ShadowBound: The Need For Power

Far to the east of the ruined settlement, Sheila Granger landed with a cry of startled breath and the crack of branches beneath several bodies.

She did not hit the ground as roughly as some. Her feet touched first, then one knee, her hand catching against damp soil as she absorbed the sudden drop. The teleportation released the others around her in uneven bursts, one student landing on his side with a pained grunt, another crashing through a shrub, a third catching herself with a burst of wind that scattered leaves across the area. Someone gasped. Someone else swore loudly enough to earn three frightened looks. A girl near the edge clutched her wrist, face pale with pain.

Sheila rose quickly, forcing her own shock down before it could show too much.

There were ten of them including her.

Not Edith.

That absence struck immediately, cold and sharp, but Sheila did not allow herself to pause on it. Edith was not here. That meant Sheila had to act without her. The first test had already begun.

"Everyone stop moving," Sheila said, her voice clear enough to cut through the frightened noise. "Do not spread out. Stay where I can see you."

The authority in her tone steadied more than one person. A boy who had started to stumble toward the trees froze. Another student turned toward her with obvious relief, as if only now remembering someone needed to give orders. Several eyes fixed on Sheila at once, expecting her to know what to do.

That pressure arrived fast.

She felt it.

Then she held it.

"Count," she said. "Names, quickly. Start from my left."

The students obeyed, some shakier than others.

"Marin Vey."

"Toln Aric."

"Sera Dain."

"Kel Varrow."

"Nima Ost."

"Jared Pell."

"Rolan Teir."

"Yvette Cale."

"Dorin Hall."

"Sheila Granger," Sheila finished, making the count complete in her own head. "Ten. Injuries?"

"My wrist," Yvette said through clenched teeth.

"My shoulder hit something," Jared muttered, rotating his arm with a grimace. "Not broken."

"I am fine," Rolan said too quickly.

Sheila looked at him. "That was not the question. Check yourself properly."

He went quiet and obeyed.

Sheila moved to Yvette first, crouching beside her without letting the others scatter from her awareness. "Let me see."

Yvette held out her wrist. It was swelling, but not violently. Sheila examined it gently, letting a thin glow of light Myst gather around her fingers, not enough to waste power, only enough to feel the injury. "Sprain, likely. Not broken. Nima, do you have field wrap?"

Nima startled, then nodded and opened her bag.

"Good. Wrap it firmly but not too tight. Yvette, you are not using that hand for anything heavy until we know more." Sheila stood and looked at the others. "Everyone check your communication insignia. Carefully. Do not activate all at once. I want one test first."

A few students fumbled for their insignias.

"Stop," Sheila said.

They stopped.

"One at a time means one at a time," she continued, not harshly, but firmly. "Jared, activate yours. Short pulse only. No message."

Jared swallowed, touched the insignia at his chest, and sent a faint signal. The rune flickered, then steadied, then distorted into a brief rasping crackle before fading.

Several students looked more frightened.

Sheila kept her face calm. "It works, but there is interference. We use them carefully. No constant signaling unless necessary. We do not want to attract anything, and we do not know what listens here."

That thought made the group quieter.

Good.

Fear could scatter them, but focused fear could sharpen them.

"Kel," Sheila said. "Mark our location."

"With what?"

"The chalk marker from the field bag. On that tree and the stone beside it. Use the academy arrival mark. Make it visible to students, not obvious from far away."

Kel nodded quickly and moved, hands steadier now that he had a task.

"Sera, look through the map. Find our rough position if you can. Rolan, Dorin, watch the trees, opposite directions. Do not move away from the group. Toln, help Nima with Yvette’s wrist. Marin, count the field bags and make sure no one lost theirs."

Orders created shape.

The group responded to shape.

Sheila felt that immediately. The panic did not vanish, but it had less room now. Students who had been frightened became occupied. Those who wanted to help had direction. Those waiting for someone else to decide had someone to follow.

Sheila took out her own map and glanced toward the dark sky through the trees. The time difference had placed them in a deep, uneasy pre-dawn darkness. The air was not as cold as Amthar, but the unknown pressed in from every direction.

Edith was not here.

Ariana was not here.

Liam was not here.

She had ten students, one sprained wrist, uncertain communication, and no confirmed location.

’So this is where it starts,’ Sheila thought.

Her hands tightened briefly on the map before she forced them steady again.

"No one moves alone," she said, looking around at all of them. "No one follows voices from the forest unless the group confirms them. No one runs toward Veyrhold just because they think they know the way. We locate ourselves, check for nearby students, and move only when we understand enough to move safely."

Rolan nodded, swallowing hard. "And if we hear someone calling?"

"We verify," Sheila said. "Call-and-response first. If they cannot answer properly, we do not approach blindly."

"We did not set a call-and-response," Dorin said.

Sheila’s jaw tightened faintly. That was true. They should have.

"We set one now for this group," she said. "If someone calls ’eastern light,’ the response is ’steady hands.’ Do not use it unless separated from this group. If we join with others, command may change it."

The students repeated it quietly.

