The warehouse raids went better than anyone had dared hope.
Three teams, three targets, simultaneous strikes. Kaelen led the assault on the northern warehouse with Lia and five Shadow Hunters. They breached at dawn, overwhelmed the minimal guard force, and spent the next hour cataloging and destroying everything Marcus had stored there.
Corrupted weapons. Ritual components. Maps marking potential corruption sites across three kingdoms. And—most valuable—detailed ledgers documenting Cult operations, resource movements, and coded messages that would take weeks to fully decrypt but promised actionable intelligence.
The other two teams reported similar success. By midday, Marcus's supply infrastructure in Eredor was crippled. Not destroyed—he had resources elsewhere—but significantly damaged.
"Clean operation," Selene assessed during the debriefing. "No casualties, maximum intelligence gathered, supply lines disrupted. This is what victory looks like."
But the celebration was short-lived.
The message arrived that evening, delivered not by bird or courier, but by magic—a shadow-woven construct that materialized in the center of the warehouse common room, startling everyone present.
It took the form of Marcus Blackwood himself, life-sized and perfect in every detail, though clearly just an illusion. The shadow-Marcus smiled, and when it spoke, the voice was exactly as Kaelen remembered from their brief encounters.
"Greetings, Shadow Hunters. I trust you're enjoying your recent victories."
Selene's hand moved immediately to her weapon, but the construct wasn't alive—just a pre-recorded message given form. Attacking it would accomplish nothing.
"By now you've raided my warehouses, captured my supplies, convinced yourselves that you're winning." Marcus's smile widened. "How delightful. I love it when my enemies become predictable."
Kaelen felt ice forming in his stomach.
"Those warehouses?" the construct continued. "I wanted you to find them. The supplies? Deliberately positioned. The intelligence you think you've captured? Carefully curated information designed to waste your time chasing false leads while I complete my actual work."
"He's bluffing," one of the Shadow Hunters muttered. "Has to be."
But Kaelen didn't think so. Marcus's expression was too confident, too genuinely amused.
"I've been gone for three weeks," the shadow-Marcus said. "Three weeks sailing to the Shattered Coast, performing the rituals, claiming Hearteater. And during that time, you've been very busy, very successful, very convinced that you're actually threatening my plans." He paused for effect. "You're not. You've been playing a game whose rules I wrote, fighting battles I allowed you to win, all while I prepared the pieces for endgame."
The construct began to pace, exactly as the real Marcus might. "Let me tell you what happens next. I return to Eredor in seven days. I bring with me Soulrender's sister blade, Hearteater. I bring forces you haven't seen, rituals you don't understand, power you can't comprehend. And I bring an ultimatum."
Silence filled the warehouse. Everyone was frozen, watching the shadow construct deliver its prepared message.
"Kaelen Voss," Marcus said, and the construct turned to look directly at him—somehow knowing where he stood. "You've been impressive. Taking a Forbidden Blade and actually controlling it, developing new techniques, even forming that curious resonance bond with Lia Thorne. I'm genuinely impressed. You have potential."
The construct moved closer to Kaelen, stopping just beyond arm's reach.
"So here's my offer, and I suggest you consider it carefully. Join me. Bring Soulrender willingly into my service. Together, with three Forbidden Blades and the knowledge I've accumulated over three decades, we could reshape this world into something better. No more corrupt kingdoms suppressing magical truth. No more innocents dying because the powerful fear shadow magic. Just... balance. True balance, as the Shadow Lord intended."
"And if I refuse?" Kaelen asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Then I destroy everything you've built here," Marcus replied simply. "Every Shadow Hunter, every safe house, every person you've promised to protect. I have Hearteater now—a blade whose power makes Soulrender look like a training sword. I have forces sufficient to level this entire district. And I have thirty years of patience that's finally running out."
The construct's expression shifted to something almost regretful. "I don't want to kill you, Kaelen. You remind me of myself at your age—idealistic, brave, convinced that determination can overcome any obstacle. But if you force my hand, I will remove you and everyone around you without hesitation. Your choice."
"Seven days," the construct continued, addressing the room at large now. "Seven days to decide whether you stand with me or against me. Use them wisely. Consider carefully whether your principles are worth the lives they'll cost."
The shadow-Marcus began to fade, but before it vanished entirely: "Oh, and Kaelen? Regarding your new relationship with Ms. Thorne—my congratulations. Love is beautiful. It would be such a shame if she became a casualty of your stubbornness. Think about that when you're making your choice."
The construct dissolved into wisps of shadow, leaving behind only silence and the scent of ozone.
