The recruits stood in tight rows, their breath forming thin clouds in the crisp air, their muscles still sore from the last gruelling week of training. Today was the moment they had all been waiting for the division selections. Thomiskee stood at the front, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze steady as he surveyed the young warriors before him. His expression remained unreadable, giving no hint as to what was to come. “The decision is not mine,” he finally said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. “You’ve trained. You’ve fought. And now, you stand before the Five. They will decide which of you is worthy to join their ranks.” His gaze flickered over the recruits, pausing only briefly on Alyc before moving on. “If your name is not called, you will remain with the militia and continue to serve. There is no shame in that. But for those chosen… your path will change.”

  The five commanders stood behind him, their expressions as unreadable as ever. Then, without hesitation, Jesta Valance stepped forward.

  “I will begin,” she announced, her voice smooth and composed. “The Shadecloaks do not take warriors. We take weapons.” Her dark eyes swept across the crowd, pausing for only a moment before she spoke the name that had been whispered among recruits for weeks.

  “Alyc Halcyhon.”

  Murmurs rippled through the assembled recruits. Some were unsurprised. Others barely concealed their shock.

  Alyc stepped forward, her face unreadable, but her heart pounded. This was what she had wanted. What she had fought for.

  Vaelith Serowind of the Moon Guard scoffed. “You think you can control that one?”

  Jesta smirked. “No. I think she can control herself.”

  Ysari Grimholt of the Frostblade Vanguard folded his arms. “Or burn everything in her path.” Jesta’s smirk didn’t fade as she stepped back. One by one, the other commanders made their selections.

  Josepe Mirac was called by Varek Colmere to join the Iceforged Artificers. The wiry recruit grinned, muttering something under his breath that only he seemed to understand as he stepped forward.

  “Artifice and madness,” he said, smirking. “A dangerous pairing.”

  Varek only nodded, as if Josepe’s cryptic nature was something he expected.

  Next, Ysari Grimholt stepped forward, his cold grey eyes scanning the crowd.

  “The Frostblade Vanguard does not take those who hesitate. We take those who strike first.” He motioned toward Sol Dresda. “You will do.” Sol smirked as he stepped forward, casting a glance at Alyc. “Looks like we’re both moving up in the world.”

  Vaelith Serowind took her turn next, her voice calm but authoritative. “The Moon Guard does not break. We do not falter.” Her sharp eyes moved over the gathered recruits before settling on Rebekka Sworn. “You will stand with us.”

  Rebekka exhaled, rolling her shoulders before stepping forward. “I was starting to think no one was going to call my name.” And then, just like that the selections were over. Only twenty recruits had been chosen out of the original two hundred. The rest remained silent, absorbing the weight of what had just happened. Some were relieved, others crushed. Thomiskee finally stepped forward again, scanning the faces of the recruits both chosen and left behind.

  “It is done,” he said. “The rest of you remain in the militia. You will continue to train, continue to serve.

  Selenia still has use for you.”

  The words carried weight, but they did little to soothe the tension lingering in the air. Those left behind stood stiffly, their expressions varying between quiet disappointment and begrudging acceptance. Some had clearly expected to be chosen. Others seemed relieved that they wouldn’t be pushed beyond what they had already endured. Alyc barely noticed them. Her mind was still caught on Jesta’s words, on the knowing smirk she had worn as she called Alyc’s name. She had been chosen.

  “Dismissed,” Thomiskee ordered, his tone final. The recruits scattered, some congratulating each other, others disappearing into the barracks without another word.

  As the newly selected recruits prepared to leave with their respective commanders, Jesta approached Alyc, her movements as fluid and deliberate as always. “Walk with me,” she said.

  Alyc hesitated for only a second before following. The two of them moved through the training grounds, stepping away from the lingering recruits and into the quieter shadows where the torches flickered against the evening sky. Jesta’s stride was steady, measured she was leading Alyc somewhere, but she wasn’t in a rush. “You carry yourself like him,” Jesta said, her tone even. “Durk Halcyhon.” Alyc stiffened, but her expression remained unreadable. “You knew him?” Jesta nodded. “I did. And I respected your father.”

  Alyc’s fingers curled slightly at her sides. “How do you know I’m his daughter?” Jesta glanced at her, eyes sharp with certainty. “I remember seeing you with him during the Trials last year and when I met him a few years ago, he never stopped talking about you.”

  Alyc’s breath hitched. “You met him?” Jesta’s lips twitched slightly. “I travelled to Emberfall with King Selsta a few years back. Durk was a man who knew exactly what he stood for. A warrior, through and through. And a father who would have done anything for his daughter. “Something tightened in Alyc’s chest. She turned her gaze toward the dim horizon. “Then you know what happened to him.” Jesta’s expression darkened. “I know what they say happened.” She stopped walking, turning to face Alyc directly. “But I don’t believe the king’s version of events.”

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  Alyc’s pulse quickened. She kept her face neutral, her voice measured. “What do you mean?”

  Jesta studied her carefully, as if deciding how much to say. Then, finally, she spoke. “I mean, Desmond Alistar is a liar.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “And whatever he’s planning, Emberfall is moving. Selenia isn’t ready.” Alyc clenched her fists, forcing herself to breathe evenly. The words dug into her like a blade, twisting against something raw and unresolved inside her.

  She had suspected as much. But hearing it from Jesta made it feel real. Still, she couldn’t reveal her own intentions. Not yet.

  So instead, she met Jesta’s gaze, her voice steady. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing I chose the Shadecloaks.”

