The gates of Shadowspire had closed behind them with a resonant clang, leaving the valley, the hills, and the distant ruins behind. Cael took a step forward, boots echoing on the stone floor, and froze. The enormity of the place pressed down on him.
The courtyard stretched wide, lined with battlements and high towers. Black stone walls absorbed the sunlight, giving the fortress an almost living presence. Soldiers moved in organized paths, some practicing combat drills, others tending to the armory. The air was thick with the tang of metal, smoke from fires, and a faint, musky scent that spoke of hard labor and discipline.
Kaelen led the way, his heavy boots crunching over the cobblestones. Every motion carried authority; every glance seemed to scan the surroundings for threats. Beside him, Lysara moved with effortless grace, eyes flicking over Cael as if cataloging his every movement.
"You'll eat, rest, and change into your gear first," Kaelen said, voice low but carrying over the courtyard noise. "Then we begin. Shadowspire doesn't wait for hesitation."
Cael's eyes roamed. The armory stood to the left—a cavernous building of iron and stone, its doors wide open. The clanging of hammers and the metallic scent of oil and sharpened steel filled the air. Rows of swords, spears, and crossbows gleamed in neat racks. Nearby, training grounds were alive with movement: trainees sparring, practicing maneuvers, running obstacle courses that twisted like labyrinths.
"This place… it's huge," Cael murmured, almost to himself. His voice carried awe, not fear.
"It has to be," Lysara said quietly. Her green eyes caught his. "We deal with monsters far stronger and smarter than humans. Every wall, every tower, every battlement exists for a reason. You'll learn it soon enough."
They guided him to a small dormitory tucked behind the main courtyard. The room was simple: a single cot, a wooden chest for belongings, and a small desk carved from dark oak. The air smelled faintly of herbs and stone. Cael set down his pack and traced the walls with his eyes. Everything here was designed for function over comfort. Nothing wasted. Nothing unnecessary.
Kaelen stood at the door. "Rest briefly. Eat. Then training starts. Today, you learn the basics of surviving Shadowspire itself—navigation, awareness, and the first combat drills."
Lysara handed him a short blade, balanced for practice. "Don't underestimate it," she said. "Even a simple sword can be deadly if used wrong—or if ignored entirely."
Cael grasped it, the cold metal biting slightly against his calloused hands. He felt the weight and balance immediately, adjusting instinctively. His eyes flicked toward the courtyard, taking in trainees moving with precision, the black spires above, and the banners snapping in the wind. He realized how small he was here. How raw and untested.
But somewhere in the pit of his chest, the embers of his hatred glowed. Eldhollow. His mother. The monsters. All of it sharpened his focus. Shadowspire wouldn't be easy—but if he survived, he would emerge stronger than anything that had destroyed him.
He turned back to Kaelen and Lysara, voice steady. "I'm ready."
The woman nodded faintly. "Good. Pay attention. Mistakes here can cost more than pride—they can cost your life."
The scarred man's gray eyes lingered on him for a moment, weighing the boy's resolve. Then he gestured toward the training grounds. "Follow me. First lesson: the fortress itself."
Cael followed, boots echoing on stone, eyes sharp, heart pounding. The world inside Shadowspire was alive, vast, and dangerous. And for the first time, he felt the pulse of something beyond revenge—the pulse of a Hunter, learning the rules of a world that would not forgive weakness.