Paragon of Destruction

Arran arrived at the House of Shadows just after dawn, a good half hour before his training was supposed to start.

He had awoken two hours earlier, intent on not being late on his first visit to another House. While being late on his first day in the House of Flames had caused him no problems, he had no wish to further test his luck.

The road from the House of Swords had been easy to follow — straight north to the capital, then further north to the House of Shadows. There were plenty of people on the road despite the early hour, many of them traveling to and from the capital.

This time, Arran did not stand out as much as before. It seemed that unlike the House of Flames, the House of Shadows had no specific dress code. Most of the people he saw near the House of Shadows wore subdued colors, but other than that, nothing about their appearance announced their House.

At the gate, he found a long but orderly line, where mages patiently waited to be let into the walled stronghold. Though the line held many people, it moved quickly, and it wasn't long before it was Arran's turn to enter the stronghold.

"Your name, House, and badge, please," one of the guards at the gate said as Arran approached. Pale and slender with dark hair that held more than a few spots of gray, the man more resembled a clerk than a guard.

"Ghostblade, of the House of Swords," Arran replied, handing the man the badge Brightblade had given him.

The guard briefly examined the badge, then gave Arran a friendly smile as he handed it back. "We were expecting you." He motioned at one of the other guards, who stepped forward at once. "Leandros here will see you to your teacher."

"Very well," Arran said, though he could not help but frown in wonder. He was supposed to be a lowly initiate come to train — certainly not someone worthy of being given an escort.

As he followed the guard into the stronghold, he was immediately surprised at what he saw. Where the House of Flames held a city, it seemed that the House of Shadows actually was a city. There was no sign of training fields or halls, just long stone-paved streets lined with houses and numerous small parks and gardens.

"It's your first time here, correct?" the guard named Leandros said, a friendly smile on his face as he spoke to Arran.

"It is," Arran confirmed. He looked around, then asked, "Where are the training grounds?"

"We don't have those, exactly," Leandros replied. "There are some halls and fields at the far end of the stronghold, but we do most of our training in small groups, at our own quarters. You'll find that studying Shadow magic is best done with quiet surroundings."

They traversed the city's streets at a calm but steady pace, and as they made their way, Arran could not resist the temptation to inspect his surroundings with his Shadowsight.

What he found didn't exactly shock him, but it still left him surprised. Among the people walking the streets, he could detect more than a few Shadowcloaked figures, deftly maneuvering through the masses.

"Is it normal for there to be this many Shadowcloaked people on the streets?" he asked.

Leandros's gave him a curious look. "You've already mastered the Shadowgaze technique?"

"I call it Shadowsight," Arran replied. "I don't know if it's the same thing."

After several minutes of comparing their techniques, Arran found that his Shadowsight was indeed what the House of Shadows called Shadowgaze. There were some minor differences, but other than those, the two techniques were the same.

"I'm impressed," Leandros said. "Not many initiates have enough Shadow Essence to use that technique. But to get back to your question, it's quite common for our mages to practice Shadowcloaks and other spells in the city — assuming they don't cause trouble, of course."

It took Leandros a quarter-hour to lead Arran to his destination, during which he chatted amicably about the House of Shadows and the city. And as Leandros spoke, Arran looked at his surroundings, finding himself more than a little impressed.

The city was pleasant, beautiful even. It lacked the dense masses of the capital and the utilitarian appearance of the House of Swords, instead resembling a wealthy village with luxurious houses, green gardens, and many small shops. Except, of course, that it was the size of a city, and not a particularly small one.

They eventually arrived at a small house that was mostly obscured by a large garden, filled with numerous trees, plants, and flowers. Arran recognized none of these, but he suspected that Snowcloud would have been filled with excitement had she been there.

"Here we are," Leandros said. "You'll find your teacher inside. Her name is Oraia, and although she's only a novice, you would do well not to underestimate her — she's one of the most talented mages in the House, if not the entire Valley."

He bade Arran goodbye, then quickly turned around and headed back in the direction of the gate, doubtless to guide some other visitor into the city.

Arran took a glance at the garden, then stepped inside, following the narrow path that led to the front door of the small house. As he looked around, he could tell that the garden had been given a great deal of attention — someone had clearly spent many hours grooming it to perfection.

When he knocked on the door, there was no immediate answer, and after waiting for a minute or two, he tried again.

"Just a moment!" a girl's voice sounded from inside.

Another two minutes passed with Arran waiting patiently, but then, the door swung open, revealing what was easily the most beautiful woman he had seen in his life.

She was young — several years younger than Arran — with long, brown hair, delicate features, and large, dark eyes. Her smooth skin held a slight tan, and as she looked at Arran, there was a small but impossibly perfect smile on her face.

"You must be Ghostblade," she said. "You're earlier than I expected — I hadn't finished dressing yet."

"I am," Arran said. "Ghostblade, I mean. I… I was sent here for training?" He stumbled over his words as he looked at the woman in front of him, taken aback when he realized that she wasn't wearing a robe but a short, form-fitting dress that emphasized her ample curves.

"Come in," she said. As Arran did so, she continued, "From what I've heard, you must be quite talented. You defeated the strongest adept in the House of Swords last year, didn't you?"

"I… eh…" Arran hadn't expected her to know anything about him, and briefly, he found himself at a loss for words. "I did," he finally said.

"No surprise, with those broad shoulders of yours. I bet you must be really strong." She flashed him a wink, then asked, "Would you like some tea?"

Arran felt his cheeks flush at the compliment, but he tried to keep his composure. "Sure," he said. Feeling he should say something more, he added, "The guard who led me here said you're one of the most talented mages in the House of Shadows."

She frowned briefly, but her smile returned an instant later. "He exaggerated," she said. "I'm just a novice, with just a small bit of talent. I just hope I'm skilled enough to be of use to you."

"I'm sure you are," Arran replied, finding himself unwilling to hurt her feelings. "I don't know much about Shadow spells, so I'll be glad for anything you can teach me."

"Then I'll do my best." As she spoke, she poured him a glass of tea. "But you already have an outstanding teacher, right? I've heard she matched a Grandmaster in combat despite only being an adept herself, and if the stories from the House of Creation are true, her other student is almost as impressive as you are."

At this, Arran frowned. Despite his surprise at Oraia's beauty, he could not fail to notice that she seemed to know entirely too much about him and his companions. "It sounds like you know a lot about us."

"I've just heard some tales," she replied, giving him a bright smile. "We don't get many outsiders in the Ninth Valley, so rumors spread quickly — especially when they're about handsome warriors like yourself."

Again, Arran frowned. Unwilling though he was to admit it, it was clear that the girl's friendliness was an act — and a clumsy one, at that.

"Perhaps we should start studying," he said, a hint of coldness in his voice.

Oraia looked at him with a trace of disappointment in her eyes. "Very well," she said, the forced cheeriness suddenly gone from her voice. "Let's find out if you have any talent."