Chapter Fourteen: Trial of Shadows
The fire in the council chamber burned low, throwing long, wavering shapes across the walls. Smoke curled toward the rafters, heavy with the scent of pine and resin. Around the central table sat the council—Baldrek with his thick arms folded across his chest, the goblin elder clutching his staff, Fenrik with his tail flicking in sharp motions, and Lyria standing with a quiet, steady presence just behind Kael.
Kael's words still hung in the air: "We waste nothing. Everything we take strengthens us."
Baldrek was the first to break the silence. He jabbed a thick finger toward the silver coins stacked in small piles at the edge of the table. "A portion to markets, aye, but the forge needs its share. Iron scraps and broken steel can be reforged into something worthy. Blades, axes, nails, hinges. You want houses strong enough to weather storms? You'll need nails as much as swords."
The goblin elder leaned forward, shaking his head furiously. "Food first! Salt, grain, dried meats. Weapons do nothing if bellies are empty. Your forge will not hammer bread, dwarf."
Fenrik's yellow eyes narrowed, his voice measured but sharp. "You both see too small. Trade brings more than food and tools. Word of us will spread. Carefully, quietly—we choose our markets, we choose our buyers. Today, we trade hides and herbs. Tomorrow? Information. Alliances."
Kael watched them, crimson eyes glinting in the firelight. He let the debate rage, each voice rising, until finally he raised his hand.
"Enough." His tone carried quiet authority. "All of your points are sound. Baldrek, you'll have your share for the forge. Elder, the hunters will stockpile grain and salt. Fenrik, I'll authorize small, careful expeditions to the markets. But we will not gamble our future on one path alone. Every road feeds into the same destiny: survival, then strength, then permanence."
The council fell silent. Even the goblin elder's protests died in his throat, though he muttered and clutched his staff tighter.
Kael straightened, his cloak brushing the floor, and turned his gaze to the massive figure kneeling at the chamber's edge.
"Thalos," he said, his voice low but carrying. "You claim you are not the Tyrant's shadow. That you would serve. That you would fight for something greater. Words are wind."
The ogre lifted his head, his scarred face solemn. "Then test me. Break me. Whatever you demand."
Kael raised his hand, shadows coiling at his fingertips. The chamber dimmed as the light seemed to bend, swallowed into the darkness forming around him. His crimson eyes glowed faintly as the shadows lengthened and twisted, pulling together into a towering shape.
Another Kael stood there. A mirror. Cloaked in shadow, its form solid, its eyes glowing like embers. The chamber's temperature dropped a fraction, the fire sputtering as if afraid.
Gasps rippled through the council. The goblin elder clutched his staff tighter. Baldrek swore under his breath. Even Fenrik stiffened, ears pinned.
"This," Kael said, gesturing toward the doppelgänger, "is my trial. Defeat this shadow of me, and you prove yourself. Fall, and you leave this place. Forever."
Thalos rose slowly to his full, towering height. His hand flexed, empty, as if grasping for a blade he no longer had. Lyria, sharp-eyed as ever, stepped forward and drew one of her spare swords, holding it out hilt-first.
"Take it," she said.
The ogre accepted the blade, testing its weight with a single practiced sweep. Despite his massive size, his movements were precise, almost elegant. The scars on his arms caught the firelight as he lowered himself into a stance that spoke of years—decades—of discipline.
Kael stepped back, folding his arms. Umbra growled low, hackles raised, but Kael's hand on his fur stilled him.
The shadow Kael moved first. Fast—faster than any normal warrior. It surged forward, cloak billowing like smoke, a blade of condensed night forming in its hand. The strike came in a blur, aimed clean for Thalos' chest.
Steel rang against shadow-forged blade as Thalos met the strike head-on. The impact shuddered through the chamber, rattling bowls and cups on the table. The ogre's stance held.
"Good," Kael murmured, watching intently.
Thalos shifted, turning the shadow's momentum aside with a deft parry before stepping into a counterstrike. The blade whistled through the air, forcing the shadow back with a fluid combination of cuts—each precise, measured, deliberate.
The council members leaned forward, eyes wide. The goblin elder muttered a prayer. Baldrek's bushy brows rose in grudging respect. Fenrik's tail stilled, his attention fully locked on the fight.
The shadow pressed harder, its strikes growing more vicious, less predictable. It mirrored Kael's own ferocity—sudden lunges, sharp feints, ruthless blows meant to overwhelm.
But Thalos did not waver. He gave ground when needed, absorbed the storm with iron discipline, then struck back with perfect timing. His blade sang, cleaving through shadowy tendrils, forcing the doppelgänger onto the defensive.
At last, with a roar that shook the chamber, Thalos drove forward. He twisted his blade in a brutal arc, cutting straight through the shadow's form. Darkness split like smoke torn apart by wind, and the doppelgänger staggered before unraveling into wisps of night.
Silence fell. Only Thalos' heavy breathing and the crackle of the fire remained. He lowered the blade, planting its tip against the ground, and knelt once more.
"I am no slave," Thalos said, voice raw with exertion. "No beast. My strength is yours, Kael. My blade is yours. Until the end."
