Chapter 22 — Shadows and Lessons
(Kaelen / "Shadeblade" POV)
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The morning mist clung to Portscab like a wet cloak. The cobblestones glimmered faintly in the weak sunlight, damp underfoot. My muscles screamed from the past days — bruised ribs, blistered hands, aching shoulders — but pain was strangely comforting. It meant I was alive. It meant I had survived. And somehow, that made me feel… ridiculous.
I adjusted my mask. Boney white, crack running from my left eye to cheek. Shadeblade. Terrifying, yes. Mysterious, yes. And slightly ridiculous-looking when my hair stuck out at weird angles beneath it. I caught myself smirking — though no one could see it.
Selia crouched on a rooftop, legs dangling, smirked, and shouted down: "Try not to trip over your own ego, Shadeblade. Or I'll take a selfie of it."
Bran laughed so hard his gauntlets rattled. "Ego? The skeleton's lucky he has a mask hiding that face! Keep it on, Shadeblade, for your own dignity's sake."
I growled under the mask. Humor always came at my expense. But it was better than panic.
Mira's amber eyes swept across the street, calculating. "Observe, adapt, survive," she said flatly, voice calm as ever. "And try not to die with style. Nobody here appreciates style points if you're a corpse."
Korran Veyle, calm and lethal, walked beside me, curved black steel in hand. Tier‑3 late, brushing early Tier‑4. "You're improving," he said quietly. "But remember: force is loud. Precision is silent. And if you keep grunting like a dying goat, people will notice before your swing even lands."
Beside him, Lysara smirked. "Yeah, skeleton. Work on your dramatic sounds. Less dying goat, more terrifying predator. Try it, I dare you."
I exhaled. Aura hummed along my arms and core. Volrag's lessons echoed: stance, grip, balance, footwork, angles, patience. Nothing flashy. Just fundamentals. Tier‑2 Disciplined. Stronger than yesterday. Faster, sharper, but still learning. And apparently, also the cast member of a comedic roast session.
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The warehouse loomed ahead. Shadows pooled in corners, and my stomach tightened. My first real multi-layered mission with the full crew, Tier‑3 allies all around, and me trying to not trip over my own feet.
Selia leapt down from the roof with a grin. "Skeleton, pick a corner and try not to embarrass yourself too much. Bonus points if you survive."
Bran cracked his knuckles. "I like silent. Makes smashing easier. You? Just try not to faint in the middle, Shadeblade."
I gritted my teeth. One misstep, and I'd get sliced, smashed, or roasted. Literally.
A shadow moved across the roof. Selia whispered, "Incoming. Don't panic… try not to scream like a little girl, okay?"
Panic surged. I gripped my sword, aura reinforcing every muscle. Step, pivot, strike. A bandit lunged — I connected. Surprise flickered in his eyes. I was alive. And so far, screaming like a little girl had been optional.
Bran barreled through another pair of attackers, sending one crashing into a pile of crates. Lysara darted like a shadow, knives flashing, taking down enemies before they even realized I existed. Korran intercepted with precision, effortlessly dismantling threats with a calm that made me want to throw my own sword and run.
Selia laughed from above: "Nice! Didn't die! That counts as a win!"
I wiped sweat from beneath the mask, tasting copper. "Yeah, yeah," I muttered, "let's see how many more lectures I survive."
Lysara grinned. "Lectures? I thought you liked school, skeleton. Welcome to advanced survival class!"
Korran gave a small smirk. "You're learning rhythm. Fundamentals are solid. But remember: your mask doesn't hide mistakes forever… and neither do your dramatic grunts."
I shook my head beneath the mask. Humor, panic, thrill, stress, exhaustion — all mingled, sharpening me like a whetstone.
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The fight ended as abruptly as it began. Bandits fled. The warehouse was ours. I leaned on my sword, chest heaving, muscles trembling. Pain, fear, thrill, humor, pride — all coursing together.
Selia landed beside me, brushing dust off her cloak. "Points for surviving. Barely."
Bran grinned. "Alive counts. And you didn't scream too much."
Mira's amber gaze remained calculating. "Observe, adapt, survive. That's lesson one. Remember it."
I swallowed, tasting blood, sweat, and laughter mingling in my mouth. Tier‑2 Disciplined Kaelen. Still below Tier‑3s, still struggling, still learning. But alive. Sharpening. Beginning to forge a sword style all my own.
Shadeblade was no longer just a name. It was a persona, a spark, and a work in progress, surviving and laughing through the chaos with a team that constantly reminded me I was both terrible and terrifying.