B2 Chapter 30: Dreadwalker of Shadows

Shiver walked under the midday sun in the late afternoon, closing her eyes and relishing in the flavour of the shaved ice that still lingered on her tongue.

Shiver’s thoughts centred around the spoonful of the dessert that chef Spicefury had conjured for her. She had abandoned the rest of it to prove her point, but she internally cursed her pride.

The first of the two thoughts that plagued her had been sated.

Her desire to find a popsicle, in the Archcity of Life, achieved.

Her cravings satisfied, even despite her prideful declaration that the chef’s creation could never triumph over a mundane popsicle.

The second of her thoughts began to rise within her, bringing with it, uglier emotions.

Shiver did what she did best, and buried them.

She turned to regard the girl that walked beside her, hair tied into elegant pigtails, Blaze’s preferred style. However, while the vision was her own, it had clearly been executed by far more proficient hands.

Shiver smirked, as she watched the little firefly, noticing the furtive glances that he had been casting over her shoulder. Her eyes constantly roaming the surrounds, as if in search of something.

Or someone.

It surprised Shiver. She had expected Blaze to complain about her sudden departure. When she had absconded from their bedroom on the very same day she had been reunited with them.

“The Blaze I knew back in Brimstone was fearless. There was nothing, no one, that you ran from.”

Shiver shot a smug look at satisfaction at the girl that walked beside her.

“Except for me, when I had feedback to give you. Or had a tax to exact. So… tell me. What did you steal now?”

As she waited for the girl’s response, Shiver stretched and yawned, unaffected by Blaze’s antics. She knew, that if the girl were in any true danger, that Blaze would have relayed it to her. The little orphan could be silly, annoying and prideful.

That being said, no student of Shiver’s was an idiot.

“I’m running from a Knight of the Dreadwood…”

With some struggle, Blaze uttered the name on her tongue.

“Rathos.”

Shiver halted in her tracks, and narrowly avoided planting her face into the beige cobblestone path. She encircled Blaze’s forearm in her grip, even when the girl winced from the cold that her touch brought with it.

“What happened. Why is he after you? What did you do?”

Blaze’s expression broke into one of sheer despair.

“Please Shiver, he appears out of nowhere. You have to help-“

“There you are.”

Shiver turned slowly, in the direction of the voice. It came as a whisper at her back, as if the knight had leaned in beside her ear to deliver his words.

When they turned, they glimpsed the same knight that had left the greatest impression on Shiver.

Even as she stared at him now, she itched to test his skills, and to discover the shape of his Fear.

Rathos was encased in wooden, ebony armour that dripped in shadow. To a greater degree than even Clona’s own armour adnorned with roses and dripping blood, Rathos’ armour was comprised of miniscule slivers of fibre interwoven perfectly to create his seamless, dark visage.

The knight, melted from the shadow cast by a nearby pillar, which defied all sense and reason. As he drew closer to them, for a moment, Shiver found herself alone, in the shadow of the tallest tree, with destruction written upon the landscape before her.

She stood upon a black hill.

The trees surrounding her burnt to black embers. The single tree which stood before her, did not provide her with a comforting shade, but obscured her presence, her existence, in shadow.

For as long as she stood in its wake, she would not be found, or recovered by the ones that loved her the most.

Then the knight spoke.

“Blaze. Come back to tuition.”

The words snapped Shiver out of her reverie, and she recoiled as she stumbled back from the knight’s aura of Fear.

“You were running from… your tutor?”

---

Shiver watched, as the little firefly faced her greatest challenge yet.

The classroom.

Led by the one and only Knight, and Fearshaper of Shadows.

Rathos Blackwood.

“I have to ask-“

“Raise your hand if you wish to speak.”

“I’m not-“

“The rules apply equally to everyone in my classroom.”

