On the edge of war, three soldiers must face what it means to belong and what it costs to survive.
Leonard has spent his life training to earn his place in the legendary Ravenblood Pact, desperate to prove his worth to the only family he’s ever known. At his side is Saran, grounded and unyielding, fighting just as hard to protect those who matter. Watching over them both is Darum, a scarred veteran whose quiet discipline hides deeper wounds.
When a routine mission on the border turns violent, the trio is thrown into a world of shifting loyalties, dangerous magic, and old scars that refuse to heal. Bonds are tested, trust is hard-won, and every step forward seems to reveal more about what they truly owe to each other, and to themselves.
As threats close in from both outside and within, Leonard, Saran, and Darum must decide how far they’re willing to go, and what parts of themselves they’re willing to risk, to protect what matters most.
Shadows in the Stone is a story of burden, legacy and the choices that shape us, where courage is forged not by prophecy or destiny, but by the people who fight beside you.
On the edge of war, three soldiers must face what it means to belong and what it costs to survive.
Leonard has spent his life training to earn his place in the legendary Ravenblood Pact, desperate to prove his worth to the only family he’s ever known. At his side is Saran, grounded and unyielding, fighting just as hard to protect those who matter. Watching over them both is Darum, a scarred veteran whose quiet discipline hides deeper wounds.
When a routine mission on the border turns violent, the trio is thrown into a world of shifting loyalties, dangerous magic, and old scars that refuse to heal. Bonds are tested, trust is hard-won, and every step forward seems to reveal more about what they truly owe to each other, and to themselves.
As threats close in from both outside and within, Leonard, Saran, and Darum must decide how far they’re willing to go, and what parts of themselves they’re willing to risk, to protect what matters most.
Shadows in the Stone is a story of burden, legacy and the choices that shape us, where courage is forged not by prophecy or destiny, but by the people who fight beside you.
Prologue
They gathered on the broken hill while the world was still young, the sky bleeding the colors of dusk and cinder. Clouds moved slow as ships, watching. The land wore the scars of battle, furrowed earth and ash, stumps black as night. All things quieted, even the wind, to watch the closing of an age.
No one spoke his name. Names belonged to the living, and the living had come only to bear witness. They did not wail, nor sing the old songs. Instead, they wrapped him in linen the color of storm, hands steady, movements practiced, the hush between breaths deeper than prayer. He was laid atop stone, body straight, arms crossed where the blood had dried. Eyes closed with the gentleness of those who had followed him through mud and fire.
The sword, the one he had carried through every campaign, was not set at his side. It had shattered, each fragment cold, hard, severed from the other. Four chosen came forward, one for each quarter of the world. They knelt, took a piece, and moved away in a silent procession, the shards held flat against their chests. Each vanished into the dusk, bearing steel and story beyond the edges of the burial ground. To the north, south, east, and west, each piece would lie beneath earth, marking the bounds of what would become.
At the center, the stone waited. Not a tomb, but a seed. The laborers had cleared the soil, digging deeper than memory, until the clay was red and the stones unbroken. The old ones said a wall must rise, one no enemy could breach so long as oath and bone held fast beneath the threshold.
They unwrapped his arms. A blade was drawn, slender and clean. With reverent precision, they cut the shroud, three long strips, cloth unfurling like pale rivers in the dusk. Another drew a basin, iron and deep, the inside scored by ritual lines.
They pricked the king’s veins, letting what blood remained drip into the vessel. The air grew heavier, as if the sky pressed down to listen. When the bowl was filled, they brought up sacks of lime and sand, poured water, and with slow, careful hands, mixed mortar with the blood, never letting it cool.
The body was lowered not into a crypt, but onto the stone at the hill’s heart. No lid was placed, no closure, only a layer of earth pressed down by many hands. The foundation was placed directly atop his bones, each rock set with care, the blood mixed mortar binding flesh and future together.
Above his resting place, the first wall began to rise. No markers distinguished the grave. The people stacked stone after stone, sweat darkening linen, breaths white in the night air. Their voices did not carry. The sound of building replaced all songs of mourning.
From the cut strips of shroud, the elders and the widows began to sew. Fingers moved in silence, drawing thread through blood-stained linen. What was torn became banners, no emblems yet, no colors save the iron-streaked black and silver. When the wall was high enough to throw a shadow, these banners were raised. They did not flutter, hanging heavy as if remembering the body that had worn them.
In time, children would ask where the old world ended and the new began. The answer was always the same: here, where stone grew from flesh, where the dead gave birth to walls.
