Veil of shadows

Training

Over the next few days, the castle became a hive of activity, with every member of the court seemingly involved in preparations for the upcoming wedding. The servants bustled about, polishing the grand halls of Ravenhall, ensuring that every detail was perfect for the arrival of King Regulus. Yet beneath this facade of normalcy, a very different kind of preparation was taking place—one that involved secrecy, danger, and the looming threat of discovery.

My mother, the queen, managed these two worlds with a deftness that left me in awe. Outwardly, she played the part of the regal monarch, overseeing the wedding arrangements with a calm, composed demeanor. But when we were alone, her mask would slip, revealing the tension that lay just beneath the surface. The urgency of our situation was clear in every hurried glance, every whispered conversation.

The physical training was relentless. Each morning, my mother woke me before dawn, dragging me from the warmth of my bed and into the cold, stark reality of the training yard. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew and earth, and the only light came from the first pale rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon. My mother wasted no time in getting started, her voice sharp as she issued commands.

"Hold your stance, Ophelia! Your sword is an extension of your body—if you're not in control, you're vulnerable."

My muscles screamed in protest as I adjusted my posture, forcing myself to remain steady as I parried her strikes. My mother's movements were fluid and precise, each one executed with a grace that belied the sheer power behind them. She was a force of nature, and she expected nothing less from me.

"Again!" she demanded, her eyes narrowing as I hesitated. "There will be no mercy in battle. You cannot afford to be slow."

Despite the grueling pace, I could feel myself growing stronger with each passing day. My reflexes became sharper, my strikes more accurate, and my stamina increased as I pushed through the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm me. But it wasn't just physical strength that my mother sought to instill in me—she was also teaching me the mental fortitude necessary to face the challenges ahead.

"Pain is inevitable, Ophelia," she told me one afternoon as we paused for a brief rest. "But how you respond to that pain will determine whether you survive. You must learn to push through it, to find your strength on the other side."

In the evenings, after the physical training had left me bruised and battered, we would retreat to the library, where a different kind of training took place. Here, surrounded by the ancient tomes and relics of our ancestors, my mother began teaching me about the shadowbinding arts—an aspect of our family's legacy that I had only ever heard whispered about in hushed tones.

"The shadows are more than just darkness," she explained as we sat together by the fire one evening, the flames casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. "They are living entities, connected to the very fabric of our world. They respond to emotions, to willpower, and to the strength of one's spirit. To harness them, you must first understand them—respect them."

At first, the shadows resisted my attempts to control them, slipping through my grasp like water. Frustration gnawed at me as I struggled to connect with them, to make them obey my will. But my mother was patient, guiding me through each step with a calm, steady hand.

"You cannot force the shadows," she told me after one particularly frustrating session. "They are not tools to be wielded carelessly. You must learn to listen to them, to understand their nature. Only then will they respond to you."

It was during one of these late-night sessions that my mother explained why she herself did not possess the shadowbinding abilities that were so central to our family's history.