Alyc stood beside Jesta as the Shadecloaks gathered in the secluded training grounds, a circular arena surrounded by towering trees and shaded by an overhead canopy. Unlike the militia training fields, which were open and orderly, this space felt more like a battlefield hidden, unpredictable, and filled with an air of danger.

  Jesta crossed her arms, her expression unreadable as she surveyed the small group before them. Unlike the sprawling divisions of the Moon Guard or the Frostblade Vanguard, the Shadecloaks were few in number. Including Alyc and Jesta, there were only ten.

  "The Shadecloaks don’t get many new members," Jesta announced, her voice smooth but firm. “We don’t train soldiers. We train those willing to do what no one else will. Those capable of slipping into the dark and becoming something more.”

  She placed a hand on Alyc’s shoulder, not in comfort but as a signal to the others. “This is Alyc Halcyhon. She is your newest recruit. Test her.” A murmur passed through the group. Some were amused, others unreadable. Alyc didn’t flinch.

  Jesta motioned toward them. “Your new comrades.” One by one, they stepped forward.

  Chance "Ghost" Veyne, a shadow of a man, barely made a sound as he moved. His cold eyes flickered over Alyc, calculating. “Let’s see how well you disappear,” he murmured before stepping back into the shadows. Kate "The Raven" Voss smirked. "Alyc, huh? Let’s see if your mind is as sharp as your blade.” Her dark eyes flickered with intrigue as she leaned in slightly. “We deal in secrets and whispers here. Let’s see how well you hold your own. Alyc’s gaze narrowed. She didn’t react. She had spent years in Emberfall learning to control her emotions, to never let her face betray her thoughts. Even now, standing before these elite warriors, she wouldn’t flinch. Jesta cleared her throat, drawing the attention back to her. “The Shadecloaks don’t take new blood lightly. Each of you had to prove yourselves to be here. Alyc will do the same. “She gestured toward the group. “Each of you will test her. Use your specialty, push her, see what she can take. If she fails, she’s not worthy of the Shadecloaks. A low murmur passed between the group. Alyc felt the shift in the air anticipation, challenge, maybe even doubt. Good. She would prove them wrong. Jesta stepped back. “Ghost, you’re first. “Chance “Ghost” Veyne barely moved before vanishing into the shadows. Alyc tensed, shifting her stance, waiting. Then the world around her blurred. A shift in the air behind her. Alyc spun, her arm lashing out, but her fist met nothing but empty space. A whisper of movement to her right. A flash of fabric. She turned again, but Ghost was already gone. “Too slow,” his voice murmured from somewhere unseen. Alyc exhaled, shutting out the sounds of the others, focusing only on her instincts. She knew the game he was playing distraction, confusion, make her doubt herself before striking. Alyc didn’t fall for it. Instead of reacting, she shifted her stance, slowing her breathing. She had spent years learning how to read a battlefield, how to anticipate movement before it happened. This was no different. She turned her head slightly, letting her eyes unfocus just enough to pick up the smallest movements. A flicker of shadow on her left. The faintest disturbance in the dust behind her. There. Alyc didn’t wait for him to make the first move. She pivoted sharply, her foot sweeping out in a low arc. Her boot connected with something solid a shin. A soft grunt of surprise. She lunged forward, grabbing hold of fabric and twisting hard. A figure stumbled into view, barely catching himself before he could fall. Chance straightened, his cold eyes locking onto hers, unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, he smirked. “Not bad,” he admitted, adjusting his cloak. “For a beginner.” Alyc didn’t smirk back. She didn’t care about approval. She had proven what she needed to. Jesta’s voice cut through the tension. “Next.” One by one, the Shadecloaks tested her.

  Kate "The Raven" Voss was next. She circled Alyc with an appraising gaze, the smirk never leaving her lips. "Let’s see if you can keep your secrets, little recruit." Before Alyc could respond, Kate’s voice dropped to a soft whisper. "I’m going to ask you three questions. You will answer one truthfully, one with a lie, and one by saying nothing at all. And I’ll know which is which."

  Alyc narrowed her eyes. "That’s it?" Kate grinned. "It’s harder than you think. Now, first question what’s the last thing you stole?"

  Alyc hesitated for only a fraction of a second before responding. "A dagger." It was the truth. Kate tilted her head. "Who do you trust most in this camp?" Alyc smirked. "You." The lie slipped easily from her lips. Kate’s grin widened, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Final question why did Jesta pick you?" Alyc said nothing. For a long moment, Kate studied her, then let out a soft laugh. "Interesting." She turned toward Jesta. "She’ll do."

