Chapter 4 — Shadows Before the Frost
The mornings bit harder now. Breath curled white in the air. The forest that once blazed gold and crimson now stood in skeletal silence. The world felt slower, but it was only an illusion. I’d learned long ago that this kind of quiet meant something was moving beneath the surface.
From the balcony, I traced the lines of my territory. The forest to the north had thinned, revealing hidden paths only a hunter’s eye would notice. The eastern river was frosting around the edges. The western pass slumbered beneath the mountain’s shadow—still treacherous, still perfect for hiding. And to the south, chimney smoke rose from the village—oblivious to the slow tightening of the imperial noose.
This wasn’t just my home anymore. It was the first fortress in the war no one else could see coming.
We’d spent the morning clearing out old crates in the cellar beneath the manor—dusty shelves, rusted hooks, and storage barrels dragged aside until the stone floor opened into a long, narrow space. Elias had shown up before sunrise, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he helped me move half the cellar onto the stairway landing.
By the time we finished, a thin layer of dust clung to both of us. Now, wooden practice swords lined the wall. On the central table, my maps marked forest routes, supply paths, and secluded hideaways.
Three potential bases for the Shadow Legion were already circled in ink: an abandoned hunter’s lodge in the deep north, a collapsed barn hidden by river fog, and a cavern tucked into the western pass. All invisible to Imperial eyes.
When Elias returned after fetching water, he paused in the doorway—eyes widening at the transformed space. “Looks different when it’s not buried under junk,” he said.
“We did good work,” I said. “And this is only the beginning. The foundation of what comes after starts here.”
He swallowed, then nodded with a seriousness far too old for his age. “Then I won’t slow us down.”
“Ready?” I asked.
The cellar smelled of cold iron and damp stone as Elias struck again and again, each movement sharper but still not sharp enough. I caught his wrist on a turn, twisted—and he hit the floor with a grunt.
“Watch your footing,” I said.
He pushed himself up without complaint. Determination burned in him—tenacious, unyielding. That fire was worth more than talent.
He shook out his arms. “How many hours do we train today?”
“Until your body gives out,” I said.
“So… like yesterday,” he muttered, breathless.
I almost laughed. “Exactly like yesterday.”
For a moment he sat back against one of the old crates, catching his breath. “Ardyn… why me?”
I met his gaze. “Because there’s a fire in you,” I said. “Small, but steady. That kind of fire can outlast storms.”
His eyes widened—not with pride, but with resolve. “Then I’ll prove you’re right.”
“Good,” I said. “Now get up. The runewood manikin won’t break itself.”
His grin flashed sharp as winter light, and he dove back into practice—each blow ringing against enchanted wood like a promise being forged.
By the afternoon, a messenger arrived, shaking frost from his cloak. I listened from the archway as Father met him in the main hall.
“Imperial supply convoy,” the man reported. “Three wagons, two dozen soldiers. They’re setting up a checkpoint on the east trade road.”
Father’s brows drew tight. “The Empire? This far north? The roads are still clear. They shouldn’t deploy an armed convoy before winter.”
“They claim it’s for merchant safety…” the messenger offered, uncertain.
Father exhaled through his nose—a sound between disbelief and calculation. “Safety is always the Empire’s excuse. Checkpoints don’t protect trade routes… they control them.”
He stepped closer. “Did they give orders to local garrisons? Request cooperation from the Valemont watch?”
“No, your Grace. They said the post is ‘temporary.’”
Father scoffed. “The Empire doesn’t build anything temporary. Every soldier they send north serves one purpose: tightening the Crown’s reach.”
Unease flickered across the messenger’s face.
“Send word to the marshals near the west pass,” Father said. “If they hold the east road, they’ll test another crossing soon. Do it quietly.”
The messenger bowed and hurried away.
Father lingered, shoulders squared, jaw set—a man reading a storm he had prayed wouldn’t return.
If even Father can see the shift… then the Empire has begun its opening move.
That evening, I entered Father’s study. The firelight painted the maps and ledgers spread across his desk in soft gold. When I stepped inside, his attention flicked toward me—surprised, but curious.
“You should be resting. Or training,” he said.
“I’ve trained enough for today,” I replied. “I want to understand the lands… and the duchy. Properly.”
