The first day of training started at dawn.
Elena woke them in adjacent rooms that were surprisingly comfortable—clean beds, personal washing facilities, even small libraries. Not the dungeon cells Kaelen had half-expected.
"Master Marcus believes students learn better when comfortable," Elena explained, leading them to a training chamber. "Deprivation creates resentment. Comfort creates openness."
"That sounds like manipulation," Lia said.
"Everything is manipulation," Elena replied cheerfully. "The question is whether the manipulation serves good purposes. We believe it does."
The training chamber was circular, fifty feet across, with runic diagrams carved into every surface. A dozen other students were already there, performing the energy-cycling exercises Marcus had demonstrated.
Marcus himself sat in observation, making notes.
"Kaelen, Lia," he said without looking up. "Join the morning circulation. Elena will guide you through the patterns. Don't push yourselves—this is about building muscle memory, not testing limits."
For three hours they practiced. The movements were harder than they looked—precise footwork combined with breathing control and energy manipulation. Kaelen stumbled constantly at first, broke the flow, had to restart.
But gradually, it clicked. The movements became smoother. The energy circulated more easily. His Scars burned less.
It was working.
After training, Marcus called them aside.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Tired," Kaelen admitted. "But... clearer? My corruption feels less overwhelming."
"That's the cycling effect," Marcus explained. "You're giving the energy somewhere to go instead of letting it fester. Continue this daily and you'll notice significant improvement within a week. Mastery takes months, but basic competency comes quickly."
He handed Kaelen a journal. "This documents the technique progression. Study it. Practice the variants. I'll personally evaluate your form tomorrow."
The journal was dense with technical information—energy frequencies, resonance patterns, physiological diagrams showing how shadow magic interacted with human tissue. It was the kind of knowledge Kaelen had been desperately seeking.
And Marcus was just... giving it to him.
"Why?" Kaelen asked. "Why share this freely?"
"Because knowledge hoarded is knowledge wasted," Marcus replied. "I want competent shadow mages, not desperate amateurs who destroy themselves. Whether you ultimately join us or not, I'd prefer you survive with your sanity intact. The world needs capable practitioners."
It sounded almost... altruistic.
Which made it more suspicious, not less.
---
Lunch was communal. Thirty students gathering in a dining hall, eating simple but good food, discussing magical theory like they were at an academy rather than a cult compound.
Kaelen sat with Lia, trying to process.
"This isn't what I expected," he said quietly.
"It's worse," Lia replied. "Because it's reasonable. These people aren't fanatics—they're rational individuals who've been convinced that releasing an ancient evil is pragmatically justified. That's much harder to fight than simple madness."
Across the table, one of the younger students—a boy maybe seventeen—overheard.
"We're not evil," he said earnestly. "We're just tired of watching the kingdoms repeat the same mistakes. My village was destroyed in a border war three years ago. Completely pointless conflict over a trade dispute. Hundreds died, including my family. The Shadow Lord's return will prevent that kind of senseless violence."
"By causing different senseless violence," Kaelen pointed out.
"No. By removing the power structures that enable warfare," the boy corrected. "Marcus teaches us about societal reconstruction, about building systems resistant to corruption. It's not just destruction—it's replacement."
"With what?" Lia asked. "Marcus talks about transformation, but he's vague on specifics. What exactly comes after the Shadow Lord returns?"
"We don't know yet," the boy admitted. "That's what we're researching. But anything is better than the current system."
It was terrifying how sincere he sounded.
---
Afternoon sessions were theoretical. Marcus lectured on shadow magic history, on the original war three centuries ago, on why Forbidden Blades were created and how they'd been misunderstood.
"The Blades were never meant to corrupt," Marcus explained. "They were tools—powerful tools, dangerous if misused, but tools nonetheless. The corruption was a side effect of improper technique, not inherent to the weapons. But after the war, instead of improving techniques, the kingdoms simply banned the Blades entirely. Classic institutional response—prohibit rather than educate."
