intense that they bowed to his emotions.
A hunting falcon, trained to follow ships from miles away, perfect for tracking enemy fleets.
Flasks of basilisk blood, lethal even in drops: poison, tool, and weapon of terror.
Three merchants, indebted to the Guild, who now relied solely on its protection.
Mira watched him as they carried the cages and chests toward the dock, crossing her arms.
"You didn't buy animals.
You bought living weapons."
Ronnel looked at her, smiling as he stroked the hrakkar's neck. "I didn't buy allies." I bought obedience.
---
The Noctis Council
Night fell over Volantis like a black velvet blanket, thick, damp, and suffocating.
The Noctis rocked gently in the dark waters, anchored far from the main docks. There were no lanterns nearby. There were no witnesses.
On the upper deck, under the flickering light of torches, a round table covered in blue velvet waited like an altar.
Upon it lay chests overflowing with gold, sealed contracts, maps of the Shivering Sea… and a neatly folded black velvet cloth.
The men and women who had accompanied him from Storm's End, along with those who had joined him on his path to power, were already there:
Kael Dravven, Lysene navigator, master of reading the currents, with his eternal smile of someone who knows more than he's letting on.
Lyanna "Lya" Waters, a half-breed thief with fox eyes and a dagger-like smile.
Sariah, a deadly archer from the Summer Isles, always accompanied by her falcon.
Ser Gareth Morr, a veteran swordsman and former Reach knight, with his stony countenance.
Tymor, a young alchemist apprentice, with the scent of herbs and gunpowder on his hands.
Kaen Veyra, a former duelist from Braavos, proud, calculating, and an assassin with a silken voice.
Mira Sand, a bastard born in Lys, an expert in poisons, espionage, and occasional courtesan, with her feline smile and deadly secrets.
And before them, the captains of their four ships:
Bryna the Red, former pirate captain and now captain of the Dawnsaber, with scars that spoke of battles won and others survived.
Silas Kaern, former privateer, pirate, and captain of the Bonebreaker, hands stained with rum and gunpowder.
Veyran Dross, former captain of the small mercenary company the Black Knives and captain of the Heart of Leviathan, with a deep voice and predatory gaze.
Tovahr, former smuggler and now captain of the Winds of Shadow, a man of few words and too many scars.
The wind carried the scent of salt, smoke, and old blood.
When Ronnel Storm emerged from his cabin, the murmur of the sea seemed to stop.
He didn't say a word. He didn't need to.
In his right hand, a black velvet cloth seemed to absorb the torchlight.
He paused in front of the table, observing each one with those gray eyes that seemed to read wishes.
"Today we cease to be lone wolves," he said in a deep voice, clear as the blow of steel against stone. "Today we become a pack."
He unfurled the cloth.
The Sigil of the Lunar Stag
The banner rested on the table like a sentence.
No one spoke. No one breathed.
Shield: Quartered in deep azure and sable, evoking the sea and eternal night.
Central emblem: A silver crescent moon illuminating the silhouette of a tense black stag, crouching, as if lurking in the shadows.
Helmet: Closed, of polished steel, with a braided plume of blue and black.
Lambrequins: Dark, like waves devouring stars.
Motto: "Strength and Silence."
The wind stirred it gently, casting the stag's shadow on the table.
Kael was the first to speak:
"A black stag under the moon… an invisible hunter." He smiled, but his gaze was fixed on Ronnel. "I understand. You want them to fear something they can't see coming."
"Exactly," Ronnel replied, without taking his eyes off the banner.
"We are not the ones who roar. We are the ones who wait.
The sea will be our forest.
And when the Storm falls... no one will see it coming."
---
Ronnel unrolled a map of the Shivering Sea. Ink-stained fingers pointed to three routes, the most dangerous in the East.
"Here," he marked Basilisk Route with the pommel of his dagger. "Gold, slaves, poisons, weapons—they're all killing each other for control of it."
Mira narrowed her eyes.
"If we go there, every Triarch of Volantis will want your head."
Ronnel smirked.
"No, Mira. If we play it right, they won't know who's cutting their throats.
Sowing chaos is more profitable than controlling order."
Kaen Veyra gave a soft laugh.
"Using predators to hunt predators... I like it."
Ronnel nodded.
"Exactly. And don't forget," she leaned toward them, almost whispering, "I already have my own beasts."
The Hrakka's roar echoed from the lower deck, deep and menacing.
The shadow cats scratched their cages, almost incorporeal in the gloom.
The hunting falcon spread its wings, beating the air.
A shiver ran through the table.
---
Bryna the Red slammed her fist on the table.
"Gold, Ronnel!" she growled. "This all sounds beautiful, but my men want gold and blood, not shadows and promises."
Ronnel slowly turned his gaze to her.
"You shall have gold. You shall have blood. But when I say so."
The silence that followed weighed like lead.
Bryna swallowed, her eyes never leaving his—and then she lowered her head.
Kael smiled.
"You still think like a Baratheon, Ronnel. But you're not one... are you?"
For a moment, the air turned frigid.
Ronnel tightened his grip on Night Rain.
"No.
I am not one of them.
I will build something greater.
My name doesn't matter.
My shadow does."
---
Ronnel drew Night Rain. The runes etched on the blade glowed faintly, as if breathing.
"Today something new is born.
We are not a crew.
We are not a fleet.
We are a shadow on the sea."
He thrust the sword into the center of the map, right over Basilisk Road.
"From this night forth... we are the Guild of the Moondeer.
A name that shall not be spoken, but one that all shall fear."
One by one, Kael, Gareth, Mira, Lya, Sariah, Kaen, Tymor, and the four captains placed their hands on the sword.
And together, in a unanimous murmur, they swore:
"Strength and Silence."
---
That night, Ronnel remained alone on the deck.
The Lunar Stag's banner flew beneath the crescent moon.
The wind carried the scent of salt, gunpowder… and blood yet to be spilled.
He stroked the hilt of Night Rain and smiled.
"Strength and Silence…" he whispered.
The sea responded with a deep, ancient murmur, like a god awakening.
And Ronnel knew that the world didn't know it yet, but the Storm had already begun.
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