Chapter 4
The thunderous sound of my father’s right-hand man slamming his fists against the table jolted me out of my daydream.
Barrett’s voice rose, sharp and unwavering, as he argued with the other lieutenants.
Hours had passed, yet no decision had been made.
I stayed leaning against the wall of the war room, head tilted back, eyes closed, pretending I wasn’t here and minding my own damn business.
“Sending them back to that school would be purgatory!” Barrett shouted, his frustration palpable. “You think Kalluri will just wave off an absence note? From our General? We’re not throwing those kids back into this. They’ve suffered enough already!”
“They aren’t kids anymore, Colonel! This is the only way, and you know the General will agree,” Lieutenant Perci countered.
With one smooth, furious motion, Barrett swept the goblets of ale off the table. The crash of metal and liquid spilling onto the stone floor punctuated his anger.
“She’s right,” I muttered, my eyes still closed.
Barrett let out a raspy sigh, collecting himself. “Speak, Fallon.”
Pushing off the wall, I approached the old oak table.
It dominated the room, a silent sentinel to every decision, every argument, every failure.
Time had worn its edges smooth, but the grain still bore splinters, a testament to its resilience.
Of all the things in this war room, it was the only piece that had outlasted us all.
This table had weathered centuries of battles and survived wars that claimed both men and women. If only it could speak, I thought. If it could reveal our history, whisper the answers we so desperately seek.
As a child, it had been my refuge. I used to crawl under its massive frame, tracing every divot and curve. My initials are carved there still, etched on a day when I felt truly alone.
Meetings happened above me countless times. The table had been my wooden shield, a place where I could eavesdrop in safety. Through those secret conversations, I pieced together fragments of my mother’s life—truths no one else was willing to tell me outright.
I leaned over the table, pressing my knuckles into its worn surface.
“We all know our General is tired of waiting. The breach of our borders was too close for comfort. Tyria is advancing, and time isn’t on our side.
The General only cares about reclaiming what is rightfully ours.
Whether that means showing up at Mageia’s doorstep with weapons drawn or—”
“What exactly is Hollow Summit’s at Mageia?” a voice cut through, calm but sharp.
Rhodes stepped forward from the shadowed corner, his presence imposing as he crossed the room.
“That is for us to know and for the Glade not to snatch out of our hands.” I spat on his hands that rested on the table.
Rhodes didn’t flinch. Instead, he flicked my spit right back at me. I cursed.
“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, Fitzroy, but the Shadow Glade is a legion in this war too,” he growled, his tone simmering with restrained rage.
“We’re on the same side, even if we don’t like the company we’re stuck with.
How in the elements are we supposed to help if you won’t tell us what you’re looking for? ”
My jaw tightened as fury surged through me, my glare sharp enough to cut. But before I could respond, Perci’s voice rang out, calm yet cutting through the tension.
“We don’t know exactly what we’re looking for,” she said.
I shot her a deathly glare, willing her to stop, but she pressed on.
“What do you mean?” Rhodes demanded, his attention snapping to her.
Perci hesitated only a moment, then sighed.
“I mean… we’re not entirely sure what it is.
For years, we’ve been searching for the Mareki’s Key.
But now, the Hollow doesn’t believe it to be an actual key.
Our theory is that Scarlet plays a major role in finding it, but that’s all we have.
And until we figure that out, we can’t take it back. ”
I dropped my gaze to the table, the weight of my failure pressing against my chest. For months, my mission had been to use the marekem with Scarlet to uncover the missing piece of our puzzle.
The Seer who set our fate into motion may have vanished, but not before leaving behind the first half of the prophecy.
This mystery had haunted my father since we were born, and it consumed him after our mother was killed.
“The Glade has been looking too,” said Rhodes.
Stunned, I opened my mouth and closed it again.
The door burst open, yanking me from the thought. A swarm of Shadow Glade soldiers marched in before parting to reveal their leader.
General Wylder.
Fucking asshole.
Elias Wylder entered the war room with the arrogance of a man who believed the space was his to command.
His deep gray eyes were as cold and unforgiving as stone, a stark contrast to the careful grooming of his wavy brown hair—a clear sign he cared about appearances.
The faint lines etched into his face spoke of his age, placing him near my father’s years.