He studied me for a long moment, then—rare for him—his stern expression softened. He lifted a hand and gestured for me to come closer to the desk, to stand where he could look at me properly.
“You’ll wear this duchy on your shoulders one day,” he said quietly. “A title is only the fur on a cloak. It may look grand… but swords and titles make men nobles, while gold keeps them that way.”
He flipped open a ledger bound in worn leather. Rows of numbers stretched across the parchment like veins.
“We stand in the middle tier of the five great duchies—not weak, but far from rich. Ferradon rules the Empire’s coffers with gold, silks, spices, and fine crafts. Thornevale fuels half the realm with iron from their endless forges, and their rare dragonsteel—too precious to trade—reaches only us… because of your mother.”
His voice softened. “Your uncle, Duke Draigh, honors blood above politics. Through him, their strength flows north.”
“Larethiel thrives on nature’s bounty—spices, healing herbs, and crystalline conduits infused with elemental resonance.”
“Caelcrest trades in alchemical venoms, rare poisons, and blackwood harvested from their haunted marshes—materials prized by the Crown’s elite agents.”
He tapped the map north of the river. “And we… we are Valemont. The shield of the realm. The silent wall between the Empire and everything that hunts it.”
He continued, “We export enchanted runewood, frostpetal and other hardy herbs, winter-bred livestock, and oil-sands. In return, we import refined iron and worked steel from Thornevale, dragonsteel in rare shipments tied to your mother’s lineage and the honor Thornevale extends to its kin, and the luxuries we cannot produce ourselves—like Cindervale berries for our winter desserts.”
He gave a faint smile. “Those berries are a delicacy even in Thornevale. Your mother adores them… and they’re rare enough that most nobles would trade a pouch of silver for a single crate.”
“From Ferradon we take silks, dyes, and foreign spices. From Larethiel, Weavecloth, healing-crystals, and spiritwater. And from Caelcrest—blackwood, alchemical reagents, and venom-oils used by our apothecaries.”
“And trade overall?” I asked.
His mouth tightened. “We import more than we export. Strength we have—but leverage? Little.”
He rested a hand on the map, tracing the northern mountains with a slow, deliberate motion. “Valemont commands the only northern pass. Our soldiers hold what no other duchy dares touch. When winter closes every southern road, it is our walls that keep the Empire safe from whatever stalks the frostlands.”
He sighed, the sound heavy but honest. “But strength on the battlefield isn’t the same as strength in a ledger. A duchy can hold an army—and still be ignored at the bargaining table.”
His gaze hardened. “The eastern duchies hold the guilds. Ferradon holds the coin. Thornevale holds the forges. We hold the shield… but a shield does not bargain. It protects. And protection earns respect, not power.”
He closed the ledger gently. “Until we produce something the other duchies need—not just admire—we will always be strong… and unheard.”
In my first life, ledgers and trade routes were Seraphine’s domain — tasks I set aside for others while I buried myself in war. I lived for command: shaping soldiers, refining tactics, and carving victory out of blood and steel.
My Father always said the people were a duchy’s spine. Treat them well, and they will hold the line long after armies fall. So I fought for them. Protected them. “I tried to give them a future worth living in, but while I guarded the people, I ignored the coffers and contracts that guarded our power. By the time I understood how coin could tighten the Empire’s leash, His Majesty had already slipped it quietly around my throat.”
This time, I’ll take everything that makes an Empire choke—gold, grain, influence, power and prestige.
When night fell, Elias and I slipped through the frost-coated forest. The glow of distant firelight flickered between the trees.
A dozen soldiers.
Three wagons.
Crates stacked in a perimeter.
“They acted relaxed—laughing, leaning on spears—but their formation wasn’t. Every guard moved with intent. This was the first brick in a wall I had already watched them build once before.”
First a convoy.
Then a checkpoint.
Then a wall.
I knelt behind a fallen trunk, scanning every angle. Beside me, Elias traced guard paths into the dirt with a gloved finger, counting under his breath.
Then the air tightened.
A pulse brushed against my senses—soft, controlled, deliberate. Not wild magic. Not ambient Echo. A will behind it.
I turned toward the deeper forest.
A figure stood between the trunks. Tall. Motionless. Too far to see a face, but close enough that the pressure of their presence coiled around the clearing like smoke.
