Chapter 10 — Echoes in the Snow”
The snow crunched softly beneath my boots, the frost clinging to the training yard like a second skin. Breath misted in the air. My pulse kept time with the cold.
Kael’s boots barely left a mark in the snow as he circled me. His steps were soundless, but his voice carried like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.
“You’ve got talent with the Echo,” he said, voice low and steady. “But a sword and magic don’t dance together easily. One is loud. The other sings softly.”
His eyes flicked to my sword. “Most mages rely on Echo alone. That’s why they die when their mana runs dry. But you…” His mouth curved into that familiar half-smirk. “You carry steel like someone who’s already killed with it.”
“Maybe I have,” I answered quietly.
Kael tilted his head slightly, the smirk deepening—the look he always wore when he decided to teach me something dangerous. “You’re too young to scorch armies with fire or crush walls with storms,” he said. “But steel doesn’t care about age. It cuts just the same. If you can’t outburn them, outbleed them.”
He stepped closer, adjusting my grip with the ease of a man who’d done this a thousand times. “There’s a way to make the Echo and your blade dance. Echo Edge isn’t a hammer—it’s a song. If you force it, it screams. If you starve it, it dies. You don’t pour Echo into steel. You let it breathe with you. A pulse. A heartbeat. Steel and flesh moving as one.”
His hand guided mine, steady but firm. “Control matters more than strength. Guide the Echo like a stream, not a flood. Feel it slide through the blade—not around it. Match its rhythm, let it settle… and don’t choke it.”
I drew a slow breath, letting the cold air burn down my lungs as I reached for the pulse beneath my skin. The Echo thrummed like a heartbeat, slipping into the blade in uneven waves.
The first attempt sputtered—too loud, too sharp. The second flickered weakly, the glow dying before it reached the edge.
Too loud. Too soft. Never just right.
Kael’s smirk widened slightly—not mockery, but a quiet dare. I exhaled again, steadier this time, and felt the Echo thread itself cleanly through the steel.
My next swing wasn’t wild. It was quiet. Controlled.
The blade sliced forward and the Echo sang, a clean ripple of energy sliding down the steel like a breath of winter wind. A single arc of frost carved across the clearing, perfect and straight. No shatter. No flicker. Just power.
Kael’s grin flickered like a dying flame, brief but sharp. “There it is,” he said softly. “That was a strike. Remember that feeling, boy. Most mages never do.”
Then his voice lowered further, almost sinister. “That’s Echo Edge. But remember—right now, that hum is a beacon. Anyone who can sense Echo will hear it. Which is why we veil it.”
“Veil?”
He didn’t answer with words. He simply lifted my blade, traced the steel with a flicker of invisible energy, and swung at a tree. No light. No hum. No warning. The bark peeled apart like silk.
“Veil Edge,” he finally said. “Hide the Echo beneath the strike. No one will know what hit them.”
We spent the next hour bleeding Echo into steel and swallowing its sound. Veil Edge was harder—too soft and it bled out, too hard and it howled through the air. But when I got it right, the silence felt sharper than the blade itself.
“Now for something else,” Kael added, a grin tugging at his lips. “If you’re going to live with steel, you’d better learn how to move with it.”
He stepped back, boot pressing lightly into the frost. A pulse of Echo rippled from his heel, vanishing beneath the snow. “Resonant Step. A quick pulse through your footing. Sound swallowed. Weight gone. Fast, silent, invisible.”
I mimicked the movement. The first step crunched like a hammer on stone. The second whispered like wind.
Kael’s grin widened. “Good. Quick step. Silent edge. Sharp strike. If done right—your enemy will die without knowing they were in a fight.”
The following day, the warmth of the study was a sharp contrast to the cold training yard. Father wasn’t poring over maps this time. Instead, bundles of merchant accounts, tax tallies, and sealed trade requests cluttered the table. His quill scratched against parchment as he reviewed ledgers with the sharp patience of a man who had ruled for years.
