Chapter 50 — The Shape of Trust
Shadeblade POV
The fire had burned lower by the time I realized something was wrong.
Not wrong in the obvious sense—no screams, no monsters tearing through the trees, no sudden killing intent crashing into my spine.
It was subtler.
Too subtle.
People relax after surviving a fight. They breathe differently. Laugh easier. Let their guard slip in small, human ways.
The camp behind me sounded relaxed.
That was the problem.
I stared into the embers, watching sparks lift and die midair. My sword lay across my lap, clean now, sap dried dark along the fuller. My hands rested loosely on it, but every nerve beneath my skin was awake.
Volrag's voice again. Always him, when things went quiet.
"If danger doesn't announce itself, it's because it already knows where you are."
I shifted slightly, changing my angle without standing. From here, I could see everyone.
Bran sat closest to the fire, meat skewered on a thick branch, chewing loudly and complaining about how forest creatures never tasted as good as tavern food.
Selia lounged opposite him, boots near the flames, tossing bones at his helmet whenever he said something particularly stupid—which was often.
Korran stood at the edge of camp, arms crossed, gaze outward. He hadn't sat once since night fell.
Good.
Lysara sat apart, back against a tree, hood low, fingers absentmindedly tracing faint patterns in the dirt. She looked calm.
Too calm.
I didn't look at the shadows.
I felt them.
"You're staring again," Selia said without looking at me. "Either the fire insulted your ancestry, or you're about to say something ominous."
"Neither," I replied.
She snorted. "Liar."
Bran laughed. "If Skeleton starts talking about destiny, I'm sleeping."
"I don't talk about destiny."
"That's worse," Selia said. "Means it's real."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
The forest creaked.
Just once.
Korran turned his head slightly.
Our eyes met.
Nothing spoken.
Everything understood.
Korran Veyle POV
They were being watched.
Not actively.
Not anymore.
The sensation was like walking into a room moments after someone had left—air displaced, warmth fading, intent lingering.
Korran trusted that instinct more than sight.
The boy—Shadeblade—felt it too.
Good.
That meant whatever had marked them wasn't dealing with a reckless amateur.
Which made this worse.
Because professionals didn't make mistakes.
They waited for others to.
Korran's gaze drifted briefly to Lysara.
She hadn't looked up.
That troubled him.
Selia POV
Selia was laughing.
She knew she was laughing too loudly.
It was a habit—noise as camouflage. If you acted normal enough, sometimes the world believed you.
She tossed another bone. It bounced off Bran's shoulder.
"Oi!"
"Relax. If you don't like it, dodge faster."
She glanced sideways at Shadeblade.
Still quiet.
Still alert.
He's not brooding, she realized. He's listening.
That… wasn't normal Tier-2 behavior.
She filed the thought away.
Then noticed Lysara hadn't laughed once.
Not once.
Selia's smile sharpened—not playful anymore.
She leaned back, stretching. "Hey, Lys. You gonna join us, or are you communing with dirt spirits again?"
Lysara looked up slowly.
Her eyes met Selia's.
And flicked away.
Just for a fraction too long.
Lysara POV
They were close.
Closer than she liked.
The residue she'd felt earlier hadn't vanished.
It had shifted.
Like pressure moving underground.
Someone wasn't approaching.
Someone was waiting for movement.
For division.
For someone to be alone.
Her gaze slid to Shadeblade.
The mask.
The crack.
The way he held himself like something barely contained.
Fifteen.
No.
She stopped herself.
Age didn't matter.
Intent did.
And someone else here had intent she didn't understand.
Her fingers stilled in the dirt.
A decision settled.
The sound came softly.
A snap of wood.
Not nearby.
Not far.
Just close enough to be deliberate.
Bran stood immediately. "Did anyone else hear—"
The scream cut him off.
Short.
Sharp.
Then nothing.
It came from the direction of the forest path.
The one they'd just come from.
Shadeblade was on his feet before anyone else realized they were moving.
Sword up.
No magic.
No hesitation.
"Stay together," Korran ordered.
Selia was already moving. "Too late for that."
They reached the edge of camp—
And found blood.
Not fresh.
Not old.
A thin smear across bark.
Leading away.
"Bait," Bran growled.
"Yes," Korran agreed. "And deliberate."
Shadeblade stared at the trail.
It felt wrong.
Too neat.
Too careful.
He swallowed.
"I'll follow," he said.
"No," Selia snapped.
"I'm fastest," he replied. "And I won't use—"
She grabbed his arm. Hard. "I don't care what you won't use. I care what you won't come back from."
Their eyes locked.
The fire crackled behind them.
Then Lysara spoke.
Quietly.
"I'll go with him."
Every head turned.
Korran's gaze sharpened. "Explain."
"The trail bends through mana-dense ground," she said. "If it's a trap, I can sense the trigger."
Selia narrowed her eyes. "And if it's not?"
Lysara met her gaze evenly. "Then we bring back whoever screamed."
A pause.
Korran nodded once. "Five minutes. If you're not back—"
"—you burn the forest," Bran finished.
Shadeblade exhaled slowly.
Volrag would hate this.
He moved anyway.
They didn't get five minutes.
They got three.
The clearing ahead erupted.
Not monsters.
People.
Mercenaries—six of them—stepping out from concealment like they'd been standing there the whole time.
One smiled.
"Shadeblade," he said pleasantly. "We were hoping you'd come alone."
Shadeblade's grip tightened.
Lysara's breath caught.
Because the man hadn't looked at her once.
Only at the mask.
Only at the crack.
Only at the boy beneath.
And somewhere behind them—
Something shifted.
Something patient.
Something waiting for trust to finally break.