Chronicles of The God Slayer of Shadows-Chapter 47 - Forty Seven

Word spread faster than wildfire.

By the time Adrien returned to the Ironbrand Guild, the courtyard buzzed with murmurs—some curious, others skeptical, a few laced with fear.

"Did you hear? He beat Lorthan. Cut through his stance like butter."

"They say shadows moved like hounds around his feet..."

"Who is he?"

Inside the guildhall, Adrien dropped his travel cloak over a chair. Damien was already there, grinning like a man who'd just won a fortune.

"Now that was a show," he said, handing Adrien a mug. "You made that silver-haired twig cry in front of the whole city."

Adrien took the drink with a half-smile. "He started it."

Fenrik leaned in from the corner, arms crossed. "He also had royal backing. His father's part of the Council of Veils. Don't expect flowers at your door, boy."

"I was hoping for a fruit basket at least," Adrien muttered, sipping.

Galvir snorted. "You'll get assassins first."

As the banter died down, the atmosphere shifted. High-ranking members of Ironbrand began to arrive, quietly observing Adrien from across the hall. Whispers rode the walls like ghosts.

One of them, a tall elven woman with short black hair and a crimson tattoo across her neck, stepped forward. Her cloak bore the silver trim of a guild commander.

"You've made an impression," she said coolly. "But don't mistake a single victory for reputation."

Adrien stood, tone measured. "Wasn't trying to impress. I was trying to win."

A flicker of amusement danced in her eyes. "Good. That might keep you alive."

She turned and left without another word. Others followed, casting him wary looks—some appraising, some like knives.

Later that night, on a rooftop overlooking Dawnfire, Adrien sat with Damien and Nyxaris, the wolf-cub curled like a shadow at his side.

"Didn't think this many eyes would turn so quickly," Damien said.

Adrien looked out at the city lights. "I don't mind eyes. I mind blades."

"Same thing in this city," Damien muttered.

Adrien didn't respond immediately. His hand rested on Nyxaris's head. "Let them come. I'm not here to be liked. Just to finish what I started."

Perfect. Here's the next Chapter, focusing on the shadows gathering behind the tournament—schemes, rivals, and silent watchers preparing for Adrien's rise or fall.

While Dawnfire's streets rang with celebration, the tournament grounds were not the only place where games were being played.

In a secluded hall built into the roots of a twisted eldertree—older than most remembered—sat a gathering cloaked in silence and candlelight. Robes of green and gold, faces half-shrouded, whispered in low tones. At the center of the stone table, a crystal orb pulsed faintly with shadow.

"He is here," said one. A fae with golden antlers, drumming her fingers on the table. "The power of Ardonis moves through him. Subtle, but undeniable."

"And yet he's not ready," murmured another. "Reckless. Untamed. He could bring ruin."

"He could bring justice," said the fae, more firmly this time. "Ardonis entrusted us with that legacy."

A third speaker leaned into the light, an old dwarf with cracked war paint. "And what of the Order of Light? They'll have sniffed him out by now."

"They have," came a voice from the doorway.

All turned. A new figure entered—hooded, eyes gleaming silver beneath the shade. "The Order stirs. Their high seer has sent a hunter to observe the boy. Perhaps more."

"And what of us?" the fae asked.

"We move first."

The silver-eyed one snapped their fingers. From the shadowed corner of the chamber stepped a young fae—tall, lean, eyes like cut emeralds, with a sword at his back and mischief in his step.

"Aerius," said the elder dwarf. "You'll deliver the invitation."

The fae bowed with a flourish. "To nurture or to test?"

"Both," the antlered woman said. "He walks Ardonis's path, but his heart must choose it freely."

Aerius grinned. "Then I'll give him a nudge."

—

Meanwhile, across the continent, inside the grand cathedral of the Order of Light, another meeting was underway.

A man robed in pearl-white silk paced before a divine brazier. He stopped only when the flame turned violet.

"Ardonis's shadow returns," the seer said softly. "The child carries the mark... and if left unchecked, he may awaken what even gods fear."

A priest behind him clenched his staff. "Then we must act."

The seer nodded. "Yes. But subtly. Dispatch the Flamewrought Messenger. Let him see what the boy is becoming... and if he dares defy the will of the Light."