  Jesta gave a single nod. "Next." Nik "Hollow" Dusken stepped forward, his expression unreadable. A towering figure, his reputation was as cold as the steel of his dual daggers. He didn’t speak he simply tossed a dull training blade at Alyc’s feet. "Pick it up," he commanded. Alyc did. The moment her fingers curled around the hilt; Nik lunged. He moved with terrifying speed, twin daggers flashing as he struck. Alyc reacted on instinct, raising her blade just in time to deflect the first strike. Sparks danced between them as metal clashed against metal. Nik was fast faster than anyone she had fought before. But speed alone didn’t intimidate her.

  She adjusted, parrying another rapid succession of strikes. He fought with efficiency, every movement calculated to kill. Alyc, however, fought with something deeper. Something raw.

  Nik’s blade whistled past her face, slicing a thin line across her cheek. He smirked at the sight of blood. “You’re hesitating.”

  Alyc wiped at the cut with the back of her hand, her expression cold. Then, without a word, she moved.

  Her counterattack was relentless. She parried high, then drove a sharp thrust toward his ribs. Nik twisted, barely avoiding it, but she was already pressing forward, pushing him back step by step. The moment he adjusted his footing, she swept low, knocking his legs out from under him.

  Nik hit the ground with a sharp grunt, but before he could react, Alyc was on him, the training blade pressed against his throat.

  Silence.

  Then, he chuckled a low, dark sound. “Not bad,” he admitted, not bothering to push her off. “For a recruit.”

  Alyc held his gaze a moment longer before standing and tossing the blade aside. She didn’t need his approval.

  Jesta’s voice broke through the quiet. “Enough. Next.”

  Marshall "Echo" Trivane stepped forward next, a smirk already tugging at his lips. He was lean, quick on his feet, and unpredictable. “Let’s see if you can handle a little chaos, Malice,” he said, rolling his shoulders. Alyc braced herself, watching his movements carefully. Unlike Nik, who fought with precision and cold efficiency, Echo radiated unpredictability. He didn’t just fight he played. His stance was loose, his body swaying slightly, but his eyes were sharp, glinting with something mischievous. Alyc knew better than to attack first. Echo’s grin widened as if he could read her thoughts. “Smart,” he mused. Then, without warning, he moved. A blur of motion he feinted left, but his real attack came from above. He leaped, twisting midair, and hurled a handful of dust straight at her face. Alyc barely turned in time to avoid taking it full force, but the distraction worked. The moment her vision blurred, Echo struck low, sweeping her legs out from under her. She hit the ground hard. Laughter echoed around her. “Rule one,” Echo said, crouching beside her. “There’s no honour in our fights, Malice. Only survival. Alyc growled, rolling back to her feet, eyes burning. “Then let’s see how long you survive. “She lunged. This time, she expected the tricks. When Echo went to throw another handful of dust, Alyc was already moving. She twisted sharply to the side, letting the dirt sail past her. Then, instead of attacking head-on, she dropped low and swept her own leg out in a countermove.

  Echo leapt back just in time, narrowly avoiding being knocked off his feet. His grin widened. “Now you’re learning.” Alyc didn’t respond. She pressed forward, fists flying. Echo ducked and weaved, never staying in one place for long. He fought like a man who had never known structure fluid, erratic, and entirely unpredictable. But Alyc adapted. She didn’t try to match his rhythm; she shattered it. Instead of lunging wildly, she forced him into a pattern, her strikes deliberate, calculated. A punch to the ribs he dodged left. A knee to his stomach he rolled back. Another punch, another dodge. Then she struck before he could react. Alyc feinted another kick but stopped short. Echo, already moving to evade, was caught off guard. Alyc used that hesitation, stepping in and slamming her elbow into his jaw. His head snapped to the side, and he staggered. Before he could recover, Alyc shoved him backward, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

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  Silence followed. Echo groaned, rubbing his jaw. Then, to her surprise, he started laughing. “Oh, you are going to fit in just fine, Malice.” Alyc rolled her shoulders, breathing heavily. She didn’t bother responding. She had won. That was enough.

  Jesta’s voice rang out. “Enough.” Her sharp gaze flickered between the two of them, lingering on Alyc for a moment longer. “Next.”

  Antony "Bones" Toxon stepped forward, his movements eerily smooth. Unlike the others, there was no amusement in his expression. No challenge. Just quiet calculation.