Kael studied him, crimson eyes burning. Slowly, he nodded. "Then rise, Thalos of Stonefang. You are no longer a captive. You are one of us."
The chamber erupted—murmurs, arguments, some voices protesting, others supporting. But none could deny what they had witnessed.
Kael lifted his hand, silencing them all. "Enough. The matter is decided. He has proven himself." His voice lowered, edged with command. "Now—let us turn to what comes next. We have silver, herbs, tools, and strength. How we use them will decide whether we are a village, or the beginning of a nation."
The council chamber erupted into motion once Kael dismissed them. Elders muttered orders to their attendants, messengers ran through the doorways, and scribes began scratching furiously on parchment as Kael's directives spread: divide the herbs, prepare silver for market, allocate funds for Baldrek's forge, stockpile food for winter.
Kael lingered, crimson eyes watching until the noise receded into the hall. Only Umbra stayed close, tail brushing against Kael's leg, and Thalos, who remained kneeling where he'd sworn himself.
Kael motioned toward the door. "Walk with me."
The ogre rose, towering above even the tallest wolfkin, and followed as Kael led him into the open night. The village stretched around them, alive with motion. Goblins carried bundles of herbs toward the healers' hut, elves strung hides across racks to dry, wolfkin guards walked their patrols along the half-built palisade. Torches flickered, casting pools of light in the autumn dark.
Kael said nothing until they reached the edge of the settlement, where the forest pressed close and the sounds of the village dimmed. He stopped, leaning against the rough-hewn railing of a watch platform. Umbra leapt up beside him, curling down but keeping his sharp golden eyes fixed on Thalos.
Only then did Kael speak. "Tell me of your chains."
Thalos' jaw tightened, the scars on his face catching the firelight. For a moment, silence pressed heavy. Then he lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the earth, his massive frame folding with surprising grace.
"I was not always a slave," he began, his voice low, resonant, carrying the weight of years. "The Stonefang were a proud clan. Not gentle, not kind—but disciplined. We fought with blade and code, not teeth and rage. When I was younger, I trained warriors, taught them the way of steel. We kept to the highlands, far from your human kings and their wars."
His gaze darkened. "Then the Tyrant came. He was one of us once, but ambition rotted him. He gathered the wild ones—the brutes who cared nothing for code, only for killing—and he crushed our clan. Those who would not join him were butchered. Those he found useful, he chained. I was spared because he feared my sword might one day match his own. So he bound me in iron and starved me until I was too weak to raise it."
His great hands curled into fists, knuckles cracking like breaking stone. "I endured. Year upon year. I watched others break. Some were eaten. Others lost their minds. I held onto discipline because it was all I had left."
Kael studied him, crimson eyes sharp, but his voice was quiet. "And the others? Are there more ogres like him? More clans?"
Thalos nodded slowly. "Ogres are scattered now. Some clans hide in the mountains. Others bend knee to monsters like the Tyrant. There are those who wander alone, blades for hire. Few cling to code anymore. Most…" His face hardened. "Most are little better than beasts."
Kael leaned forward slightly. "If we meet them?"
"Test them," Thalos said firmly. "If they follow code, if they remember honor, they may stand with you. But if not…" His massive shoulders lifted, then sank. "You cut them down. Better to cull a rabid beast than invite it into your hall."
The words hung heavy between them. The forest whispered with night winds.
Kael's gaze turned skyward, to the stars pricking the black. "You endured more than most could. And yet you still kneel, still offer your strength. Why?"
Thalos met his eyes, unflinching. "Because you broke what I could not. I dreamed of the Tyrant's death every day in those chains. I prayed for release, for vengeance. You gave me both. And more—you lead with purpose. I saw it in your people's eyes tonight. Wolfkin, goblins, elves—they look at you and see not just a survivor. They see a future."
He leaned forward, voice lowering, heavy with conviction. "If you will have me, I will shape that future with you. I can train your fighters. Teach them discipline. Code. The way of the blade. Strength that endures, not strength that burns out."
Kael studied him in silence. Shadows curled faintly at his fingertips, a habit more than a threat. He thought of his father's voice, the roar of dragon-fire, the way his mother's hands had held his when he was small. He thought of chains snapping in firelight, of the swamp stench, of his own blood dripping into the mud as he fought the Tyrant.
Finally, Kael spoke. "Then you will stay. Not because I pity you, but because you have something worth giving. If you falter, if you betray that code, I will cut you down myself."
Thalos bowed his head, solemn. "As it should be."
Kael pushed off the railing, his cloak shifting in the night breeze. "Tomorrow, you'll have your chance. Train them. Wolfkin, goblins, even elves. I don't care what blood runs in their veins. You make them into warriors who can hold a line. That is how you'll prove your worth."
Thalos' mouth curved, just slightly, into the ghost of a smile. "It will be done."
Umbra huffed, finally relaxing, though his golden eyes still lingered on the ogre with a predator's suspicion.
Kael turned back toward the glow of the village. The night stretched ahead, full of work yet to come, but for the first time he felt the foundation beneath his feet firming into stone.
Not just goblins. Not just wolfkin. Not just elves. Now even an ogre.
The beginning of something greater.