They did not tell stories of gods that night. There were no miracles, only the slow, cold work of building a future from what war had left behind. Yet in the stillness, some would claim to see a great black bird watching from the stones, wings folded, eyes bright, waiting. No one gave it a name. Some things, even then, were best left unsaid.
So the years passed, and the fortress rose. The banners faded and frayed but were never thrown away. Children were sworn to the walls, learning the weight of stone, the story carried not in words but in marrow and dust. Every new generation laid hands to the earth, feeling the thrum of blood beneath their feet.
They did not say his name, but every oath, every stone, was a memory. Not of glory but of sacrifice. Of a wall that did not fall, even when gods turned away.
And that was enough.
Chapter 1
.Leonard listened to the hush of the forest trail, broken only by the distant snap of a branch or the furtive scurry of some small animal overturning leaves in the autumn darkness. He crouched beside the campfire, dark, slightly unkempt hair falling into his eyes, careful not to shift too much weight onto the uneven ground. One eye lingered on the shadows just beyond the fire’s reach.
Sparks drifted up in sharp bursts, catching briefly in the silver moonlight before vanishing. The others sat nearby, close enough for warmth but never quite dropping their guard. Darum’s armor caught the glow in dull, worn steel at the shoulders, scarred and battered, the leather at his joints supple with age. The raven sigil, black on black, was nearly invisible against his cloak. Darum’s jaw bore a ragged scar just beneath the cheekbone, his beard scruffy and flecked with grey at the chin and along the jawline. He held himself like a man who’d rather be standing, broad-shouldered, back straight, always half-braced for trouble.
Saran fidgeted, black hair pulled into a tight braid down her back, a strand escaping to brush her cheek. She tugged her cloak tighter, burying her chin behind a gloved fist. Her sword was never far, propped within easy reach. She’d already scanned the perimeter three times, Leonard guessed, her eyes sharp and restless. The routine comforted her, or maybe it didn’t. He could never quite tell.
The fire was small. Darum insisted on small fires.
“Routine assignment,” Saran said, voice pitched low, careful to avoid letting her voice carry too far into the trees. She glanced at Leonard. “You think the outpost’s as run-down as they say?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Darum replied, keeping his gaze on the darkness. “We aren’t here for comfort. Outpost’s a formality. The border’s what matters.”
Leonard nodded, not because he agreed, but because agreement was expected. He could feel the damp earth through his leggings, the cold pushing through layers, the old nerves stirring in his chest. He didn’t let it show. He kept his eyes forward, watching how the light caught on Darum’s gauntlet as he flexed his hand.
Saran shrugged and poked at the fire. “Still better than a border patrol in Karth,” she muttered, not quite joking. “At least their food’s worse than ours.”
Darum’s mouth twisted, amused. He tapped the religious token at his neck, more habit than prayer. His palm, the one with the incantation stone set deep in the skin, hovered near the flame. Leonard caught the gesture, brief but deliberate. A way of drawing strength, or a ward against what he imagined was across the border.
“They use magic like it’s nothing,” Darum said, voice gravel and iron. “Treat it like a game. As if a gift from the gods should be handled by anyone with the stomach for it. No discipline, no reverence. That’s why their country rots from the inside.”
Leonard shifted. The old lesson came back. Don’t argue, listen, absorb, move on. He wondered if Darum realized his fingers always found the trinket before these speeches. Saran said nothing, only watched Darum for a moment, then let her attention drift back to the woods.
Wind swept through the clearing, bringing with it the scent of cold earth and distant rain. Leaves whispered overhead. Somewhere out past the tree line, something alive crashed clumsily through the brush, then vanished again. Leonard’s pulse ticked higher, but Darum didn’t flinch.
“We take shifts tonight,” he announced, breaking the silence with practiced authority. “Leonard, you watch first, then Saran. I’ll finish it out.”
Leonard let the familiar order settle him, even as his mind worked over the ways the night could go wrong. He’d been outside the academy before, but not like this. Not with autumn crowding every sound, every movement.
Darum rolled out his bedroll with deliberate movements, his armor never far from hand. He settled down as if he’d never learned how to sleep in a bed. Saran stretched out but stayed sitting, arms around her knees, eyes half-closed but never really at rest.
For a while, they sat together in a hush that was almost comfortable. The fire burned low, and the woods pressed closer. Leonard stared into the coals, letting their heat dull the memory of blood and night that always lingered too near when things got quiet.
He wondered if Saran felt it too, the weight of the forest, the sense that something watched from the dark, waiting for a moment’s carelessness. She caught him looking and offered the ghost of a smile.
Darum was already still, the token cupped loosely in his fist, breath deep and even. Leonard envied the ease of it.