  Alyc tensed. “This one’s different,” Bones said, his voice low and measured. “You rely on your instincts, but let’s see if you can trust your own body.” He reached into his cloak, pulled out a small vial, and tossed it toward her. Alyc caught it. The liquid inside was a deep, murky blue.

  “Drink.”

  She frowned, tightening her grip around the glass. “What is it?”

  Bones simply tilted his head. “A test.” The others watched with interest, some smirking, some curious. Alyc glanced at Jesta, who gave no indication of whether she should or shouldn’t. So, she pulled out the cork and downed the contents in one gulp. It was bitter. Sharp. It burned on the way down. Then, suddenly, the world blurred. Alyc’s balance shifted. The ground beneath her feet felt wrong, the air thick. Her vision swam, dark spots blooming at the edges. She realized what this was. A poison. Not lethal, but enough to disorient. She heard Bones’ voice, distant but clear. “Now fight.” Alyc gritted her teeth as he moved. He struck without hesitation, a dagger flashing in the dim light. She barely dodged, her reactions sluggish, her limbs heavy. Her head spun, the nausea clawing at her throat. This was the real test. She couldn’t rely on strength. She couldn’t rely on speed. She had to force her mind to work through the haze. Alyc inhaled sharply, grounding herself. She had trained for this. Her father had drilled it into her how to fight when her body screamed for rest, how to push past exhaustion, pain, even fear. This was no different. Bones moved fast, aiming another precise strike toward her ribs. Alyc didn’t try to block it outright she knew she wasn’t fast enough in this state. Instead, she twisted at the last second, letting the dagger skim past her side, barely grazing her tunic. She had to outthink him. Her sluggish limbs weren’t a disadvantage if she turned them into a trap. She let herself appear slower than she actually was, stumbling slightly as she dodged. Bones took the bait. He lunged, closing the distance to finish the fight. That was when Alyc struck. She didn’t block. She didn’t evade. She let him come to her, and then she moved fast and brutal. Her elbow slammed into his wrist, forcing the dagger loose. As it fell, she caught it midair and turned the weapon on him. The tip of the blade pressed against his throat. Silence. Bones didn’t flinch. He barely blinked, eyes still sharp and unreadable. Then, slowly, a grin ghosted across his lips. “Interesting,” he murmured. “You learn fast.” Alyc stepped back, tossing the dagger at his feet. The effects of the poison were still fading, but she was steady now. Stronger.

  Jesta gave a single nod. “Enough.” The Shadecloaks murmured amongst themselves, their voices a mix of quiet approval and lingering scepticism. Alyc didn’t care. She had survived. She had proven herself, even under the worst conditions.

  Jesta stepped forward, her expression unreadable. “You passed,” she said finally. “Barely.” A few chuckles rippled through the group, but Alyc didn’t react. Jesta’s eyes stayed on her. “You learn fast, but you’re reckless. If that had been a real mission, you would’ve died.”

  Alyc wiped the sweat from her brow, her breaths still even despite the lingering effects of the poison. “But I didn’t.”

  Jesta’s lips twitched slightly, almost a smile, but it never fully formed. “No. You didn’t.” She turned back to the rest of the Shadecloaks. “That’s enough for today. Dismissed.”

  The group dispersed, some casting Alyc another glance before fading into the shadows of the camp. Alyc turned to leave, but Jesta’s voice stopped her. “Not you.” She exhaled sharply but didn’t argue. Jesta waited until the others were gone before stepping closer. “You think you’ve impressed them?” Alyc lifted her chin. “I don’t care if I did.” Jesta’s expression darkened. “You should. Because those are the only people who will ever have your back in the field. They don’t trust you yet, and after today, they’re wondering if they should.” Alyc clenched her fists. “I don’t need anyone to trust me.” “No?” Jesta said sharply. “Jesta stepped closer, her voice cold and sharp. “Then tell me, Halcyhon when you're bleeding out in the middle of enemy territory, who do you think is going to drag you back? You?”

  Alyc didn’t flinch. “If I have to.”

  Jesta scoffed. “That’s not how this works.” She gestured toward the empty training grounds, where the other Shadecloaks had already dispersed. “You think you can fight like this forever? Alone? The Shadecloaks aren’t just assassins or spies we are a unit. We survive because we trust each other.” Her voice lowered, laced with warning. “And right now? No one trusts you.”

  Alyc’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. Jesta shook her head. “You want to be the best? Fine. But if you don’t learn to rely on the people around you, you’ll end up dead.” She turned, her gaze lingering on Alyc for one last moment before she added, “And it won’t be the enemy that puts you in the dirt.”

