Time moved strangely in Shadowspire. Days didn't feel like days. They felt like steps—small, grueling strides toward something distant and unforgiving. Cael couldn't remember when he stopped counting them. He just knew he woke, trained, hurt, slept, and then did it all again.
But he was changing.
Slowly. Relentlessly. Like a blade being ground against stone.
The courtyard was already buzzing with movement when Cael stepped out that morning. Mist clung to the stones, curling around boots and ankles. The air was cold enough to bite. Lysa waved him over, her hair tied back into a messy knot, smile tired but genuine.
"You're late," she teased.
Cael snorted. "You're just early."
Brenn shoved between them, carrying three water skins. "Both of you are wrong. I'm just smarter. I filled mine before everyone else."
"You mean you bribed Joren to hold your place," Lysa said.
Brenn's grin gave him away.
Cael felt an old, almost forgotten sensation tug at his chest.
This—bickering, teasing, the warmth of familiarity—
it reminded him of sitting by the river in Elbhollow, listening to Rowan and Tessa argue about frogs while Kairon pretended not to be scared of mud.
He hadn't forgotten what friendship felt like.
He had just been scared to reach for it again.
Before any of them could say more, Instructor Harl's whistle cut through the air like a whip.
"Form lines! Planks, three minutes! We reset every time someone breaks."
Groans echoed across the courtyard. Cael dropped beside Lysa and Brenn, palms pressed to cold stone, muscles tightening immediately under the strain. Harl walked between the rows, metal boots clinking sharply.
Minutes stretched like hours. Cael's arms trembled, his shoulders screamed, sweat dripped into his eyes. He clenched his jaw and steadied his breathing. Pain rolled through him—but he didn't fear it anymore. Not like before.
Pain wasn't the monster that destroyed Elbhollow.
Pain wasn't the thing that tore his mother from his hands.
Pain wasn't the demon that stalked his nightmares.
Pain was just pain.
Lysa collapsed first with a strangled gasp. Brenn cursed quietly. The line groaned as bodies dropped to the ground.
"Reset," Harl said.
They got back up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
By the fifth reset, Cael's arms felt like molten lead. Lysa was shaking badly, Brenn's breath was uneven. Joren looked ready to punch Harl instead of the ground.
But Cael kept pushing.
Not out of reckless pride—
but because he had no intention of staying weak.
The world didn't care about hatred.
It didn't care about grief.
If he wanted revenge, he needed power. Everything else was noise.
After what felt like half a lifetime, the drill ended. They collapsed under a cracked pillar near the courtyard edge, panting, half-drenched in sweat and dust. Lysa nudged Cael's shoulder.
"You held out longer than last week," she said.
Cael shrugged, though a faint smile pulled at his mouth. "So did you."
"Barely," Brenn muttered, dropping onto the ground. "At this point, I'm convinced Harl feeds off our suffering."
Cael leaned back against the pillar. The exhaustion was terrible, but the familiarity… it felt almost grounding. Safe in a strange way. Not like Elbhollow—nothing would ever be like Elbhollow again—but these people weren't strangers anymore. They were becoming something like the friends he once had.
People he could fight beside.
People he might lose.
That thought settled like a quiet ache in his chest.
The bell rang again.
Sparring drills.
Cael squared off with Joren in the training ring. Joren was bigger, heavier, and had a tendency to fight like a boulder rolling downhill—hard, fast, unavoidable. The moment the signal dropped, he charged.
Steel clashed.
Cael stepped, pivoted, redirected—moving cleaner than before. Weeks of repetition carved instinct into his muscles. Joren's strikes hit like battering rams, but Cael no longer met them head on.
Instead, he slipped inside Joren's guard, shoulder striking hard into the boy's chest. Joren staggered. Cael's blade found his throat before balance returned.
Joren exhaled sharply.
"Didn't expect that," he said, lowering his weapon.
His eyes were assessing now, not irritated like in the earlier weeks.
"Good work."
Cael nodded once. "You left your left foot too exposed."
Joren blinked, surprised. Then smirked. "I'll keep that in mind."
As they rotated partners, Cael caught Lysa smiling at him from the opposite ring. Not mockery. Not surprise.
Pride.
Warmth flickered in his chest.
By evening, every trainee was limping or bruised. They gathered in the Hall of Iron for final announcements. The torches burned low, casting shadows like reaching claws across the stone walls.
Master Rowan entered.
Silence fell.
"You have endured Phase One," he said. "Most who come to Shadowspire do not."
No one spoke.
Rowan's gaze swept over them, sharp and heavy. When his eyes met Cael's for a moment, Cael felt something shift—something like expectation.
"In the coming weeks," Rowan continued, "you begin Phase Two. The Path of Teeth."
Unease rippled through the room.
Rowan didn't soften his tone.
"You will face poisons, pain, fear, and the collapse of your limits. You will be broken and reforged. Some of you will rise stronger than you imagined. Some of you will fall before the end."
Cael felt Brenn stiffen beside him.
Lysa's fingers curled against her thigh.
Joren's jaw set in stone.
Cael's breath slowed.
Pain he understood.
Fear he understood.
Loss he understood intimately.
He wasn't walking into the unknown.
He was walking back into something familiar.
Rowan turned away. "Rest. Tomorrow begins the path that will decide who belongs here."
The trainees slowly dispersed, whispering in pairs or small groups.
Cael remained a moment longer, staring at the torches flickering against the iron-lined walls. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from something sharper, something alive.
He had reflected on his hatred while training. It no longer clouded him blindly.
It anchored him.
It focused him.
He didn't want to die.
He didn't want to break.
He wanted to sharpen.
And when he finally struck back at the monsters that took Elbhollow…
he wanted to cut deep.
He turned, walking toward the barracks where Lysa and Brenn waited for him.
Rest now.
The Path of Teeth waited at dawn.