Eastern light.

Steady hands.

Sheila looked at their faces and understood clearly that the assessment was already testing her leadership before Veyrhold, before walls, before official roles, before anything comfortable enough to resemble command.

She folded the map open fully.

"Now," she said, "let us find where we are."

***

South of Veyrhold, Chris Rature landed with far less disorder.

His boots hit uneven ground, but he caught himself quickly, one hand extending to balance as the teleportation released the others around him. A few students landed hard, but none suffered anything worse than scrapes and bruises.

Logan stumbled, swore, then straightened as if hoping no one had seen him nearly fall face-first into a root. Several other second-years appeared nearby, twelve, then fifteen, then more voices calling out from the darkness within a short distance. It took only a few moments for Chris to realize his group was larger than expected.

Strong, too.

Not perfect, but strong.

Logan was there. Two capable Knight Combat students from the upper-middle ranks. A Water Magic student with healing training. One archer. A student with Earth Magic. Several Tempestian students who already looked toward Chris without needing persuasion. By the time they had gathered those who landed within shouting distance, Chris counted seventeen students.

Seventeen.

A useful number.

He felt the opportunity immediately.

"Everyone stay close," Chris ordered, voice clean and confident. "No one wanders. Logan, check the left side. Varis, take two and look ten paces past the trees, no farther. If you see movement, report back. Do not engage. Mela, check injuries. Taron, map."

The students responded quickly.

That pleased him.

Commands were easier when people expected him to give them.

He took out his communication insignia and tested it with a short signal. It crackled once, then steadied, then faded with mild distortion. Usable, not reliable. He expected that after Thion’s warning but he did not show frustration.

"Insignias work poorly," Chris said. "Use short pulses only. No constant calls. We do not know what the realm reacts to."

One of the students, a girl with short black hair and a spear strapped across her back, looked toward him. "Should we wait for Sheila’s signal?"

Chris kept his face calm.

The question irritated him more than it should have.

"No," he said. "We wait long enough to locate ourselves and gather anyone nearby. If we are south of Veyrhold, then sitting here until someone else gives permission wastes time. The assessment has begun. We act."

It sounded practical.

It was practical.

But beneath it, something else moved.

If he reached Veyrhold first, it would matter. If he gathered more students before Sheila, it would matter. If his group arrived organized, armed, and steady while Sheila was still somewhere in the eastern woods trying to collect stragglers, then the year would see the truth Chris needed them to see. The debate had not gone the way he wanted, but Eldervale was not a debate. Eldervale would reward action. It would reward command that moved, not command that waited for perfect trust and gentle understanding.

’This is the real proof,’ Chris thought. ’Not speeches. Results.’

Logan returned from the left, trying to look more useful than winded. "No threats nearby. I heard someone farther out, maybe two voices."

"Direction?"

"Southwest. Maybe. Sound carried strangely."

Chris nodded. "Do not chase it blindly. We mark this location first, confirm map position, then send a small retrieval pair if it is safe."

The order was good enough that several students relaxed.

Chris noticed.

He also noticed the way they looked at him when he gave instructions. Some with trust. Some with uncertainty, but still listening. That was influence. Real influence. Not the soft affection Sheila gathered. Not the sympathy she gained after speaking about her brother. This was command in motion.

Taron knelt with the map, looking from the parchment to the sky. "If that constellation is the Broken Antler, I think Veyrhold is north-northeast. We are south of it, maybe slightly west."

Chris crouched beside him, studying the map. "Distance?"

"Hard to say. Maybe a few hours if terrain is kind. Longer if it is not."

Chris stood. "Then we move northeast once we finish checking this area."

The Water Magic student, Mela, looked up from wrapping a boy’s scraped forearm. "What about other groups? If we move too quickly, we may miss students nearby."

"We are not abandoning them," Chris said smoothly. "We gather those within a reasonable radius. But we are not turning this into a blind search through hostile territory. Veyrhold is the objective. Once secured, it becomes the natural gathering point."

Again, practical and not completely wrong.

But his thoughts sharpened around the part he did not say aloud.

If Sheila wanted command, let her reach the base after him. Let her explain why he had already organized, moved, and perhaps secured a gate before she arrived. Let the year compare speeches to results. Let them see who truly stood at the front when the realm stopped being theoretical.

Chris adjusted the strap of his field bag and looked into the dark trees.

"Mark our route," he ordered. "Quietly. No bright signals unless necessary. We move in ten minutes."

Logan grinned faintly. "Straight to Veyrhold?"

Chris’s expression remained noble enough for the others watching him.

"Yes," he said. "We gather who we can without wasting time. Then we reach Veyrhold and begin securing it."

A few students nodded.

Chris let them see his confidence.

Inside, pride and ambition threaded tightly through every practical thought.

The Bastion Assessment had begun, and for the first time since the arena debate, Chris felt the shape of a path opening in front of him again. Sheila had won a crowd with words. Fine. He would win the realm with action.

And if he reached Veyrhold first, the commander’s title would begin to look far less settled than everyone wanted to believe.

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