“Trade negotiations?” I asked, leaning lightly against the table.
“Among other things,” Father replied, setting his quill down. “Grain shipments, supply routes. The storm last week threw everything off.”
“I need something from you,” I said.
He raised a brow. “I can already tell I’m not going to like this.”
“I’ve gathered a small group,” I said carefully. “We’ve been training, moving quietly, listening. But what we have isn’t enough. I need a proper base—not in the forest. Closer to the village.”
He studied me, fingers drumming against the wood. “You’re building something dangerous, Ardyn.”
“I know,” I admitted. “But it’s something that can protect us.”
For a long moment, silence stretched between us. Then his gaze drifted to the far wall—to a weathered crest hanging above the hearth.
“There’s a place,” he said finally. “Beneath the village square. Your grandfather used it during the war. Deep tunnels. Hidden rooms. Forgotten by most.”
My pulse quickened. “It’s still there?”
“Sturdy as ever. You’ll have your base. But keep it quiet. No banners. No noise. Only shadows.”
“Yes,” I said, meeting his gaze. “That’s exactly what I need my group to be… Shadows.”
He leaned back, and for a heartbeat, the Duke faded—leaving only my father. “Then I’ll have the smith prepare gear for your little group. If you’re going to do this, you’ll do it right.”
Weeks blurred into a rhythm after that.
Mornings belonged to Kael’s brutal teachings—Echo Edge, Veil Edge, Resonant Step—each drilled until the movements carved themselves into muscle and bone. Afternoons belonged to shadows. The underground base beneath the village was cleaned, reinforced, and reborn.
We gathered new recruits that filled the tunnels with cautious energy. Some were fighters—strong, raw, willing to be molded. Others were runners, whisper collectors who moved through the village like smoke. Lira, sharp-eyed and faster than any of us, became my best set of ears in the market. Toren, quiet but reliable, started organizing the runners’ rotations. A stocky boy named Renn had a memory that could keep track of names, faces, and rumors better than any ledger. Sera and Joran watched the gates, their job to flag travelers and strange movements.
Each had a place. A purpose. And each wore the unmarked leather that would come to represent the Shadow Legion.
It was early evening when the door to the base burst open. Lira stumbled in, breathless, her hair stuck to her forehead with frost. “Tracks,” she gasped. “Northern border. Big ones.”
I didn’t waste time. “Toren. Elias. With me.”
The snow was deep by the time we reached the northern treeline, the sky bruised with fading light. Lira pointed wordlessly at the ground.
Huge clawed impressions sank into the snow—long, wide, and heavy.
Toren crouched, gloved hand brushing the edge of one print. “They’re fresh,” he said quietly. “And heading west… toward the valley road.”
The valley road. My gut tightened. That was where the imperial patrol and Father’s knights had last been reported by the shadow runners.
“Frostfang,” I muttered. The word came out colder than the wind.
Toren glanced up. “You’re sure?”
I stared at the prints, my pulse loud in my ears. I’ve seen these before. But not this soon. In my past life, they didn’t appear until years after I’d entered the Academy…
The wind rose suddenly, whispering through the trees like a warning. A wolf’s howl echoed faintly in the distance—low, guttural, too long to be any ordinary beast. Elias’s hand went instinctively to his sword.
“They’re close,” Toren whispered.
I shook my head slowly. “No. They’re not just close.” I looked toward the black line of the forest stretching west. “They’re hunting.”
A heavy silence fell over the group. Even the snow seemed to stop falling.
This isn’t how it happened before.
Something has changed this time around.
Far to the west, faint but sharp against the winter night, a horn sounded once—an Imperial signal. Then another, closer to the knights’ position.
Lira’s eyes widened. “That’s the patrol.”
“Or what’s left of it,” Toren muttered.
The frost crunched beneath my boots as I stepped forward, gaze fixed on the dark horizon. If the Frostfangs reach them first, there’ll be no survivors.