He displayed ancient texts, showed combat footage preserved in magical crystals, demonstrated historical context Kaelen had never seen in official records.
"The Shadow Lord wasn't a conqueror," Marcus continued. "He was a reformer. Too radical, too willing to use force, but his ultimate goals were legitimate. He wanted to break the noble monopoly on magical education, distribute power more equitably, end the cycles of warfare between kingdoms. The establishment destroyed him for threatening their control."
"And killed millions in the process," Lia said.
"The war killed millions," Marcus corrected. "The Lords response killed thousands—the kingdoms' resistance killed millions. Perspective matters."
It was revisionist history. Kaelen was sure it was revisionist history.
But it was presented so convincingly, with so much supporting evidence, that doubt crept in.
What if the official histories were the revisionism? What if the kingdoms had lied about the war to justify their continued oppression of shadow magic?
*No,* Kaelen thought firmly. *That's exactly what Marcus wants you to think. Don't fall for it.*
---
Evening came. Training resumed—more advanced patterns now, with Marcus personally correcting their form.
"Your stance is too rigid," he told Kaelen. "Shadow magic flows like water. Your body must flow too. Relax your shoulders. Let the energy guide your movements instead of forcing them."
Kaelen adjusted. The circulation immediately improved.
"Better," Marcus said. "You're a quick study. Natural talent combined with good foundational training. Ronan taught you well."
Kaelen froze. "How did you know Ronan trained me?"
"Because I know Ronan's style," Marcus replied. "I fought beside him fifteen years ago, before he left the Shadow Hunters. We were partners, briefly. His techniques are distinctive."
"You worked with Ronan?"
"I've worked with many people who now oppose me," Marcus said. "Most relationships end in opposition eventually. Doesn't make the previous cooperation less valuable."
It was a casual revelation that changed how Kaelen viewed everything. Ronan had never mentioned working with Marcus. What else hadn't he mentioned?
---
Night fell. Students retired to personal quarters. Kaelen and Lia met in a small courtyard, trying to find privacy.
"We need to be careful," Lia whispered. "Everything he says sounds reasonable because he's good at sounding reasonable. But it's still manipulation."
"I know," Kaelen said. "But the technique is real. I can feel the difference already. My corruption feels... manageable."
"That's what worries me," Lia admitted. "We came here for information. But if the information is actually helpful, if their techniques actually work... how do we justify rejecting everything else they're teaching?"
"Because working techniques doesn't make their goals less evil," Kaelen said. "Releasing the Shadow Lord is still catastrophic, regardless of how well they can manage corruption."
"Is it though?" Lia asked. "What if Marcus is right? What if controlled release actually leads to better outcomes than maintaining broken systems?"
Kaelen stared at her. "You can't be serious."
"I'm playing devil's advocate," Lia said quickly. "Trying to understand their perspective so we can counter it. But Kaelen... their arguments are compelling. Dangerously compelling."
"Which is why we stick to the plan," Kaelen said. "One week. Learn the techniques. Then leave before they convert us for real."
"Agreed," Lia said. But she sounded less certain than before.
They returned to their quarters. Kaelen lay awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything he'd seen and heard.
Marcus was wrong. Had to be wrong.
But what if he wasn't?
What if desperate times really did justify desperate measures?
What if the Shadow Lord's return was actually the lesser evil?
*No,* Kaelen thought again. *That's the indoctrination working. Don't fall for it.*
But doubt had been planted.
And doubt, Kaelen was learning, was much harder to fight than physical enemies.
---
Six more days.
Six more days of training, lectures, and subtle persuasion.
Six more days to learn what they needed while resisting what they didn't.
Kaelen closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
He dreamed of the Shadow Lord rising from ancient prisons.
In the dream, he couldn't tell if he was fighting the Lord or helping him.
That was the most terrifying part.