Shiver stared into the slit of Rathos’ helm, which concealed his features from her detection. The man was curt, and one of few words. It was hard to get a read on him when his helm obscured his features, and his tone betrayed not a single emotion. His Phobia, the greatsword with a black blade from which shadow leaked, rested against the chalkboard behind him. His guide, the wolf wreathed in shadow, was nowhere to be seen.

Shiver just sighed, and raised her hand.

“Yes, student?”

“How did you settle on ‘Blackwood’? Did you awaken as a Fearshaper first, and then take the name? Or did the stars align and-“

Shiver gestured vaguely towards the shadows that dripped from the knight. She was only slightly miffed, when her question was greeted with silence.

It seemed as if Rathos Blackwood was a slightly tougher cookie to crack than Spicefury.

Shiver ate tougher cookies for breakfast. Quite often in fact, given her financial status.

She fixed him with the most encouraging gaze she could regale, ignoring Blaze’s look of horror. She fluttered her eyelashes.

Finally, Rathos relented with a sigh.

Watch and learn little firefly, watch and learn.

“I am from a family of nobles, who have cultivated a Fear of shadow. They induced my Fear.”

Shiver’s eyes widened with interest.

Finally. An answer to what exactly nobles did to their children to trigger their desired Fear.

“My parents took me for a stroll into the Dreadwood. Then, they left me in the middle of the Shadow Woods, a boy of five years of age.”

The knight inclined his head towards her, as Shiver gaped at him.

“That seemed to do the trick.”

Shiver mumbled under her breath.

“And I thought I had crappy parents.”

“I hated them, you know, my parents. At least, until I understood just why they were so desperate that I awakened a Fear of shadow.”

The knight raised a gauntleted finger, and conjured shadow in the shape of a familiar wolf.

“Beldrian, wasn’t just my guide. He was the guide of my father before me. And my grandfather before him still.”

Shiver listened, enraptured by the man’s words.

“A Fear of shadows is equally as terrifying as it is powerful. They wanted to ensure that I received the best teacher possible, the same one that had guided my family safely, through the depths of our Fear.”

The knight removed his helm to reveal straight black hair, and a full black beard. Kind, black eyes stared back at her, that seemed to shift in the light, filled with the object of his Fear.

Shadows.

“Beldrian was the guide of my father, and grandfather before me. One day perhaps… he will be the guide of my progeny after me, should the day arrive. Once I descend from Dread, and embrace Serenity.”

“If you ever take it upon yourself to have children, that is. With your difficulty finding a proper mate, I would sooner fade to oblivion.”

The familiar wolf of shadows emerged from his side. Beldrian, the wolf of shadows bore a passing resemblance to the frostwolves Shiver had hunted. He was smaller than the pack leader, but possessed dark red eyes that had fixed themselves upon her.

There was not a doubt in Shiver’s mind, that Beldrian was more powerful than any of the creatures she had faced in the Dreadwood. If his Fearshaper was anything to go by, Beldrian’s passage through the Dreadwood would be marked with the bodies of his foes.

Shiver puzzled over the man’s words.

“Does this mean that guides are… reused once an elf reaches Serenity? They bond with another Fearshaper?”

“Bluntly put, but correct.”  

Rathos laid a hand on Beldrian’s head. It was clear that the pair shared a deep trust of one another and bond. Caledon had spoken to hear of noble houses that induced a particular Fear in their progeny, but if guides could be inherited somehow, Shiver could see the reasoning.

“How do the nobles guarantee their progeny receive the guide?”

Rathos grimaced.

“Timing.”

“That’s it?”

He nodded.

“Nobles ship their children off to the temples, relaying precise instructions about when to awaken, timing it when the elf they are positioned to replace stands in Serenity.”

“Then what’s in it for the guides?”

Shiver turned to Beldrian.

“What’s stopping you from leaving him right now, to do whatever you wish? Other than your loyalty to him, of course. The two of you are frustratingly adorable.”

For a moment, Rathos and Beldrian seemed to be at a loss for words, before Beldrian continued.  

“With your descent, we regain more of ourselves. You have witnessed this already. Think of your companions.”