It wasn’t hard to imagine the two of them as cadets in the same year, shaped by the same brutal trials that forged their generation.
Tall and imposing like his son, he wore black battle leathers molded to his form, the Shadow Glade’s insignia faintly engraved over his chest. It wasn’t flashy, just enough to set the Glade apart from the Hollow.
Elias and my father both reported directly to War Chief Kalluri. Generations ago, the Hollow had been considered separate from Kalymdor. Our people kept to the mountains, guarding our own and never interfering beyond our borders.
That changed when Kalluri rose as Arya’s War Chief. He formed the Shadow Glade’s secret legion and came to the Hollow, asking my late grandfather for aid in the fight against Tyria.
Now, both legions operated as hidden weapons in the war against the north—shadow armies, invisible to the outside world.
Magical borders shrouded both territories, concealing us from anyone who didn’t already know we existed.
That secrecy also protected our hidden agreements with the Glade from Kalluri.
And that was why the breach on our borders was more than just an inconvenience—it was a threat left on our doorstep.
“Where’s my son?” Elias demanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
My lips curled into a twisted smile as I glanced at Rhodes, who was staring directly at his father.
“My other son,” Elias clarified, his tone sharp, refusing to acknowledge Rhodes’s presence.
“Father—” Rhodes began, stepping forward.
“I am speaking to authority, soldier.” Elias’s words cut like a blade, his gaze still fixed elsewhere.
Shadows fell across Rhodes’s face as he backed into the corner, leaning against the wall with one foot propped up. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
“Shayde Wylder is being held in our dungeons, General,” Barrett answered, stepping into the tension-filled silence.
Elias moved slowly, his steel-toe boots clicking against the stone floor as he passed behind me. I remained still, leaning on the table, my nails digging into the worn oak.
From the corner of my eye, I watched him close the distance to Barrett, stopping inches away. They now stood face-to-face.
“Why is my son being held prisoner?” Elias barked, his deep gray eyes narrowing. “I want him released immediately.”
Barrett didn’t flinch. “No can do, sir. That’s up to our General.”
Elias clicked his tongue in disdain before grabbing a mug left forgotten on the table. Without warning, he hurled it at Rhodes.
“You’re to blame for this!”
Rhodes ducked just in time, the mug shattering against the wall where his head had been. The sound echoed through the room, silencing any murmurs. Elias didn’t stop. He stormed toward Rhodes, grabbing the front of his leathers in a tight fist and yanking him close.
“All of this bullshit happened under your watch!” he snarled, his face inches from Rhodes’s.
My body moved without thought. I stepped forward instinctively, ready to intervene. I inched closer to the confrontation, my fingers brushing against the edge of the table. The scene unfolding in front of me felt all too familiar.
But Rhodes didn’t utter a word. He stood still, his jaw clenched and expression stonelike as Elias shoved him back with a forceful push.
“Tell Fitzroy the Glade is here with news. Another Mageian professor is dead. I demand a meeting—immediately.” Elias turned on his heel, boots echoing against the stone floor as he made for the exit. He paused in the doorway, lifting a single finger.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he added, his voice edged with command. He didn’t turn—he just spoke over his shoulder. “One of ours will remain here for the foreseeable future. I trust you’ll provide him with appropriate lodging… and the respect he’s owed.”
With that, he walked out—just as a familiar face from the Glade stepped into the war room. But the weight of another dead professor left me too stunned to register who it was.
Our team began filing out of the room as Barrett called the meeting to a close. I stayed back, letting them leave first. Rhodes remained behind too, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, silent and unmoving.
When the door shut, leaving just the two of us, an uncomfortable stillness settled in.
I’d always thought of the Wylder twins as exact replicas of their father—cold, commanding, malevolent. But what I’d just witnessed shattered that illusion. The dynamic between them wasn’t what I had imagined. It was far too familiar.
Too much like my own.
An unsettling feeling bubbled in my chest, words hovering on the tip of my tongue but refusing to come out. Everything I thought I knew about Elias and the Shadow Glade swirled chaotically in my mind, clouding my thoughts.
Before I could settle on the one question I wanted to ask, Rhodes pushed off the wall and walked out, leaving me alone with my spiraling thoughts.