The sun burned low over Fort Dravien, staining the courtyard in rust and gold. The clang of steel filled the air as recruits trained under the watchful eye of their new instructor. Arlan stood among them, blade steady, movements sharp. He had fought in hundreds of battles across two lifetimes, yet here he was — a recruit again, surrounded by boys who had never seen real death.
The Empire called this the Elite Training Program — a place where potential soldiers were forged into weapons. But Arlan knew better. It wasn't training; it was sorting. Those who survived would serve. Those who failed would vanish.
Kael Draxen watched from the sidelines, expression unreadable.
Arlan adjusted his stance as another trainee lunged. He parried effortlessly, twisted, and brought the boy down with a sweep of his leg. The watching soldiers murmured in approval. The instructor, an old veteran with half a jaw, barked, "Again!"
Arlan offered a hand to the fallen recruit, who hesitated before taking it. "You fight like you want to win," Arlan said quietly, "not like you want to live. Fix that."
The recruit nodded, shaken.
When the drill ended, Kael approached him. "You're adapting quickly," he said. "Almost too quickly."
Arlan wiped the sweat from his brow. "Experience helps."
Kael studied him. "Experience? You're twenty-one."
"Old enough to have seen what losing looks like," Arlan replied.
Kael gave a faint smirk. "You'll need that attitude. Tomorrow's the final trial. Only ten will make it into the Shadow Legion."
Arlan froze for a fraction of a second. Shadow Legion. The name hit him like a memory — one that hadn't yet happened in this life.
So it begins, he thought.
That night, the barracks were quiet. Most recruits were asleep, exhausted from the drills. Liora slipped inside quietly, carrying a small pack of herbs. "You've been pushing too hard," she said softly. "Your arm's strained again."
Arlan sat on the edge of the cot, unwrapping the cloth around his forearm. "I'm fine."
"You're not," she said firmly, kneeling beside him. "You heal slower now. Whatever that mark is… it's changing you."
He glanced at his palm — the faint glow was still there, dim beneath his skin. "It's nothing."
"Liar." She began applying the salve, her fingers gentle. "You've been different ever since the northern mission. You don't sleep. You barely eat. You stare at walls like you're waiting for something."
He said nothing.
She met his eyes. "Did you kill anyone innocent?"
The question hung in the air.
Arlan looked away. "No one who deserved to die."
"That's not what I asked."
His jaw tightened. "You wouldn't understand."
She stood, anger flaring in her voice. "Then make me understand, Arlan! I'm the only one who's ever cared what happens to you!"
He rose to his feet, voice low but sharp. "I spared someone. A girl. She saw me kill her commander. I let her go."
Liora's eyes widened. "You spared her?"
He nodded. "She was a child."
"You broke orders," she whispered. "If Kael finds out—"
"I'll handle it."
She shook her head, horrified. "You don't understand. They don't forgive defiance here. Mercy isn't a virtue in the Empire, it's treason."
"I know." His voice was quiet, steady. "But if I'm going to live this life again, I won't live it as the same monster."
Liora stared at him for a long time, then said softly, "Then you'd better be ready to pay the price."
The next day dawned gray and cold. The recruits gathered in the lower yard, tension thick in the air. Kael stood on the platform, armor gleaming, voice cutting through the silence.
"Today, you'll face the final test. The rules are simple. Survive."
A murmur ran through the crowd. The gates creaked open, revealing a walled arena beyond. Inside, wooden barriers formed narrow corridors — a labyrinth of combat zones. Arlan's instincts flared immediately. He'd seen this setup before. It wasn't training. It was a cull.
Kael's eyes found his. "Begin."
The horn blew.
Chaos erupted.
Recruits charged into the maze, shouting, clashing steel against steel. Arlan moved silently, staying low, reading every corner, every sound. The scent of fear hung heavy in the air.
He took down his first opponent quickly — a clean disarm, a blow to the temple, non-lethal. But when he stepped over the fallen body, he saw another recruit finish off a wounded comrade without hesitation.
The instructors didn't intervene.
This wasn't a duel. It was slaughter disguised as selection.
Half an hour in, the arena floor was littered with the injured. Only twelve remained. Arlan fought with precision, holding back just enough to avoid killing. But mercy made him slower. It made him hesitate — and hesitation was fatal here.
A blade caught him across the shoulder. He twisted, countered, and drove his sword's hilt into the attacker's chest. The man fell gasping, and Arlan stepped away, blood dripping down his arm.
A horn sounded — the round was over.
Kael walked down from the platform, expression grim. "You fought well," he said. "But you held back."
Arlan met his gaze silently.
Kael gestured to the wounded around them. "These men won't live to see nightfall. You could have ended it quickly. Instead, you let them suffer."
"They're not my enemies," Arlan said quietly.
"They're obstacles," Kael replied coldly. "And obstacles must be removed."
The commander turned, signaling to the guards. "Take him to the holding cell. I'll deal with him after the announcement."
Arlan didn't resist. He knew better than to fight now. Two guards dragged him through the corridors, down into the fortress's lower level. The air there was damp and heavy with the smell of rusted chains.
Hours passed before the door opened again.
Kael entered, flanked by two sentinels. "You disobeyed direct combat orders," he said calmly. "You refused to eliminate your targets."
"I completed the trial," Arlan said. "I survived."
Kael's tone hardened. "You were ordered to kill. You chose mercy. That's weakness."
Arlan looked him in the eye. "No, Commander. That's strength. Anyone can take a life. It takes more to spare one."
Kael's expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened. "The Empire doesn't need philosophers."
He drew his dagger — the same kind used for executions. "It needs loyalty."
Arlan stood his ground. "And what happens when loyalty demands murder?"
Kael stepped closer, pressing the cold blade under his chin. "Then you kill. Or you die."
The silence stretched. Arlan didn't flinch.
Then a low, distorted voice spoke inside his head — Erebus.
"Defy him. Power waits only for the ruthless."
Arlan ignored it. His pulse was steady, eyes fixed on Kael's. "Do it then."
For a moment, Kael hesitated. Then he lowered the dagger and sheathed it. "No. Not yet. I'll have use for you."
He turned to leave. "You'll be transferred to the Shadow Legion. But remember this—" his voice dropped lower, colder, "—mercy has a price. And one day, you'll pay it."
That night, Arlan sat alone in his cell. The mark on his palm burned faintly, a dull reminder of his pact.
Erebus's voice broke the silence again. "You spared a life once, and now they question yours. You cannot walk both paths, Arlan."
He exhaled slowly. "Maybe not. But I'll still try."
"And when the Empire comes for her?"
His blood ran cold. "What?"
"The girl you spared. She carries your shadow now. When they find her, they'll use her against you."
Arlan's hands clenched. He could almost hear Liora's words echoing in his mind — 'Be ready to pay the price.'
He understood now. Mercy wasn't free. It always demanded something in return.
He rose from the bench, eyes hard. "Then I'll pay it on my own terms."
The mark glowed brighter, veins of black creeping up his wrist like ink.
Erebus laughed quietly. "Then let the cost be written in blood."
The next morning, Arlan was released. The other recruits saluted him — some with respect, others with fear. Kael watched silently from the balcony as Arlan stepped into formation with the new Shadow Legion.
In the crowd, Liora caught his eye. Her expression was both proud and terrified.
He gave a faint nod — the only promise he could make.
As the gates opened and the soldiers marched out toward their next campaign, Arlan whispered under his breath, "I've paid the first price. The rest will come soon enough."
Above the fortress, the sky was clear — but the shadow mark on his arm pulsed like a warning.
The cost of mercy had only begun.