The Imperial summons arrived exactly two weeks before their planned departure, delivered by a knight in the distinctive silver armor of the Empire's courier corps. The letter was sealed with the Governor's mark and written in the flowery, threatening language that bureaucrats used when they wanted to sound polite while making demands.
Elion was required to present himself at the provincial capital within three days to answer questions about "unusual military developments" in Silverwood Barony.
"They know," Garrick said grimly, reading over Elion's shoulder. "Someone talked."
"Of course someone talked," Mira countered. "We've had three hundred people pass through here in the last month. Merchants, refugees, adventurers—anyone could have spread rumors about the shadow army."
"What do we do?" Helena asked. She'd become part of Elion's inner circle over the past weeks, her experience and level head proving invaluable. "If you don't go, they'll send troops. But if you do go..."
"They might arrest me as a rogue necromancer," Elion finished. "I know. It's a trap either way."
Kael, who'd been sharpening his sword in the corner, looked up. "So don't play their game. We have three ships now, enough supplies for the journey, and over a hundred shadow soldiers. We could leave tomorrow."
"And abandon everyone who hasn't arrived yet?" Lyssa shook her head. "There are still refugees on the road, people who heard about Silverwood's sanctuary and are traveling here. If we leave early, we condemn them."
"Better them than us," Kael said bluntly.
"We're not leaving early," Elion decided. "But we're not walking into an Imperial trap either. Mira, send a response saying I'll attend the meeting, but in Silverwood, not the capital. If the Governor wants answers, he can come here."
Mira's eyes widened. "That's... bold. Possibly suicidal, but bold."
"We have the advantage on our home ground. And if it comes to fighting, I'd rather do it here where my shadows can operate freely than in a city full of Imperial soldiers."
The response was dispatched, and Elion used the next three days to prepare for every possibility. He moved his most valuable shadows—the elite monsters and most powerful warriors—into hidden positions around the manor. The human population was quietly briefed on evacuation procedures. The ships were loaded with essential supplies and positioned for quick departure.
If the Empire came for war, Silverwood would be ready.
The Governor arrived on the third day with a force of thirty soldiers—not a full army, but enough to handle a typical rural barony. They rode through the manor gates in perfect formation, their armor gleaming, their weapons peace-bonded but easily accessible.
Governor Aldric Thorne was a tall man in his fifties, with gray hair and the calculating eyes of someone who'd survived Imperial politics for decades. He dismounted in the courtyard and surveyed the manor with visible disdain.
"Baron Crestfall," he said, the title delivered with just enough emphasis to make it sound like an insult. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"Governor Thorne." Elion bowed with exactly the minimum courtesy required. "Welcome to Silverwood. Please, come inside."
They convened in the manor's great hall, which Elion had deliberately kept modest—better to appear weak than to reveal any of Silverwood's newfound wealth. The Governor sat in the best chair available while his guards took positions along the walls.
"Let's not waste time," Aldric said. "I've received troubling reports about your barony, Lord Crestfall. Tales of undead armies, of necromantic rituals, of dark magic. I'm here to determine if these reports have any basis in truth."
"I practice shadow extraction," Elion said carefully. "A rare ability granted by a System. It allows me to create soldiers from the essence of defeated enemies. They're not undead in the traditional sense—no corpses, no decay, no vulnerability to holy magic."
"Semantics. You raise the dead to serve you."
"I extract their combat essence and bind it to shadow forms. The original bodies are irrelevant."
"Show me." The Governor's eyes were hard. "If your shadows are as you describe, prove it. Summon one."
It was a test, obviously. Refuse, and he'd look like he had something to hide. Agree, and he'd reveal his power to the Empire. But there wasn't really a choice—the Empire knew enough already.
Elion reached through the mental link and called forth one of his shadow scouts. The darkness pooled in the corner of the room and coalesced into a human-shaped soldier, crimson eyes burning in a face made of shadow.
