We walked in silence to the old training chamber, boots echoing off the stone. The walls rose around us, cracked and blackened from a hundred duels, their scars etched deep by blades and blood. No banners hung here. No names adorned the stone—just cold, unyielding rock and the faint echoes of those who''d come before us, their ghosts lingering in the stillness.


    This was where Arcainius had earned his place, his legend forged in sweat and steel. Where leaders were shaped, recruits hardened. Where the Shadow Hand had been sharpened, year after year, into a blade that cut through the dark.


    The air was heavier here, thick with memory—each gouge in the stone a story of members broken down and reforged into the perfect tool for the Hand. I could almost hear the clash of steel, the grunts of effort, the sharp commands that had once filled this space.


    I stepped into the circle, the worn ring at the chamber''s heart. This was where it would be decided—where the Shadow Hand''s future would hang. I unsheathed my blades slowly, Celerius and Mors whispering free like an old promise renewed, their edges catching the dim torchlight. Across from me, Kaelen stood still as a statue, daggers loose in his hands, dark eyes locked on mine—calculating, waiting, a predator sizing up its prey.


    They called him the Viper—for his lightning speed and surgical precision. No wasted movement. No hesitation. He struck where it mattered, and when he did, it was over—clean, final, like a breath snuffed out. I''d seen him drop foes before they even knew he''d moved, a shadow with a blade''s edge.


    I fought like my life depended on it. Because nine times out of ten, it did—years of instinct honed in alleys and battlefields. But this wasn''t the old me, lashing out in desperation, fury unchecked. I had control to the storm now, a leash on the lightning in my veins. And I was going to prove it—here, against the best.


    Torglel was right about one thing—I was stronger than before, forged anew in the forest''s crucible. But against the best assassin the Shadow Hand had ever known... even that might not be enough. Doubt flickered, but I crushed it down, grip tightening on my swords.


    I moved in a blink—lightning-quick, closing the distance between us, the air crackling faintly around me.


    Kaelen reacted instantly, like a coiled snake unleashed. He leaped into the air with a twisting flip—graceful, lethal—daggers flashing downward in a deadly arc, steel glinting like fangs. I caught the strike on my crossed blades, steel shrieking against steel as I held my ground, the force jarring up my arms, rattling my teeth.


    But the Viper wasn''t done. He twisted as he landed, boots barely kissing the stone before driving a dagger straight toward my ribs with ruthless precision—fast, aimed to pierce clean through. I sidestepped at the last second, feeling the wind of his strike graze my side, a cold whisper of death. I swung in retaliation, blades cutting the air in sharp arcs.


    I didn''t swing to kill—I swung to break his rhythm, to throw off that relentless flow.


    He blocked the first blade with a flick of his dagger, ducked beneath the second with a bend so smooth it was almost inhuman. Then he rolled to my blind side—fast, a blur of shadow—striking again, dagger aimed for my kidney. I turned, catching the blow on the flat of my sword just in time, metal clanging sharp in the silence.


    We broke apart in an instant, circling like wolves. Breathing steady. Watching—eyes locked, searching for the next move.


    I darted back two paces, boots scuffing the stone, then blurred forward with a flash step—my body flickering through the air, vanishing and reappearing in less than a breath, lightning sparking at my heels. I shot past Kaelen, blades outstretched, a streak of black and white steel.


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    For a heartbeat, time froze—dust hanging in the air, torches flickering like distant stars. Then, a single bead of blood welled on Kaelen''s cheek, slow as a falling tear. First blood—mine.


    Kaelen turned to me and gave a single, approving nod, wiping the cut with a thumb. "You''re much stronger than the boy I met ten years ago," he said, voice low but firm, carrying a rare warmth. "You are fit to lead the Shadow Hand. All I ask is that you allow me to continue serving as your right hand."


    I sheathed my blades, feeling the weight of his words settle on me—honor, trust, a mantle I hadn''t sought but couldn''t refuse. "Of course. You''re still one of the best assassins this side of Sainaro." A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Kaelen''s mouth, there and gone like a shadow, his scar twitching faintly.


    "Let''s head back to the office," I said, turning toward the tunnel. "We''ve got work to do."