Above them, the moon slid behind a rack of clouds. He looked up, the faint moonlight falling into his amber-tinged eyes. The shadows drew longer, the cold deepened, and the clearing shrank to a circle of dull light in a world built for secrets.
He settled back, hand on the hilt of his sword, and tried to let the routine shield him from the things that couldn’t be named.
The wind shifted, carrying the distant smell of smoke and iron. Leonard’s grip tightened. He waited for the next sound, the next movement, the next sign that belief was sometimes the only shield they had.
Leonard sat with his back to the fire, eyes fixed on the shifting dark. The hush of the forest pressed close, broken only by the dull pop of sap in the coals. He blinked once, slow and tired, then caught the whisper of movement behind him, a foot brushing damp leaves.
He turned, muscles tensing, only to see Saran step into the edge of firelight. Her boots were quiet, her shape familiar. Still, he felt his nerves rise, brief and pointless. Saran saw it and grinned. “Easy, soldier,” she said, lowering herself to a crouch beside him. “You’re wound up tighter than a training dummy.”
Leonard exhaled, half-laugh, half-release. “Didn’t hear you.”
“That’s the idea.” She tapped her temple. “Someone had to keep you sharp.”
They sat together, backs to the fire, Saran resting her arms on her knees. He could almost forget the woods for a heartbeat. She looked out at the dark with a kind of wonder. “Reminds me of our first night at the academy,” she said. “Couldn’t sleep, too much noise in my head. Only difference is, back then, the worst thing out there was Brent with a stick, waiting to see who’d nod off.”
Leonard allowed himself a brief smile, remembering cold stone floors and whispered dares. “He’d have us running laps at dawn,” he said, “no matter how tired we were.”
“Still does.” Saran nudged him. “You never got caught, though. Too careful.”
He shrugged. “Too scared.”
She laughed quietly. “We all were. We only showed it differently.”
A stillness settled over them. The woods seemed to lean closer. Leonard felt Saran’s hand brush his shoulder. “You should get some rest. I’ll take over.” She nodded to the trees. “I’ve got this.”
He hesitated, but fatigue crept in fast. He stood, stretched his back, and started to shift away, then stopped. “Be careful,” he said, quieter than he meant.
Saran smirked. “Always.”
He settled onto his bedroll, sword still within reach, letting the fire’s warmth seep in. The night pressed on, colder than before. He closed his eyes, letting his breathing slow, the sounds of Saran moving barely audible, careful and deliberate.
A rustle, too sharp, too close.
Leonard sat up, heart knocking in his chest. Saran was already on her feet, sword drawn, her stance rigid and alert. The darkness beyond the fire rippled. A shape moved fast, a flash of steel, an axe arcing toward Saran’s head.
She met it with the flat of her blade, metal shrieking against metal. The axe tumbled to the ground. Another figure burst into the clearing, face pale, eyes dead and white, body twisted with black piercings that caught the firelight like teeth.
Saran shouted, “Ambush!”
Focusing. Leonard gripped his sword, cold hilt rough against his palm. Darum was already rolling to his feet, his blade clearing its scabbard in one smooth motion.
The raiders crashed in, wild and fearless. Saran pivoted, meeting the next attacker with a low sweep. Blood flashed. One lunged at Leonard,who moved without thinking, parried high, then struck back the blade. A rush of resistance, then a spray of warmth across his face. The man went down hard.
Leonard froze, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a scream. Blood dripped from his chin. His mind went distant, sound collapsing into a single memory, cold, dark, red across his eyes, the echo of a night he could never fully recall. For a split second, he was a child again, alone in the dark.
A shadow moved, another axe swinging for his head.
Darum intercepted, catching the attacker’s wrist. The sound was brutal, a crack, a grunt, a body dropped. Darum finished the job with a short, ugly motion, then shoved the corpse aside and turned to check Leonard. “Move!” he barked.
Leonard staggered, sword up, the world flickering back. The clearing filled with noise, shouts, the clash of steel, the hot stink of sweat and fear. Saran cut down another raider, her motions clean and graceful. Darum moved like a stone thrown through glass, efficient and remorseless.
Three bodies hit the dirt in quick succession. The rest of the raiders hesitated. One screamed something in a language Leonard didn’t know, then fled into the trees. The others followed, vanishing into the tangle of night. Silence crashed back, sudden and heavy.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Leonard stared at the body at his feet, breath rattling in his throat. Darum reached him, a rough hand on his shoulder. “You’re hit?”
Leonard shook his head. Darum’s eyes narrowed, reading the truth beneath the answer, but he let it go.
