Days passed in silence.
Aren's group moved deeper into the northern wilds.
Snow gave way to mud.
Rivers blocked paths.
Wolves watched from dark treelines.
The land itself seemed to test them.
At a hidden valley, Aren halted.
"This is it," he said.
A natural fortress.
Steep cliffs.
Dense forests.
Perfect to build what they needed.
Caelis surveyed the area.
"Draven will not expect an army here."
"Nor will Rowan," Aren replied.
His mind already raced.
They set to work.
Camps hidden among rocks.
Traps in the forests.
Signal fires masked by smoke.
Every action precise.
Every soldier drilled.
Lysa trained scouts relentlessly.
Arrows flying day and night.
Hunting. Tracking. Killing quietly.
Tom followed, learning fast.
Word reached them through secret networks.
Merchants. Smugglers. Minor lords.
All ready to join.
"All hungry," Aren said. "All willing."
Aren addressed them for the first time formally.
"You were nothing. Forgotten. Afraid.
Now, you are the shadow in their halls.
The strike they will never see coming."
Cheering followed.
Soft. Controlled.
Not noise. Power.
Supplies moved silently.
Weapons hidden.
Information gathered.
Every step calculated.
By the time the first scouts of Greyhaven came to spy,
The Shadow Army was already forming.
Aren's exile was no longer survival.
It was preparation.
A promise.
And soon…
The world would remember the name Valewood.