The clang of steel echoed across the Guild's training yard.
Dozens of initiates sweated under the unforgiving morning sun, blades flashing, fists cracking against wooden dummies reinforced with iron. Beasts prowled beside their partners, some obedient, others restless. Overseers drifted along the edges like carrion birds, noting every mistake, every weakness.
Ethan's muscles screamed with each strike. His dagger whirled, clashing against the heavy staff of a sparring opponent. The boy across from him was taller, stronger, his bonded beast a scaled warhound snapping viciously at Shadowfang.
The wolf answered with a snarl, golden fire sparking along his mane. The two beasts collided, claws against scales, teeth against iron hide.
Ethan ducked under a swing, blade slicing shallowly across his opponent's arm. The boy cursed, staggering back.
> [Sparring Victory Recorded]
The notification flickered before Ethan's eyes, but he had no time to savor it. Another opponent was already stepping forward. The Overseer watching their group, a gaunt man with hollow eyes, barked a single word.
"Again."
---
The hours blurred into one another—sweat, pain, repetition. Each defeat meant humiliation. Each victory meant a little more scrutiny. Ethan fought until his hands trembled, until his vision swam, until Shadowfang's growls weakened into labored breaths.
Still, he refused to yield.
Every strike, every dodge, every wound became fuel for something sharper inside him. He could feel the Guild's eyes pressing down, weighing him, judging him. He would not be found wanting.
When the bell finally tolled to end the session, Ethan collapsed to his knees, gasping. Shadowfang sank beside him, fur singed, golden fire dim but steady.
Across the yard, Lyra stood untouched. Her serpent slithered lazily around her shoulders, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. She had barely broken a sweat.
When she caught Ethan's gaze, she smirked. Not mockery—acknowledgment.
---
That evening, summons came again.
Ethan was led through winding corridors deeper into the Guild than he had ever gone. The air grew colder, the torches fewer. Finally, he was ushered into a chamber lit only by a single brazier, its flames green and unnatural.
At the far end stood a figure cloaked in black, face hidden behind a mask carved into the likeness of a crow. The Guild Master.
Ethan dropped to one knee instinctively. Shadowfang lowered his head but never looked away, eyes burning.
"Rise," the Guild Master said, voice sharp as iron.
Ethan obeyed, though his legs trembled.
The Master studied him for a long, suffocating silence. When he finally spoke, it was with words that sliced deeper than any blade.
"You led, boy."
Ethan swallowed hard. "I… acted. Others followed."
"That is leadership." The Master's tone carried no warmth, no praise. Only fact. "Do you understand the weight of it?"
Ethan shook his head before he could stop himself. "I only wanted us to live."
"And they did," the Master said softly. "Most of them."
The brazier's green light flickered, shadows crawling across the walls like chains.
"You have a choice," the Master continued. "Remain among the nameless—fodder for beasts, forgotten in death. Or take up the burden you have already tasted. Lead. Bleed. Carry chains heavier than your own."
Ethan's chest tightened. He didn't want chains heavier than his own. He wanted freedom. He wanted the village that had burned, the family he'd lost, the life stolen from him. But there was no going back. Only forward.
"What happens if I refuse?" he asked.
The crow-mask tilted slightly. "Then you will die. Slowly, or swiftly—it matters little. The Guild does not suffer wasted potential. We cut weakness from the root."
Shadowfang growled, golden embers flaring. The Master's gaze shifted briefly to the wolf, and for the first time, something like intrigue stirred in his voice.
"And yet… your bond. It is not ordinary. It was not given. It was forged. Do you know what that means, boy?"
Ethan's breath caught. He shook his head.
"It means," the Master said, "that you are already more weapon than man. And weapons must be used—or destroyed."
---
The chains around Ethan's wrist burned faintly, the oath reminding him of the truth he could never escape. He bowed his head, though his voice was steady when he spoke.
"Then I will lead. If it means survival, if it means strength—I'll carry the chains."
The Master regarded him in silence for a long moment, then nodded once.
"Good. You will be tested. Again. And again. Until there is nothing left to break."
He turned away, cloak whispering against the stone floor. "Go. Prepare. Tomorrow, you enter the Trial of Chains."
The words echoed in Ethan's skull as he was led back through the dark corridors. Trial of Chains. The very name tasted of blood and iron.
---
That night, Ethan sat once more on his balcony. The city below was restless, alive with lights and distant laughter that felt worlds away from his reality.
Shadowfang pressed close beside him, warm and solid. The wolf's golden eyes met his, the bond pulsing steady.
"They'll break us," Ethan whispered. "Or try to."
Shadowfang growled low, fire rippling faintly along his fur. Not if they stood together. Not if they refused to bend.
Ethan exhaled, gripping the dagger at his side. "Then let them try."
The bond thrummed in fierce agreement.
---
Far above, in the tower where the Guild Masters gathered, two figures watched through a scrying flame.
Cael, pen in hand, eyes cold. Lady Seris beside him, fox mask glinting.
"He chose chains," Seris murmured.
"He had no choice," Cael replied. He wrote a single line across the parchment, the ink glowing crimson as it dried.
> Subject accepted escalation. Proceed with Trial of Chains.
Seris tilted her head. "And if he survives that?"
Cael's gaze lingered on the fire, on the flicker of Ethan's silhouette within it. His voice was low, dangerous.
"Then we will see if he becomes a weapon… or something far worse."
The flames guttered, as if the Guild itself held its breath.
And the night deepened, heavy with the promise of chains yet unbroken.
---
Chapter End.
---