By the time I finished my training with Master Aveline Cross, I could sense something changing inside me. My hands had built, my mind had grown, and my heart had learntlearnt calm. Yet Elder Aarion said, "Knowledge and compassion mean little unless you can protect them. It is time for you to learn the art of leadership — from the one who taught both kings and conquerors."
He pointed south, where the valley dipped into crimson plains. There, thunder echoed even when the sky was clear.
The journey took two days. On the third morning, I saw it — a massive stone fortress built into the side of a hill. Flags fluttered from its watchtowers, old yet proud. Soldiers carved from stone stood guard, weapons drawn but frozen mid-step. Each looked so lifelike that I almost expected them to move.
At the gate stood a tall man wearing a long coat of black and silver armour. His beard was short, his stance steady, and his eyes sharp as a hawk's — grey with the faint hint of sadness. Across his chest hung golden medallions, but they looked worn, as if he didn't care to polish them anymore.
When he spoke, his voice carried authority that could silence storms. "You walk like a wanderer but hold yourself like a soldier. Name yourself."
"Mukul Sharma," I said firmly.
He nodded once. "Good. You already understand discipline."
Elder Aarion appeared beside me with a small bow. "This is Master Dragan Voss, once called The Commander of Shadows. Shadows. He led armies greater than nations and fought battles that never reached history. He mastered both the ancient art of warfare and the modern strategy of command. Even gods bent a knee to his tactics once."
Dragan looked away, eyes on the horizon. "Glory fades. Mistakes don't. That's why I'm here."
His fortress became my next school. Inside, every wall bore maps, models, and notes — not of victories, but of lessons. Wooden figures marked past wars, their names carved beneath in memory, not pride.
"War", he said, "isn't about killing—it's about protecting something worth dying for."
My first lesson began at dawn. He led me to a high cliff overlooking a field of glowing dust. "This is your battlefield," he said. With a wave of his hand, the ground below shimmered, and illusions of soldiers, beasts, and machines filled the plain. "Show me what kind of leader you are."
I hesitated, unsure what to do. He watched silently. When I finally gave a clumsy order, the illusions collapsed within seconds. "You hesitated," he said, turning toward me. "Uncertainty kills faster than any blade."
Every day after that, I trained under his sharp guidance. He taught me The Art of Command, an ancient discipline focusing on awareness, trust, and foresight. "A good general doesn't just fight—he listens to his soldiers' hearts," he said while drawing lines in the dust.
He explained the balance between ancient and modern warfare — how both depended on understanding humans more than weapons.
The ancient teachings included formation warfare, morale shaping, and energy manipulation in combat — channelling willpower into aura shields and synchronised attacks. He made me spar with illusions that read my thoughts. "Win by patience, not power," he said.
Then came his modern lessons. In the fortress's deep chambers, he showed me holographic maps filled with armies, drones, and fleets. "Modern wars are fought with information," he said. "Tactics haven't changed — only tools have. Learn both, and you'll never be surprised."
He taught me strategy through games that lasted days. I had to plan attacks and defences for imaginary kingdoms. If I failed, he erased everything and made me start again.
Once, when I complained, he said, "Frustration is the commander's greatest enemy. Lose your mind, and you lose your people."
Sometimes, he tested me unexpectedly. During training, he would suddenly vanish, and everything around me would shift — allies turning into enemies, battles changing mid-fight. "Adapt," his voice would echo. "Because reality never gives warnings."
He also told me stories, not of his victories, but of those who failed because of him. "Once, I chose pride over prudence," he admitted. "I saved a city but lost its innocence. What's power if it leaves ashes behind?"
He often stood on the fortress wall at night, staring at the stars. I once asked why he came to Aarvak Island.
He smiled bitterly. "Because victory became my addiction, Mukul. I stopped fighting for peace long before I realised it. I came here to remember what victory truly means."
His presence was strict but strangely comforting. He was not cruel but direct. When I failed, he didn't scold—he made me see why. "A commander cannot rely on orders alone. You must learn to make others believe in you, even when you doubt yourself."
He also taught me an advanced skill called Echo Command, a blend of ancient telepathy and modern communication tech. It allowed me to give synchronised instructions through energy signals. "It's not mind control," he said sternly. "It's trust made audible."
After months of rigorous practice, he gave me my final assessment — to defend the fortress from one of his illusions.
The trial lasted all night. Waves of false enemies attacked while I directed spectral allies through energy links. Every choice mattered — when to hold, when to retreat, when to risk. By dawn, only a single tower remained standing.
When the sunlight hit, the illusion faded, and Dragan stood before me, arms crossed. "You lost most of your men," he said quietly.
I lowered my head, defeated.
Then he smiled faintly. "But your people survived. You valued life over pride—that's victory enough."
Before I left, he handed me a small medallion shaped like two crossed swords surrounded by a ring of stars. "Keep this," he said. "Its metal was forged from my first armour. Let it remind you that leadership isn't shouting from the front—it's bleeding beside your soldiers."
As I walked away from his fortress, the wind carried faint echoes of drums and horns, but they no longer frightened me. They made me feel responsible — ready.
And that was how I met Dragan Voss—The Commander of Shadows, the master who taught me that courage isn't about never falling, but leading others to stand again, and that a true leader wins not when he conquers but when he protects.