For a long moment, nobody moved. Then chaos erupted—everyone talking at once, weapons being checked, defensive positions being fortified as if Marcus might attack immediately.
Selene's voice cut through the noise: "Quiet!" When she had everyone's attention: "Strategic assessment. Assume Marcus is telling the truth about his timeline and capabilities. What are our options?"
"Evacuation," Ronan said immediately. "Get civilians out of Eredor, fall back to secondary positions, scatter the network so he can't destroy us all at once."
"He'll hunt us down piecemeal," another Hunter argued. "We're stronger together."
"We're also vulnerable together," a third countered.
The debate continued, but Kaelen barely heard it. His mind was racing, replaying Marcus's words, analyzing implications. Seven days. Hearteater. An ultimatum. A threat against Lia.
*Join me, or watch everything burn.*
He felt Lia's hand slip into his, grounding him. "Whatever you're thinking," she said quietly, "don't do it alone. We decide together."
"He threatened you."
"He threatened everyone. That's what tyrants do." Her grip tightened. "But we don't negotiate with them. We find another way."
"What if there isn't another way?"
"Then we make one." Lia pulled him aside, away from the strategic debate. "Kaelen, listen to me. Marcus is trying to isolate you, make you think you're the only one who can make this choice. But you're not alone. We're all in this together."
"He has two Forbidden Blades," Kaelen said. "Two. Even if I use Soulrender at full power, even if I risk everything, I'm not sure I can match that."
"Then we don't fight him one-on-one. We fight smart, as a team, using every advantage we have." Lia's expression was fierce. "You taught me something these past weeks—that impossible odds just mean we have to be more creative. So let's be creative."
Kaelen looked at her—brilliant, brave, stubborn Lia—and felt some of the panic ease. She was right. Marcus wanted him to feel isolated, desperate, willing to make rash decisions. But that was exactly the trap.
"You're right," he said. "I'm not facing this alone."
"Damn right you're not."
They returned to the strategic discussion, which had evolved from panic to actual planning. Selene had a map spread out, marking defensive positions, evacuation routes, supply caches.
"Seven days isn't much time," she was saying, "but it's enough. We fortify our strongest positions, evacuate non-essential personnel, bring in every favor the network has accumulated. When Marcus arrives, we're ready."
"Ready for what, exactly?" Kaelen asked. "He has Hearteater. What's our counter to that?"
"You," Selene said simply. "You and Lia, with your resonance technique. It's the only thing we have that Marcus hasn't seen, hasn't planned for. It's our surprise."
"That's a thin advantage to bet everything on."
"All our advantages are thin," Selene replied. "That's what happens when you fight someone with superior resources and planning time. You use what you have and hope it's enough."
"And if it's not?" someone asked.
"Then we lose, the Shadow Lord returns, and civilization ends." Selene's tone was matter-of-fact. "So we'd better make sure it's enough."
The meeting continued late into the night, everyone contributing ideas, refining strategies, preparing for the confrontation that would determine everything. By the time it broke up, the sun was rising on the first of their seven days.
Kaelen found himself on the roof again—his thinking place, his refuge. But this time, the view of Eredor felt different. Every building, every light, every person going about their morning represented something Marcus was willing to destroy if Kaelen didn't surrender.
*A terrible burden,* Soulrender observed. *To hold so many lives in your decision.*
"He's forcing my hand," Kaelen said. "Making me choose between my principles and everyone's safety."
*Yes. It is a classic tactic. Tyrants love such choices—make the hero choose between winning and staying good, then blame them for whatever happens.*
"So what do I do?"
*What you have always done. Refuse to play his game. Find the third option he doesn't expect.*
Footsteps announced Lia's arrival. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, her warmth chasing away the morning chill.
"Seven days," she said.
"Seven days," Kaelen agreed.
"We'll figure it out."
"Will we?"
"We have to." She rested her chin on his shoulder. "Because the alternative is unacceptable."
They stood like that as the sun rose fully, watching Eredor wake to another day, unaware of the countdown hanging over them. Somewhere out there, Marcus sailed toward them with two Forbidden Blades and absolute conviction in his cause.
Seven days until everything changed.
Seven days to find a miracle.
Seven days to save the world, or watch it burn.
*The storm comes,* Soulrender said. *Let us hope you are ready.*
Kaelen tightened his arms around Lia, drawing strength from her presence.
"We'll be ready," he said, to her, to the sword, to himself. "We have to be."
Because failure wasn't an option.
Not anymore.
Not when everything he'd come to love was at stake.
The countdown had begun.
And one way or another, in seven days, it would all be over.