Ratlad, the small wishbone that had taken on the appearance of an undead rat with an ivory toothpick of a cane. Even Caledon’s reclusive guide, Zel, had evolved in his form – from a floating eyeball the size of one of Spicefury’s “wyvern balls” to the size of the lordling’s own head.

“I see.”

The Dreadwalker of shadows spoke.

“It is said that Serenity is a gift to both elves and guides alike. Every elf that manages the descent from Dread to Serenity is freed from their Fear and their guide, having conquered their Fears.”

His calm expression broke, as he shot his guide a look of concern.

“That being said… the elves that do descend from Dread to Serenity do not recall their memories of it. It is unclear, precisely what reward guides receive once their Fearshaper stands in Serenity. Even so, they return time and time again to assist us. It has been speculated that ever cycle they undergo, restores more of themselves, but this remains a mystery even until today. The guides themselves are unable to shed light on it, for their memories are erased with every cycle. Although, some contextual memories of their past Fearshapers can emerge as they stumble across information.”

Shiver’s eyes narrowed, then she nodded. Rathos Blackwood was certainly an excellent teacher, with a wealth of knowledge.

“Girl.”

Shiver’s gaze shifted to Beldrian.

“Where is your pride.”

The wolf’s words shook her.

“Do not run from your guilt, confront it. For your intentions are noble.”

Shiver’s eyes widened, as the wolf pierced through the thin veneer she had erected. Her feelings laid bare before the wolf, as she pushed her thoughts aside, asking trivial, if tantalising questions. Then, with a nod to his Fearshaper, Beldrian melted back into the shadows.

The second thought that plagued her in the recesses of her mind threatened to surface once again.

She pushed it down.

Instead, she decided to satisfy another small curiosity, when she had first chanced upon the knight when Solastra had formally received them.  

“So… tell me. You wear armour of wood like Clona and that idiot Semille, and yet you have a Fear of shadow. I thought all of the knights of that plant bitch would have a Fear of plants like her? Especially if you use the armour of the Dreadwood.”

Shiver gestured to his armour, comprised of innumerable miniscule fibres seemingly kept in place by the elf’s masterful Fearshaping.

“I met this idiot named Semille, tried to kill him actually. He had armour like yours, which he controlled with his Fearshaping of plants.”  

Rathos nodded calmly in reply, the inclined his head towards Blaze.

“Ah Semille. The Highlady’s son. All of us have wanted to kill him at some point. Well done.”

Shiver snorted. For a man with a patience like Rathos, that told her all she needed to know about Semille’s bearing amongst his peers.

“The Singer would have you believe that your Fears are… inflexible. That in Trepidation, Fearshapers are only free to seek invocations from creatures they are most compatible with.”

Rathos called his Fear.

[Bark of the Umbrawillow]

Shiver’s eyes widened as Rathos removed his gauntlets. The skin on his hands darkened, until they took on a hue indistinguishable to his armour. They seemed to be cast from the same dark wood that comprised his armour, with the slightest of shadows peeling away from it.

She watched in amazement, as almost in response, the Dreadwood armour seemed to fuse and encompass his skin, becoming one with the Fearshaper.

“Your descent is not as stringent as the Singer would have you believe. Think of her as a convenience, an aid, accessible to guide Fearshapers with no better alternatives, or sources of knowledge. In truth, invocations are not simply obtained from the creatures that roam Elucidor.”

“You got an invocation… from killing a plant? This ‘Umbrawillow’?”

Rathod nodded.

“The Highlady intends to correct your misunderstanding. As a result of the invocations I gained in Trepidation, I now hold a degree of mastery over some plants – at least – the ones that belong to shadow. Clona with her Fear of roses, and Semille with his Fear of plants more broadly, do not face the same obstacle.”

Then, the Knight of the Dreadwood did something unexpected.

He cast a glance towards the entrance of his classroom.

Rathos shot her a smile with just the slightest hints of mischief.

Then he walked in his Dread.