The Governor's guards tensed, hands going to weapons. Aldric himself leaned forward, studying the shadow with professional interest.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "Not truly undead, as you said. But not entirely alive either. How many of these do you command?"
"Enough to defend my people."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting." Elion met the Governor's eyes without flinching. "I'm not a threat to the Empire, Governor Thorne. I've used my shadows to protect Silverwood, clear monster dens, and provide sanctuary for refugees. Nothing I've done violates Imperial law."
"That depends on interpretation." Aldric stood and walked around the shadow scout, which remained perfectly still. "The Empire has rules about necromantic practices for good reason. The last Shadow-bound Monarch emerged three centuries ago, and he nearly conquered half the continent before a coalition of kingdoms brought him down. You can understand why we're concerned about history repeating itself."
"I'm not planning to conquer anything."
"No?" The Governor's smile was thin. "Then what are these rumors I hear about ships? About a mass migration? About abandoning your ancestral lands?"
So they knew about that too. Elion shouldn't have been surprised.
"Silverwood is dying," he said bluntly. "The land is poor, the barony's bankrupt, and we're surrounded by enemies. I'm offering anyone who wants it a chance at something better—settlement in unclaimed territories where we can build without the weight of failing nobility crushing us."
"How very noble of you." Aldric's sarcasm was thick. "Or perhaps you're running before the Empire can decide what to do about your shadow army. Either way, Lord Crestfall, here's what's going to happen. You'll remain here, in Silverwood, where we can monitor you. Your shadow soldiers will be limited to defensive purposes only. And you'll submit to quarterly inspections to ensure you're not building a force that threatens Imperial interests."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll return with a battalion of troops and a squad of holy knights. Your shadows may be powerful, but they're not invincible. The Empire has dealt with worse."
It was exactly the trap Elion had expected. Accept the terms and become a prisoner in his own barony, watched and controlled until the Empire decided he was too dangerous to let live. Refuse and face immediate military action.
"I need time to consider," Elion said.
"You have until tomorrow. I'll be staying at the village inn." Aldric gestured to his soldiers. "We're leaving. But think carefully, Lord Crestfall. The Empire's patience has limits."
After the Governor and his soldiers departed, Elion's inner circle gathered in the study.
"We're leaving," Elion said without preamble. "Tonight. Everyone who's here, everyone who's ready—we load the ships and sail before dawn."
"What about the people still traveling here?" Lyssa protested.
"I'll leave messages at the villages, directions to follow us if they can. But we can't wait any longer. The Empire will be watching now. If we delay, we'll never escape."
"The ships aren't fully loaded," Mira pointed out. "We'll be leaving resources behind."
"Better than leaving our freedom behind." Elion looked around the room. "This is it. The moment we've been preparing for. Two months ago, I inherited a failing barony and thought my only option was to slowly decline into irrelevance. Now we have a chance to build something new. Something better. But only if we have the courage to take it."
"Pretty speech," Kael said. "But you're starting a war with the Empire."
"No. I'm refusing to be their prisoner." Elion straightened. "The world is vast—far larger than the Empire. There are continents they've never reached, seas they've never sailed, islands they don't even know exist. We'll find somewhere beyond their grasp and build there."
"And if they follow?"
"Then my shadow army will be ready."
The decision made, they moved into organized chaos. Word spread through the refugee camps and villages—anyone who wanted to join the migration needed to be at the docks by midnight. Essential supplies were prioritized, luxuries abandoned. Elion personally went through the manor, selecting what could be carried and what had to be left behind.
It was strange, saying goodbye to the place where he'd grown up. Every room held memories—his father's study where Edmund had tried to teach him statecraft, the training yard where he'd learned the sword, the bedroom where his mother had died bringing him into the world. Three generations of Crestfall history, about to be abandoned.
But Mira was right—Silverwood had been dying long before Elion inherited it. This wasn't abandonment. It was triage. Cutting away the dead tissue to save what could be saved.