  She strode away, leaving Alyc standing alone in the cold.

  For a long moment, she didn’t move. Her fists were still clenched at her sides, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She wanted to argue, wanted to say that Jesta was wrong.

  But she wasn’t. Alyc exhaled sharply, then turned toward the barracks. She didn’t need trust. She didn’t need their approval. She didn't need to fight like this forever, just long enough.

  She just needed to be stronger. She barely made it ten steps before she heard the familiar sound of boots crunching behind her. “Didn’t take long for you to start making friends,” Sammond’s voice was light with amusement, but there was an edge to it. Alyc sighed, rolling her shoulders without looking at him. “They’ll get over it.” Sammond fell into step beside her, hands in his pockets. “Will they?” He tilted his head, watching her from the corner of his eye. “Or are they already wondering if you’re worth keeping around?”

  Alyc kept walking, her steps steady despite the tightness in her chest. “I don’t care what they think.”

  Sammond hummed, a low, knowing sound. “Sure, you don’t.”

  She cast him a sharp glance. “I don’t.” His smirk didn’t fade. “Good. Because if you did, you’d be wasting your time.” He gestured vaguely back toward the training grounds. “People like Jesta, like the rest of them… they say they want strength, but what they really want is control.” Alyc clenched her jaw. That wasn’t entirely untrue. Jesta’s words still echoed in her head, warning her about trust, about how she needed the others to survive. But she had survived plenty on her own. She had watched the people closest to her die. She had been betrayed, hunted, nearly broken and yet she was still here. “I don’t need them,” Alyc muttered.

  Sammond chuckled. “No. You don’t.” He slowed his pace just slightly, studying her from the corner of his eye. “But they need you.” Alyc frowned. “What?” Sammond’s smirk widened. “You think the Shadecloaks have had anyone like you before? Someone who doesn’t just follow orders but forces the world to move around them?” His voice lowered slightly. “You’re already stronger than them, Malice. They just don’t see it yet.” Alyc inhaled slowly. The way he said it, the certainty in his voice, was unsettling. Sammond stopped walking, turning to face her fully. “Your anger? It’s a gift. A weapon. And they’re trying to dull it.” His green eyes gleamed in the dim torchlight. “But you don’t have to let them.” Alyc held his gaze, something dark twisting deep in her gut. Sammond took a step back, his smirk still in place. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Malice.” Then he was gone. Alyc stood in the quiet, the weight of the night pressing down on her. Sammond’s words lingered, curling around her thoughts like smoke, impossible to grasp but impossible to ignore.

  You don’t have to let them.

  Her fingers flexed at her sides. A weapon. A force. That was what he saw in her. What she had always wanted to be.

  She exhaled sharply, turning back toward the barracks. The torches flickered as she walked, their light casting long, twisting shadows across the stone. Every step felt heavier than the last, her mind still echoing with the day’s events the testing, the warnings, the way Jesta had looked at her. As if she wasn’t sure whether to sharpen Alyc or break her down. The barracks were quiet when she entered. The others were already asleep or pretending to be. Alyc moved to her bunk, sitting at the edge for a moment, staring at the scarred wood of the floor beneath her feet. She should be exhausted. Her body ached from the trials of the day, but her mind refused to rest.

  She lay back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the slow, steady breathing of the other Shadecloaks.

  Then, like clockwork, it came. The dream.

  The dinner table. The familiar faces of the competitors. Their eyes burned into her, their voices whispering through the candlelit haze. Become stronger. Use your anger. Finish what you started.

  Her breath hitched. Her hands were already slick with blood, the dagger trembling in her grip.

  One by one, she cut them down. One by one, they fell. But when she turned, Durk was still there. Waiting. Watching. She raised the blade, but her hands shook. It’s your choice, Alyc. The words struck like a hammer against glass. She could feel herself teetering, the dream crumbling around her, darkness threatening to pull her under. Then she woke. Her breath was ragged, her heartbeat like a war drum in her chest. The barracks were still. Silent. Alyc sat up slowly, her hands curled into fists against the thin blanket. She hadn’t killed him. Not yet. But she would. One day, she would make her choice. She lay back down, staring into the dark, waiting for sleep to take her again. Tomorrow, training continued. And so did the war inside her. The training grounds were alive with the sound of clashing steel, boots scraping against frozen dirt, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Today, however, there was an unfamiliar presence watching over them.