“Check the bodies,” Darum said, voice level but colder now. “See who sent them.”
Leonard wiped his face, the blood sticky, half-dried already. He knelt by a corpse, forcing his hands to move. The skin was bone-pale, cold, tattooed with dark, curling sigils. Eyes white and wrong. Up close, the stench of Karthian magic was unmistakable, bitter and metallic.
Saran joined him, knife ready, gaze sharp but guarded. They worked in silence. Darum crouched by another body, turning it over with care.
“These aren’t mere raiders,” Darum said finally with old, quiet anger. “Karth sent them. Or something worse.”
The fire hissed. The night seemed to lean in, listening for what would come next.
Leonard tried to steady his breathing, his hands, and his thoughts. The blood on his skin felt colder now, almost familiar.
He looked at Saran and found her watching him passively.
He almost asked if she was alright, but the question lodged in his throat. Instead, he turned away, busying his hands with cleaning blood from his sword, the motions mechanical and silent. Saran crouched nearby, her presence steady as a hand on his back, not touching but holding him all the same.
Darum finished his inspection of the bodies and straightened, eyes narrowed at the tree line. He said nothing about the fight, offered no praise or comfort. He gathered his things, checked the perimeter with a sweep of his gaze, and said bluntly, “We move. Now.”
Leonard stowed his gear, tightening his cloak against the chill. His blood felt sticky on his cheek, cold now that the adrenaline had faded. He caught Saran’s eye once more. She nodded, as if answering something he hadn’t asked, then fell in at his side. Darum took the lead, pushing through the dense undergrowth with the kind of confidence that came from years of walking ground no one else trusted.
They left the ruined camp behind. The fire flickered in their wake, casting long shadows that sprang up and died.
The forest thinned as they walked, the trees giving way to patches of low grass and crumbling stone. Autumn’s rot clung to everything, the earth damp and heavy beneath their boots. The world felt older here, as if every step they took pressed into a layer of memory beneath the mud.
They spoke little on the road. Saran’s energy, so quick to spark in banter, was now focused on, scanning for threats. Leonard kept pace beside her, feeling every muscle begin to ache as the tension wore off and fatigue crept in. Boots crunching the gravel. Darum walked ahead, occasionally checking over his shoulder.
The terrain shifted as they went. Grass gave way to rock. The slope grew steeper, winding toward the base of distant mountains that cut a dark, jagged line against the pale morning sky. In the half-light, the path felt almost hostile, a route used and abandoned a thousand times, always shifting underfoot.
Eventually, a shape appeared within the mist. A low, stone structure built into the hillside, ringed by mossy walls and flanked by a pair of watchtowers. Each tower was manned by a ballista covered with a tarp. The outpost was more fortress than barracks, battered by weather and war alike. Green-black moss crawled up the stones, softening the edges, while arrow slits and murder holes kept the place honest.
Leonard took it in silently, noting the makeshift repairs, the pitted wood of the main gate, and the way some banners hung limp and faded. Sentries patrolled the wooden parapets above, not Ravenblood by the look of their gear but rather; standard soldiers in boiled leather and simple steel, faces drawn, eyes wary.
Darum approached first, Saran and Leonard a step behind. One of the sentries called down, voice sharp but not unfriendly. “Halt! State your name and business.”
Darum tilted his chin up so his hood fell back, revealing the raven insignia stitched into his shoulder. He didn’t bother with rank, not at first. “Ravenblood. Reporting on mission and need to speak with the watch master.”
The sentries exchanged a look. Leonard caught a flash of uncertainty, even suspicion. The Ravenblood crest drew respect, but not camaraderie. The two soldiers spoke quietly before one called down again, “Wait there.”
A pause, then the gate creaked open enough for a single soldier to step out, hand resting on the hilt of a spear. Up close, the man was younger than Leonard expected, eyes rimmed with fatigue, cheeks rough with stubble.
“Watch master’s occupied,” the guard said. “You can leave your message.”
Darum interrupted with a slight shift of his cloak. Enough for the light to catch on the veteran’s insignia stitched into the fabric beneath. It had a remarkable shine compared to the rest of his gear. A detail half-concealed by habit, never flashed for show. The guard saw it and his whole posture changed. Not fear, but something like a professional alarm, a reminder of what authority looked like when it cared nothing for politeness.
“I’ll escort you in, sir.”
Darum nodded, stepping through the gate without a word. Saran followed, glancing at Leonard as if to keep him moving. Leonard kept his eyes forward, trying not to look like a tourist.