The Echo pulsed again.
Testing.
Not striking.
Not retreating.
Testing.
The force of it slid across my skin like cold steel, potent enough to be dangerous—but not aimed to harm. It was as if they were measuring me, waiting to see what I would do.
The pulse flickered-then snuffed out like a candle crushed under a thumb.
The figure dissolved into the dark.
Why aren’t you attacking? Why show yourself only to vanish?
Elias whispered, “Ardyn…?”
But I didn’t answer. My eyes stayed fixed on the trees long after the presence disappeared.
Whoever that was—they weren’t a wandering hedge mage. Their Echo carried purpose. Restraint, Precision, and Power that could break a lesser mage’s mind.
Dangerous… yet controlled.
Observing me, not hunting me.
That unsettled me more than any threat could.
We slipped back through the woods, leaving the convoy to its quiet rot. But the pulse didn’t leave with the trees. It stayed with me—settled beneath my ribs, thrumming like a second heartbeat I couldn’t shake.
Someone powerful was watching me and they wanted me to know it.
The following days blurred into discipline and repetition. I pushed Elias hard—stealth, signaling, night movement—shaping his instincts one drill at a time. He learned to read the forest paths, the shifting light, the rhythm of the land. The Shadow Legion was no longer an idea. It was beginning to breathe.
She found me again during training. Seraphine stood at the edge of the training grounds—cloak drawn close, auburn hair catching the cold wind.
“You’re different,” she said. “Everyone can see it.”
“Training changes people,” I said.
“That’s not what I mean. You feel… far away.”
I lowered my wooden blade. “Elias—keep working the runewood manikin.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, wiping his brow before returning to his drills with renewed focus.
When Elias moved out of earshot, she stepped closer.
“Ardyn…” Her voice wavered. “Did I… do something wrong?”
The tremor in her words struck harder than any blade.
“No,” I said quietly. “You didn’t.”
She didn’t look convinced. Her green eyes searched mine, desperate, vulnerable, trying to read a truth I couldn’t give her.
“Then why does it feel like you’re walking somewhere I can’t follow?” she asked. “Like you’re… slipping further away every day.”
I held her gaze but said nothing.
Her breath shivered in the cold. “You used to talk to me,” she whispered. “About everything. Now it’s like you’re wearing armor I can’t see.”
Still, I remained silent.
“I… see,” she murmured after a moment, eyes dropping to the frost-covered ground. “If you won’t tell me, then… well.” She forced a small, brittle smile. “I guess I’ll let you get back to your training.”
She turned, hesitating just long enough for me to notice the disappointment she tried so hard to hide.
I see the hurt in your eyes… but the man you knew died in a cage. The Emperor made sure of that. Love died with him.
I exhaled slowly and made my way back. Elias struck the manikin. I joined him—cutting the cold air, filling the silence she left behind.
Few nights later, frost bloomed along the riverbanks—white and thin as a blade’s edge. I stood at the water’s rim, watching moonlight splinter across the frozen surface, my cloak pulled close against the deepening cold.
Maps. Plans. Training. Secrets stretched thin like threads of spider silk.
And beneath all of it… doubt.
Can I outrun the Empire’s noose twice?
Can I truly unmake the future that once devoured me?
And why does Seraphine’s hurt still reach me, when her betrayal should have drowned every trace of warmth?
The questions struck harder than any blade. They made me feel human when I needed to be unshakable.
I exhaled slowly, watching my breath coil into the night like smoke.
I don’t have the luxury of doubt.
Somewhere beyond the river, His Majesty was moving pieces across a board no one else could see. Every convoy, every checkpoint, every shift in the Empire’s tone was part of a tightening strategy—quiet conquest disguised as order.
And somewhere unseen… the mage.
The one whose Echo brushed against my senses like a cold fingertip. Not hostile. Not kind. Just there—watching, measuring, choosing the distance between us.
Friend or enemy?
Savior… or the next threat I can’t afford?
I had no answer. Only the unsettling certainty that our paths weren’t crossing by accident.
The wind sharpened, slipping over the frozen water with a whisper that chilled more than the cold. Winter settling into its place.
I turned from the river, boots crunching over frost, the night swallowing my silhouette as I walked back toward the manor.
Frost had come.
And with it—the first sign that war was beginning to take shape..