    As we made our way back through the tunnels, the others greeted me with congratulations, their voices bouncing off the stone. Torglel slapped me on the back hard enough to rattle my teeth, his laugh booming. "Knew you''d show him, brother!" Alythiel smiled warmly, her hand lingering briefly on my arm—a quiet, steady reassurance. Laboritus gave me a small nod of approval—the kind he rarely gave, his stern face softening just enough to notice.


    When we stepped into Arcainius''s old office, Kaelen paused, glancing over his shoulder before shutting the door behind us with a dull thud. I caught the sigh he let out as he turned back to face me—soft, weary, a crack in his iron facade.


    "Solari," he said, his tone heavy, carrying the weight of memory. "Do you know what happened here?"


    My jaw tightened, the answer burning in my throat like bile. "Telegarani betrayed us," I said flatly. "Ran Arcainius through when his back was turned." The words tasted bitter—betrayal always did.


    Kaelen''s expression darkened, his scar pulling taut. "That cowardly—" he spat a halfling curse so sharp it could''ve cut steel, venom dripping from every syllable. "I told Arcainius that snake couldn''t be trusted."


    I didn''t answer, staring at the desk where Arcainius once sat—some warnings come too late, and the cost stains everything.


    Kaelen ran a hand over his face, fingers lingering briefly over his scar before lowering again, composure regained. "How many of us are left?" I asked, though I already dreaded the answer, the emptiness of the tunnels pressing in.


    "Including you two?" Kaelen''s voice dropped lower, rough with loss. "Eight." His eyes held a sadness I hadn''t seen in him before—deep, unguarded. "Everyone else was here when the attack happened."


    Only eight. From an army of shadows, we were now a flicker of flame in a storm.


    I exhaled slowly, the number sinking in like a stone—eight out of dozens, a remnant of what we''d been. "Who are the other five?"


    "Corven Talos," he said first, ticking them off on his fingers. "Varra Sorn. Mavik Grell. Drennar Thorn. And Nysera Veyne."


    Torglel let out a low snort, shaking his head, beard swaying. "Drennar," he muttered. "That shifty little gnome. Never trusted him."


    Kaelen arched a brow but didn''t argue, a flicker of amusement breaking through his grimness.


    Laboritus stepped forward, his expression softer than usual, a rare warmth in his deep voice. "I''m relieved to hear my sister is alive."


    Kaelen''s eyes flickered with surprise, narrowing slightly. "Your sister is Varra?" Laboritus nodded once, firm and proud. Kaelen gave an approving nod, reassessing. "Then you''ll make a fine addition to the Hand as a Whisper."


    I leaned forward over the table, hands bracing against the worn wood, the grain rough under my palms. "Do we know where they are?"


    Kaelen''s gaze sharpened, all business again. "I do." He gestured to the map pinned to the wall behind him—creased, faded, but still marked with Arcainius''s precise notes. "Varra went home to see her family." He tapped Thoringard. "Mavik and Drennar are in Thoringard." His finger slid to Soreanth. "Nysera traveled to Soreanth to help them rebuild after the attack." He tapped a spot near the Adrestia Forest, south of the city. "And Corven is investigating a cultist lair just south of there." He straightened. "These five will be the first step in rebuilding the Shadow Hand."


    I glanced at each of them in turn—Laboritus steady, Torglel eager, Alythiel resolute, Kaelen unyielding.


    "Laboritus—go home. Find Varra and bring her back here."


    He nodded once, silent but focused, already planning the trek in his mind.


    "Torglel," I said, meeting his grin, "get to Thoringard. Find Drennar and Mavik. Even if you have to knock them out and drag them back."


    Torglel chuckled, his grin sharp as his hammer''s edge. "Wouldn''t be the first time."


    I turned to Kaelen, his scar catching the light. "You go after Nysera. You two worked closely. She''ll follow you back."


    Kaelen gave a slight nod, his voice firm. "She will."


    I looked to Alythiel. Her gaze met mine without hesitation—clear, unwavering. "That leaves us," I said. "We''ll find Corven."


    A quiet moment passed between us all, the air thick with resolve. This was it—the spark of renewal. Just like the recruits who''d come before us, this organization was broken down—and now, it was on its way to being reforged. Stronger. Sharper. Ready.


    I rested my hand on the map, fingers brushing the worn parchment, the weight of it grounding me. "We head out at first light."