Chapter 4 — Shadows Before the Frost
The mornings bit harder now. Breath curled white in the air, and the river’s song had quieted beneath the weight of the cold. The forest that once blazed gold and crimson now stood in skeletal silence, the ground brittle underfoot. The world felt slower, but it was only an illusion. I’d learned long ago that this kind of quiet meant something was moving beneath the surface.
Late autumn… the air itself is holding its breath.
From the balcony, I traced the lines of my territory. The forest to the north had thinned, revealing hidden paths most wouldn’t notice. The river to the east was beginning to frost around the edges, its banks soft and rich. The western pass crouched under the weight of the mountain’s shadow, still dangerous, still perfect for hiding. And to the south, the village smoked gently from chimneys—oblivious to the slow tightening of the imperial noose.
This wasn’t just my home anymore. It was the first fortress in the war the world didn’t know was coming.
Beneath the manor, the old cellar smelled of damp stone and cold iron. Elias struck again and again, each movement sharper than the last, but still not sharp enough. I caught his wrist on the turn, twisting him off balance. He hit the floor with a grunt, breathless.
“Again,” I said.
He didn’t argue. He never did.
We’d already cleared out old crates to make room for training. Wooden weapons lined the wall. My maps and notes cluttered a table, showing marked routes through forest, mountain, and village. I’d already chosen the three sites where the Shadow Legion would grow: an abandoned hunter’s lodge hidden in the north forest, a collapsed barn near the river, and a cavern in the western pass. All invisible to imperial eyes.
One spark at a time. No banners. No parades. Just shadows.
By the afternoon, a messenger arrived, shaking frost from his cloak. I listened from the archway as Father met him in the main hall.
“Imperial supply convoy,” the man said. “Three wagons, two dozen soldiers. They’re setting up a checkpoint on the east trade road.”
Father frowned, leaning on the carved table. “We’re weeks from winter. The Empire doesn’t move this far north without reason.”
“They claim it’s to protect merchants,” the messenger added weakly.
That’s always what they say.
Father dismissed him with a wave, calling it routine. But I knew better. His Majesty never moved pieces without a plan.
That evening, I joined Father in his study. The firelight painted the maps and ledgers spread across his desk in soft gold. His attention flicked toward me, surprised.
“You should be resting. Or training,” he said.
“I’ve trained enough for today,” I replied. “I want to understand the lands… and the duchy. Properly.”
That earned me a look of quiet approval, the kind fathers gave when they didn’t expect to be impressed. He leaned back in his chair, gesturing to the ledger in front of him.
“You want to be a duke one day? Then you’ll need to understand what a duke truly is. Swords and titles make men nobles, but gold keeps them that way.”
He flipped open a ledger bound in worn leather. Inside, columns of numbers stretched across the page like veins.
“Our family stands in the middle tier of the five great Duchies—not the weakest, but far from the richest. Ferradon sits atop the realm’s coffers, trading gold, silk, and fine goods that make empires move. Thornevale’s forges burn day and night, their dragonsteel arming half the realm. Caelcrest deals in shadow and poison, guarding the Crown’s borders with its silent craft. Larethiel offers healing herbs, ancient remedies, and the bounty of its fertile lands.”
He tapped the map north of the river.
“And we… we are Valemont. The shield of the realm. The strength of the northern pass—where no army dares to march when winter comes.”
“And trade?” I asked.
His mouth tightened slightly. “We import more than we export. We sell lumber, livestock, a bit of grain. But no refined industry. That’s why the imperial merchants walk through us like we’re a market stall.”
In my first life, I’d never cared. All I saw then were battles, alliances, the roar of the battlefield. I had left this side of power to others. And by the time I understood it, His Majesty had already bled me dry.
This time, I’ll take everything that makes a kingdom choke—gold, food, iron, and power.
“What about foreign trade?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “Foreign trade? You’re ten.”
I didn’t look away. “That doesn’t make the question less important.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Foreign trade runs through the southern ports. The eastern duchies hold the merchant guilds, and the imperial court skims off what’s left. Smaller houses like ours have no leverage. We take what trickles down.”
That can change.
