Chapter 6 — The Enshrouded One's Offer
The first snow fell softly that morning. It wasn’t heavy enough to blanket the ground, but it was enough to quiet the forest—the kind of hush that pressed into your bones. The trees groaned in the cold wind, brittle branches creaking as if warning of what was to come.
Winter was no longer whispering at the edges of Valemont. It was here.
I stood at the window of my room, watching the frost creep along the corners of the glass. It hasn’t even been a year yet. In that time, I’d gone from execution to rebirth. From a lion on the scaffold to a cub sharpening his fangs again.
The Empire doesn’t know it yet, but its noose is already being woven in these woods.
At the northern hunter’s lodge, a faint column of smoke curled up from the chimney. A fire burned inside, warm and sharp with pine resin. Elias barked commands with a voice that was growing deeper by the day, his breath fogging in the cold.
“Again!” His wooden sword smacked into a post with a loud crack. “If you can’t hold your stance in the snow, you’re already dead!”
Lira, light on her feet, struck and slipped through the drill like she’d been born for it. Toren moved with the patience of a predator, correcting her steps with a quiet word. Sera sat cross-legged in the corner of the lodge, hands on her knees, eyes closed as faint strands of white Echo shimmered around her like threads in the air. Her control was still fragile. But she was learning.
I stepped through the door, cold air following me. The recruits froze for a heartbeat, then straightened. Even now, months in, they still did it—not out of fear, but instinct.
This is how a legion is born.
“Keep going,” I said. Elias grinned through the sweat and frost. “If you can train in this cold, you’ll laugh when the Empire comes knocking.”
He turned back and slammed his sword into the post again, harder.
Night fell earlier now. By the time I returned to Valemont Manor, the moon was already high and thin like a blade. Father’s study smelled of parchment, oak, and the faint bite of brandy. He sat behind his desk, a mountain of documents before him. He didn’t look up right away.
“Sit,” he said finally.
I sat.
“We’ve started rationing the grain from the southern fields. Trade will slow once the rivers freeze over.” His voice was calm, practiced—the tone of a man who had governed through more winters than I’d lived. “The Empire’s tax collectors sent word. They’re increasing levies again.”
I leaned back slightly. “Of course they are.”
His eyes flicked toward me, sharp. “You understand what this means?”
“Yes. If we can’t control our flow of goods, they will.”
A slow smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Good. Then you see the danger. His Majesty wants to remind us we live under his shadow.”
No. One day, he’ll live under mine.
He slid another parchment toward me. “The patrols have grown bolder,” he said. “Caravans are reporting Imperial scouts moving closer to the northern roads.”
“How close?” I asked.
“Too close. A few miles from our trade posts. They claim it’s ‘border security’ against Frostlands raids.”
“There haven’t been raids in weeks,” I said flatly.
“Exactly,” he answered, tapping the page once. “They’re hunting the mage. The one sighted in the Frostlands.”
So the rumors reached His Majesty’s ears after all.
“This isn’t a tax grab, is it,” I murmured.
“No,” Father replied, leaning back in his chair. “This is the Empire moving pieces. Quietly. And when the Empire starts whispering, it’s never a good thing for border houses.”
My hand tightened slightly on the chair’s armrest. Or for anyone who’s hiding something worth finding.
He gave me a long, unreadable look. “I’ll increase the guard rotations near the northern watch. Discreetly. The Empire may think they’re unseen, but we’re not blind here.”
“Good,” I said. “But don’t draw their attention. If they think we’re ignoring them, they’ll grow overconfident.”
His brow furrowed, suspicion flickering beneath the surface. “You sound more like a commander than a boy.”
Because I’ve already seen what happens when we underestimate them.
The forest was still when I made my way back toward the northern lodge after the lesson. The air bit at my lungs. Ice cracked beneath my boots. It was quiet—too quiet.
Then I felt it.
Echo.
It slid against my senses like a blade’s edge—deliberate and refined. Not wild like Sera’s trembling threads. Controlled. Measured. Dangerous.
“Good,” a voice drawled from the shadows. “I was beginning to wonder how long it would take before you noticed.”
He stepped forward as if he’d been there all along.
A tall figure wrapped in a black and silver cloak emerged, his hair streaked with pale strands, eyes gleaming like frozen mercury. No insignia, no crest—only the weight of power pressing against the night.
I didn’t draw a weapon. That would have been pointless.
“You were watching,” I said.
“I’ve been watching for some time,” he replied easily. “It’s rare to find someone who can sense Echo without tripping over their own mana. Especially a boy.”
His smile wasn’t warm. It was measured. A blade sheathed but ready.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” he added.
“I’ve learned not to be surprised by much.”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “And I’ve learned to recognize those who wear masks too well for their age. Dangerous habit, that.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“And yet you keep it.”
“It keeps me alive.”
“Good answer.”
He moved closer. Snow shifted beneath his boots, soft and deliberate. The air around him carried a cold weight, like the first breath of winter before a storm.
“I’ll be blunt,” he said. “I’ve seen this Empire rot from the inside. I know how it ends. And I know the kind of men it’ll take to burn it down.”
“And you think I’m one of them?”
“I think,” he said, stepping closer, “you will become dangerous.”
His Echo brushed against mine like cold mist. Not an attack. A test.
I didn’t flinch. His smile lingered faintly.
“Words like yours don’t belong to a child,” he said quietly. “You borrowed them from somewhere.”
“Maybe I’ve lived twice.”
He studied me for a long, silent moment. The snow crackled faintly between us. “Then you already know this path is never clean.”
“I don’t need clean. I need it to end with me standing.”
“Pragmatic,” he murmured. “Good.”
He stopped a few paces away, silver gaze narrowing. “Power isn’t free, boy. If you walk this path, you’ll bleed for every inch of it. You’ll lose things you didn’t know you valued.”
“Good,” I said.
His brow lifted slightly. “That eager to bleed?”
“No. That eager to win.”
His faint exhale clouded in the air. Not quite amusement. Not quite approval. Just calculation.
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll teach you how to make the Echo obey. But understand this—” His voice lowered, razor-sharp. “I am not your savior. I will break you if I must. Better me than the Empire.”
“Then break me,” I said. “And I’ll rebuild myself sharper.”
For the first time, his smile wasn’t a weapon. It was something quieter. Almost—almost—human.
“Reckless,” he said softly. “But not wrong.”
He turned to go, cloak stirring like smoke. “What should I call you?” I asked.
He paused, half-shadowed by the trees. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Kael,” he said quietly. “Call me Kael.”
“Ardyn,” I replied.
“I know,” Kael said, and then—like the night itself—he vanished, leaving behind only fading Echo ripples and a cold that bit down to the bone.
I stood there for a long time, moonlight glinting on the frost. The way he moved—silent, deliberate—still lingered in my veins.
Kael. The Enshrouded One. A cursed man hiding where the Empire wouldn’t look. A mage stronger than anyone I’d ever met.
This winter won’t be quiet.