Chapter 16 — Vaelric Dorn's Perspective: First Shadows of Humility
The city streets of Portscab had a rhythm of their own, a pulse beneath the noise and chaos that few could truly read. Vaelric Dorn walked as if he owned that rhythm, boots silent, coat flowing lightly behind him, eyes like molten silver catching every detail. He had survived intrigue, manipulation, and the subtle games of nobles who believed birthright equaled supremacy. Yet, today, something—or rather someone—was about to test that belief.
He had noticed the masked figure earlier, moving like water through the market crowd, unseen yet controlling the flow around him. The man—or mercenary, Vaelric reminded himself—carried no title, no display of wealth, no family crest. Only skill. And that skill was unmistakable.
Vaelric approached the alley where he had glimpsed Shadeblade last, anticipation threading through his pride. He intended to assert himself—after all, he was half Dorn, half Veyrin, fully trained, fully confident. But the moment he stepped in, he realized that arrogance alone would not command this encounter.
Shadeblade stood leaning against the wall, pale mask catching a stray shard of sunlight, posture relaxed yet every movement precise. Vaelric's first words were measured, dripping with authority:
"You follow me far too boldly. Tell me, do you consider it wise to shadow a noble through city streets?"
Shadeblade tilted his head slightly, the faintest trace of amusement in the curve of the mask's edge. "I do not follow for boldness. I follow because shadows have a way of teaching lessons missed in light," he said calmly, voice even and measured. "If your steps were careless, lives might have been lost today."
Vaelric's pride bristled. Lives lost? Over what? A market scuffle? A minor threat? He stepped closer, silver eyes narrowing, analyzing every subtle motion of the masked man. He cataloged the stance, the unassuming positioning of hands, the tension in the shoulders that spoke of readiness. A noble should be obeyed. Skill is secondary. Yet this… this man assumes mastery without a word. Arrogant, insolent.
Shadeblade moved then, but not with aggression. A crate, precariously stacked near the alley's edge, threatened to topple onto a street urchin rushing past. Vaelric, ever confident, expected Shadeblade to hesitate, to overthink. Instead, in a motion fluid and precise, the mercenary intercepted the crate mid-fall, nudging it aside with a subtle tilt of the wrist, sending it safely back against the wall. Not a word was spoken, not a muscle wasted. The child scampered away, oblivious to the near disaster.
Vaelric's jaw tightened. Pride and irritation clashed with a reluctant acknowledgment: Effortless. Efficient. Without display. This… cannot be ignored. He had faced assassins, guards, and mercenaries who prided themselves on showy skill—but this silent, controlled mastery was something else entirely.
"Impressive," Vaelric admitted reluctantly, voice carrying the faintest edge of respect amidst the irritation. "Yet you remain hidden, masked. Why hide competence that is clearly… exceptional?"
Shadeblade's voice remained calm, measured. "Competence invites attention, and attention can kill. Shadows protect the capable when pride cannot," he said. Then, after a pause, softer, "Perhaps your pride needs lessons beyond wealth and bloodline."
Vaelric's silver eyes flicked to the mask, cataloging, observing, trying to measure the man's true intentions. A lesson? From someone I have yet to name? From a shadow who challenges perception itself? Pride burned, but something colder—curiosity—crept in, sharp as a blade. This is a man who sees beyond titles, beyond noble arrogance. He understands consequence, action, and restraint. I have much to learn… and I hate it.
Shadeblade leaned slightly forward, just enough to convey control without threat. "Do not mistake visibility for strength. You may command obedience, but I command awareness."
Vaelric's chest tightened. The words stung—not through insult, but through truth. His pride, normally untouchable, flinched under subtle authority. His Veyrin instincts buzzed, telling him this was a lesson—one he could not ignore, not if he wished to maintain his superiority.
The alley fell silent, broken only by distant market noise. Shadeblade's presence filled it like a tide, a quiet dominance Vaelric could not match by force alone. The noble's mind worked, calculating, observing, and—reluctantly—acknowledging. This man is not subordinate. He is a teacher of consequence. And today, I am his pupil, whether I like it or not.
Before Vaelric could respond further, Shadeblade stepped back, retreating into the shadows where the sun did not reach. "Watch carefully, noble Dorn," the masked figure said quietly, "and perhaps you will see that mastery is not in title, but in action and restraint."
Vaelric's silver eyes lingered, following the mercenary until he disappeared into the city's twisting streets. Pride simmered, clashing with reluctant respect. A first lesson, subtle and unannounced, from a shadow who moves where others stumble. Whispers will spread of his skill, and I must not be found wanting.
Even as he left the alley, Vaelric's mind cataloged every motion, every lesson, every subtle hint of mastery. A seed of humility had been planted—small, almost imperceptible, but it would grow. Shadeblade had demonstrated control, precision, and quiet authority, leaving Vaelric's pride both challenged and intrigued.
Portscab's noise returned, but Vaelric walked differently now. The rhythm of the city had shifted under Shadeblade's invisible influence. Whispers of the masked mercenary's skill would travel quickly, and Vaelric knew he had witnessed the origin of a reputation that could rival any noble's. He had also glimpsed his first true lesson in humility—a lesson he could neither dismiss nor ignore.
And somewhere, deep inside the noble half of him, Vaelric Dorn felt a spark of anticipation: The shadow moves in ways I have yet to master. I will watch, I will learn, and when the time comes, I will not falter.