Inside, the outpost was all cramped corridors and torchlit gloom. The stone walls pressed close, cool and sweating with damp. The air tasted of burned oil, old wool, and the faint copper tang of a place built for holding men and not much else. Along the walls hung weapons racks, battered shields, and a tattered map of the borderlands. Wanted posters flapped in the draft, the faces on them blurred with rain or charcoal.
Leonard let his senses widen. The clink of armor, the low voices echoing in the halls, the steady rhythm of boots on stone. A soldier’s place, but not his. The Ravenblood crest above the main gate marked this as theirs, but the ambiance was different here, practical, slightly worn at the edges, the pride of necessity but not tradition.
They passed a monument in the courtyard. A block of black stone, pitted and lichen-scored, with names carved deep into its face. Leonard slowed, catching a few of them, dates, battles, lines of loss, before Saran nudged him forward.
A pair of soldiers led them through a side door into the main hall, where torchlight made everything seem more alive than it was. Armor hung on hooks, gear was stacked in orderly chaos, and every corner seemed filled with the shadows of a hundred routines. Leonard felt the divide, subtle but real. Ravenblood were outsiders here, both above and apart from the regular troops.
Darum paused outside the watch master’s chamber, gaze steady on Leonard and Saran. “You two, barracks. Ravenblood quarters. Clean up and have the smith check your gear. I’ll handle this.” His tone allowed no argument.
The guard knocked, voice pitched low. “Blade veteran to see you, sir.”
A grunt from within, then the door opened, heat spilling out, map tables, clutter, a wall lined with ink-stained orders. The watch master looked up, a young officer in crisp uniform, eyes already tired from balancing too many burdens.
Leonard hesitated, but Saran moved first, grabbing his arm in a gentle grip. “Come on,” she said quietly, steering him down a side corridor. Darum gave a final nod, then slipped inside, the door shutting behind him with a solid, final click.
They walked past regular soldiers clustered in the hall, their conversation dimming as Leonard and Saran passed. There was no open hostility, but there was distance, curiosity, caution, maybe a hint of envy or suspicion. Ravenblood moved through these spaces like foreign dignitaries: acknowledged, respected, but never quite part of the whole.
The path turned, leading to a quieter wing, where the torchlight was less harsh and the air felt almost clean. Here, the barracks bore the mark of the Pact: black banners stitched with the raven sigil. Bunks aligned in disciplined rows, the smell of oiled leather and steel a comfort rather than a warning.
Saran released Leonard’s arm, her posture relaxing a fraction. “We made it,” she said, relieved
Leonard nodded, letting his shoulders drop as they entered the barracks, the noise and weight of the outpost fading to a dull, manageable hum behind them. He could still feel the blood on his skin, but the fear had ebbed, replaced by a bone-deep fatigue and a fleeting sense that for a moment they belonged.
On the brink of war, three soldiers, Leonard, Saran and Darum, must face what it means to belong and what it costs to survive.
Leonard has spent his life training to earn his place in the legendary Ravenblood Pact, desperate to prove his worth to the only family he’s ever known. At his side is Saran, grounded and unyielding, fighting just as hard to protect her allies. Watching over them is Darum, a veteran whose quiet discipline hides deeper wounds from his past.
When a routine mission on the border turns violent, the trio is thrust into a world of shifting loyalties, treacherous magic, and long-buried scars that have come to light.
This is a story of burden, legacy, and the many paths life presents to shape us into who we are today. Ravenblood: Shadows in the Stone had all the correct elements to make this a perfect fantasy story: magical elements, adventure, struggle, and a unique setting. What stuck out the most were the strong characters. Leonard, Saran, and Darum were compelling and memorable. They each had a lot of depth and complexity, and despite having an overall goal, they all shared that they had different motivations, making each of their journeys unique. If you are someone who loves dark, brooding characters, then this is the trio for you. These three became such an addictive aspect of the story early on that it was easy to become hooked on their journey. There’s a portion of the story that follows Leonard and Darum more closely, providing the reader with a more in-depth view of the burdens they have carried throughout their lives. We don’t get that with Saran, but given how the story is told, it’s not a big deal. It must be said that she was the most lovable of the trio, though.
The writing and atmosphere of this story work together to immerse the reader fully. Throughout the beginning of the story, when there are fewer characters and the focus is heavily on Leonard, Saran, and Darum, it’s a dark setting, with the forest and the weather, making it easy to place oneself alongside the characters and feel the chill of the cold weather along with them. That feeling lingers with the reader long after they put the book down. It was a great fantasy. The story pulls you in more at the beginning, making you feel more invested in the characters, but it becomes more challenging to connect with them truly once it progresses. Overall, it was a great fantasy read, and it deserves recognition.