  Jesta gave her a small, knowing smile. “No, Halcyhon.” Her dark eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “The Shadecloaks chose you". Alyc let Jesta’s words settle over her. The Shadecloaks chose you. There was something final in the way she said it, something that made Alyc realize this was not just an invitation. It was a challenge.

  Jesta didn’t speak again as they walked, leading Alyc toward the edge of the training grounds where the torches burned lower, casting long shadows. The hum of the barracks faded behind them, replaced by the quiet rustling of wind over stone. It was only then that Jesta finally stopped, crossing her arms as she studied Alyc.

  “You fought harder than anyone here,” Jesta said. “And I don’t mean on the training field.”

  Alyc didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to.

  Jesta continued, her voice calm but edged with something sharper. “I’ve seen recruits push themselves beyond their limits. Some break. Some become something else.” She tilted her head slightly. “You didn’t break, did you?” Alyc met her gaze, unflinching. “No.”

  Jesta smirked, just slightly. “Good.”

  The moment stretched between them, the weight of it settling deep in Alyc’s bones. She could feel it this was no ordinary assignment. The Shadecloaks weren’t just another division. And Jesta Valance wasn’t just another commander. She was testing Alyc, measuring her, deciding just how far she was willing to go.

  Alyc exhaled, her fingers flexing at her sides. “When do we start?”

  Jesta’s smirk deepened. “At dawn.” With that, she turned and walked away, her steps disappearing into the night.

  Alyc remained where she stood for a long moment, the cold wind tugging at her cloak. Her mind spun, replaying the last few weeks the tests, the mission, the fights, the whispers of Malice Alyc following her every step. She had wanted this. Fought for it. But now that she stood at the threshold of something bigger, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking into something far more dangerous than she had anticipated. Emberfall was moving. Selenia wasn’t ready. And Alyc Halcyhon had just been handed a blade she wasn’t sure she could control. She clenched her fists and turned toward the barracks. Alyc entered the barracks, the door creaking softly as she slipped inside. The room was dimly lit, the flickering embers in the fireplace casting long shadows across the wooden walls. The quiet was thick, broken only by the steady rhythm of slow, deep breathing. Everyone was asleep. She exhaled through her nose, the tension in her body refusing to ease even as she made her way to her bunk. The air inside was warmer than the outside chill, but Alyc still felt cold. The weight of Jesta’s words, of everything that had happened today, pressed against her ribs.

  She sat on the edge of her bunk, unlacing her boots with slow, deliberate movements. Her hands trembled slightly, though she told herself it was only exhaustion. She had pushed herself beyond her limits for weeks, clawing her way to this moment, and now she had won. She had been chosen. So why didn’t it feel like victory? She laid back, staring at the ceiling, her mismatched eyes tracing the wooden beams above. Sleep didn’t come easily. It never did. But eventually, the exhaustion in her bones dragged her under.

  The feast stretched before her again the same table, the same faces. Firelight flickered, casting warm glows against the wooden walls. Laughter echoed, the sound of goblets clinking filling the space. Alyc sat at the head of the table. Durk sat across from her. The competitors surrounded them, just as before Brook, Magra, Sace, Bregund. Their voices filled the air, their faces full of life.

  But it wasn’t real. Alyc knew that now. The warmth felt hollow, the laughter tinged with something sickly and wrong. The food smelled rich and inviting, but she knew if she reached for it, it would turn to ash on her tongue. She didn’t move. Then, one by one, the competitors turned toward her. Their smiles faded. Their eyes darkened. Brook leaned forward, his voice a whisper. “You have to be stronger.” Magra tilted her head. “Use it, Alyc. Use your anger.”

  Sace’s eyes hollowed. “They took everything from you.”

  Bregund’s voice was a quiet rasp. “Make them suffer.”

  Alyc’s breath hitched. Her hands clenched into fists against the table, her nails digging into the wood. The air in the room felt heavier, thicker, like something unseen was pressing against her chest. Then she felt it cold steel in her palm. Firefang. She didn’t remember drawing it. The competitors rose from their seats, their faces void of warmth. They stepped closer. “Do it,” Magra whispered. “Don’t hesitate,” Bregund urged. “Strike,” Brook said. She moved before she could think.

  The blade cut through them like shadow, like mist.

  One by one, they fell, their bodies vanishing before they could hit the ground. Their voices didn’t scream. They didn’t resist. They only whispered.

  Stronger.

  Faster.

  More.

  The last one collapsed, and she turned. Durk sat across from her, untouched.

  His gaze held her in place, steady and knowing. His face remained unreadable, but there was no judgment in his eyes. Only inevitability. Alyc’s breath shuddered as she lifted Firefang, her grip iron-tight around the hilt. Her heart pounded against her ribs. The room felt smaller, the fire dimming, the edges of the dream pressing in. Durk didn’t move. He only watched her. She raised the blade, exhaling sharply. Then his voice cut through the silence.

  "It's your choice, Alyc." Her breath caught. The world tilted. And then she woke. Alyc bolted upright, her body rigid, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Sweat clung to her skin, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst. The barracks were still dark, still silent. Her fingers flexed instinctively, reaching for Firefang at her side. It was warm in her grip.

  She swallowed hard, forcing herself to release it. Her pulse still pounded in her ears, her father’s voice echoing in her skull.

  It’s your choice. Alyc stared at the ceiling, her breath slowly evening out. Morning would come soon. And with it, her first day as a Shadecloak.