By midnight, two hundred and forty-seven people had gathered at the makeshift docks where the three merchant ships waited. Human and beastkin, elf and dwarf, young and old—all of them had chosen to take a chance on an uncertain future rather than remain in a region that was slowly collapsing.
Elion stood on the dock, doing a final count. His shadow army—now numbering one hundred and forty-two soldiers—would travel in the ships' holds and cargo spaces, hidden from casual observation. The human population would take the passenger areas. It would be cramped, but they'd manage.
"All accounted for," Garrick reported. The old soldier looked years younger, energized by the prospect of adventure rather than slow decline. "The ships' captains say we can be underway within the hour."
"Then let's not waste time." Elion turned to Mira. "Any last-minute problems?"
"Just one." She pointed back toward the road.
A rider was approaching at full gallop, torch held high. As he drew closer, Elion recognized young Thomas, the militia member who'd nearly died in the first raider attack.
"My lord!" Thomas shouted, reining in his exhausted horse. "The Governor—he's coming! He's bringing soldiers, lots of them. They'll be here before dawn!"
So Aldric had anticipated Elion's decision. The meeting had been a delaying tactic while the Governor assembled enough force to ensure compliance.
"How many soldiers?" Elion asked.
"Two hundred, maybe more. And they have a unit of holy knights—I saw their white armor."
Two hundred soldiers plus holy knights specialized in fighting shadow magic. Even with his shadow army's immortality advantage, that was a serious threat.
"Get everyone on the ships," Elion ordered. "Now. We're leaving immediately."
The organized departure became a controlled scramble. People rushed up gangplanks, children crying, belongings hastily grabbed. The ships' captains began bellowing orders, preparing to cast off.
Elion stood on the dock with his inner circle, waiting until the last possible moment to board.
"My lord," Garrick said quietly. "They'll follow us. The Empire doesn't let people just leave."
"I know. But by the time they organize a pursuit, we'll be beyond their easy reach. And after that..." Elion smiled grimly. "The ocean is vast, and my shadow army will only grow stronger. Let them try to find us."
The sound of marching feet echoed in the distance—the Empire's soldiers, approaching fast. Torches appeared on the road like a river of fire.
"Time to go," Kael said.
They boarded the flagship—the largest of the three vessels, a sturdy merchant ship rechristened Shadowhaven for the journey. As the crew cast off the lines and unfurled the sails, Elion stood at the stern, watching Silverwood Manor recede into the darkness.
The Empire's soldiers reached the docks just as the ships cleared the harbor. Elion could see Governor Aldric at their head, his face twisted with fury even at this distance. Orders were shouted, archers readied—
"They're going to shoot!" someone yelled.
"Shadows, defend!" Elion commanded.
A wall of darkness rose from the deck as his shadow soldiers manifested, forming a barrier between the ships and the shore. Arrows thunked into shadow flesh and were absorbed harmlessly. A few holy knights attempted some kind of light-based attack, but by then the ships were too far out, catching the wind and beginning to accelerate.
Elion stood watching until the shore was lost in darkness, until Silverwood was nothing but a memory.
"So," Mira said, joining him at the rail. "We're officially outlaws now. How does it feel?"
"Terrifying," Elion admitted. "And liberating. And like we're sailing toward either the biggest mistake of my life or the best decision I've ever made."
"Probably both," Mira said with a small smile. "But at least it won't be boring."
Elion laughed despite himself. No, it definitely wouldn't be boring.
The ships sailed into the night, carrying two hundred and forty-seven refugees and one hundred and forty-two shadow soldiers toward an uncertain future. Behind them, the Empire raged. Ahead of them, the vast ocean stretched to the horizon.
Somewhere out there were islands to be claimed, kingdoms to be built, and a destiny that Elion could barely imagine.
The age of Silverwood was over.
The age of the Shadowborn Monarch had just begun.