“I’ll need records,” I said. “Merchant contracts, caravan routes, guild agreements.”
He stared at me for a long moment. “Why?”
“Because if the empire’s coming to our doorstep,” I said, “then it’s about time we start owning the road.”
For a heartbeat, he didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he leaned back, studying me like I wasn’t just his son but something else entirely. “You’ve changed,” he said softly. “You used to spend days chasing the river and skipping training.”
I died a lion in a cage. I won’t live that way again.
“Good,” he finally said. “If you’re serious, I’ll have the ledgers brought to your room tomorrow.”
When night fell, I slipped through the forest with Elias at my back. We moved soundlessly, boots crunching through thin layers of frost, until the faint glow of firelight flickered through the trees. The patrol was just ahead.
A dozen soldiers. Three wagons. A perimeter of stacked crates. They looked comfortable, unbothered. But their formation wasn’t lazy. Their movements were measured. This wasn’t a simple patrol—it was a seed being planted.
I knelt behind a fallen trunk, watching the rotation of their guards. Elias counted quietly beside me, tracing patterns in the dirt with his finger.
First a convoy. Then a checkpoint. Then a wall. That’s how it began last time too.
The cold shifted. A familiar pull brushed against my senses—a pulse, soft but deliberate, like fingers trailing against the edge of my mind. I froze.
Not them. Something else.
I turned toward the deeper trees. A figure stood between the trunks, tall and still. Not close enough to make out a face. Not moving. But I could feel it—the same Echo that had marked me once before.
The air tightened as if the world itself had narrowed to that point in the dark. Elias whispered my name, but I didn’t look away. The Echo pulsed again—steady, testing. Then, like a candle flame snuffed out, it vanished.
It’s you again. Whoever you are… you’re not some wandering hedge mage. You’re dangerous.
We slipped back through the woods, leaving the convoy behind. But I carried that pulse with me all the way home.
The next days blurred together in the cold. I pushed Elias harder—stealth, speed, signaling, survival. We practiced disappearing between trees, using darkness like a blade. My plans spread quietly through maps and notes. The Shadow Legion wasn’t just an idea anymore; it was becoming a living thing beneath the Empire’s gaze.
I remembered how nobles had laughed off these patrols in my past life. How they didn’t notice the walls until they woke up inside the cage.
Not again. This time, I’ll be under their walls before they even know I exist.
She found me again during training. Seraphine stood at the edge of the yard wrapped in a dark cloak, cheeks flushed from the wind. She didn’t smile like she used to. She just watched me swing the wooden blade again and again, breath steady in the cold air.
“You’re different,” she said finally. “Everyone can see it.”
“Training changes people,” I answered.
“That’s not what I mean.” Her voice softened. “You feel far away, Ardyn.”
I lowered the wooden blade slightly, meeting her eyes. There was no anger in them—just uncertainty, the kind that comes when something precious starts to slip away without explanation.
She hesitated, fingers tightening around the edge of her cloak. “Did I… do something wrong?”
The question hit harder than any blade. I saw the way her voice wavered at the end, how she forced herself to sound casual but couldn’t quite hide the hurt underneath. She’d never learned how to mask her heart the way nobles did.
“No,” I said. “You didn’t.”
She searched my face like she wanted to believe me. “Then why does it feel like you’re walking somewhere I can’t follow?”
I didn’t answer. Because the truth was worse than any lie—I was already walking that path, and there was no place for her in the storm ahead.
Her breath shivered in the cold between us. “I’ll… see you another time,” she whispered and turned away.
Better this way. You don’t belong in the storm I’m building.
Her footsteps faded. Only the sound of steel cutting through air remained.
Two nights later, frost bloomed along the riverbanks, white and thin as a blade’s edge. I stood at the water’s edge, cloak drawn tight, watching the moonlight stretch across frozen ripples. Somewhere out there, the Empire was moving its pieces. And somewhere deeper still, a mage I couldn’t name was watching me.
The air carried the weight of winter.
The Emperor builds in the light. I’ll build in the dark.
I turned from the river, my breath trailing like smoke. The frost had come. And so had the first shadow of war.