Prior to Shiver’s entry to the Floors of Trepidation

  Triol Revenant walked the Floors of Trepidation.

  Past the golden gates, leading into the bowels of the academy, were some of the floors to greater stages.

  Anhedonia was only the beginning, where his sister and her companions languished.

  He had descended to Trepidation, the second stage of Fear.

  The Floors of Delirium, Dread, and Serenity were beyond him.

  In the dark hallway before him, were innumerable doors of varying construction. He walked into one. Then the next. Similar to the rooms of descension in the Floors of Anhedonia, each contained a different biome.

  The doorway he had chosen led to a snowy mountain. He stared down at what could have been lifted from the Winterlands itself.

  It was filled with corpses.

  Not all were visible to the eye, yet his Fear of death sang, resonating with them around him. Not the corpses of elves, but of creatures. Of every conceivable type. Even those that had not been glimpsed in an age.

  His father had been right, after all. True to his words the bounty beyond Anhedonia that awaited him in the academy was nowhere to be found. The Floors of Trepidation were useless to him, just as they were to any other Fearshaper at his stage in their descension.

  All that was left were shells, empty remnants.

  In the academy’s prime, he could only begin to imagine the flexibility that would have been afforded to Fearshapers in Trepidation. His thoughts turned to the countless biomes that had been contained in the hall. Invocations of every conceivable type would have been accessible to them. Countless unique interactions could have been discovered, studied and replicated.

  As Triol invoked his Fear, he felt his Fearcore ignite. He could feel something running through his veins, that empowered him.

  Alarum.

  That was the term his father had used. Supposedly it was what Fearshapers accumulated from Trepidation passively, not of active use to them. The nature of the descent through Trepidation supplied Fearshapers with the requisite amount to support their growth. In Delirium onwards, it played a crucial role, supposedly. Regrettably, his father had failed to elaborate upon its precise nature.

  As a Fearshaper early in his descent, Triol had limited invocations to call upon. His descent through Anhedonia had been uneventful, and he had descended just as the Academy had intended. Or so his father had said.

  He watched as he released his invocation of Fear, his two undead wolves falling to the ground, arriving at their final rest in the snow.

  His hands shook as he contemplated the task before him.

  Not all beasts were equal. Triol could make animals such as wolves heed his command with ease. Larger creatures were at the limit of his capabilities. If they broke free from his control, he could be endangered.

  He gazed at skeletons of two immense winterlions, legends that prowled the Verscallian Peaks in their heyday. Unparalleled predators, now extinct. Barring rumours of their presence in the Dreadwood, of course - but practically every extinct creature was said to persist, in the Archcity of Life.

  Triol laid his hand on the skull of the closest winterlion.

  Although Triol’s own Fear had been triggered from witnessing the death of his mother, his influence over death had extended towards beasts.

  His guide, Silvanis, was a reflection of the animalistic nature of his Fear.

  Triol uttered the invocation he had received upon his descent, bringing his Fear into reality.

  [Bestial subservience]

  He felt his Fear run through him, his alarum struggling to give effect to his will, to animate the gargantuan beast.

  His Fearshaping was unique amongst his siblings. They looked down on him, as his command over death appeared to be relegated to creatures, beings without sentience. His father certainly had no such arbitrary limitation, and he brought beast and elf alike under his command in droves.

  Then again, his father had likely reached Serenity years ago. He stood as a Fearshaper of death at the height of his powers.

  How much control did one have over the nature of their Fearshaping? Or would he be relegated to the bodies of beasts for his entire path?

  He believed it was an arbitrary distinction, and his brother, Safnir, had laughed at that when he had expressed his frustration. The Fear of death had many manifestations, reflected in the nature of a Fearshaper’s powers.

  His sister Savagery’s invocations allowed her to resist death. She could avoid fatal wounds, and even dismemberment or disease was no impediment to her. Of his siblings, she had been the most forthcoming in making an impression on him. To ensure that he knew his place.

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  His brother Safnir, the eldest, took after their father. Capable of raising hordes of undead to do his bidding. Simple and effective – it only grew more terrifying when it was applied at scale.

  Somnolence was a mystery. She never spoke to him, let alone disclosed the nature of her Fearshaping. There was no doubt though, that when Triol had seen her strolling about Soulhaven, he had occasionally felt his heartbeat… flicker.

  He wondered what the shape of Vale’s Fear would take.

  As for Dawn?

  He gritted his teeth at the feelings of dread and guilt that arose at the thought of her.

  Yet a glimmer of relief washed over him as the winterlion finally rose. His invocation took hold. He sighed internally in relief.

  Its head angled towards him awkwardly. The winterlion took a step towards him.

  Triol leapt out of the way as it lunged forward, attempting to impale him with its fangs. The winterlion collapsed into the snow, where it laid unmoving once again.

  He heard a familiar chittering. He turned to see his guide, Silvanis, mocking him with her laughter.

  His eyes grew downcast at his failure. Shiver, that girl…

  Perhaps she was right after all.

  About him.

  And Vale.

  Silvanis’ grating laughter came to an abrupt halt. His gaze rose.

  The winterlion stood upright. Silently watching him. Prowling. Striding with the ease and grace it had once possessed in life. Then, Triol felt his heartbeat begin to slow to a crawl, the feeling of pinpricks washing over his extremities.

  He knelt.

  It paced before him, free from the awkwardness and irregularities that had coloured its movements while under his control. It yawned, its massive fangs drooping from the roof of its mouth, as if given a new lease on life.

  Pinpricks of void burned from its eye sockets as its gaze found him. Triol mentally braced for his father’s ridicule, but none of it came. Instead, his father posed a sincere question.

  "Triol, tell me of Caledon Brimstone. What is the shape of his Fear?"

  He had never heard his father so on edge before, hanging on Triol’s every word. He felt the irrational urge to tell him to bury himself in one of Soulhaven’s graves. But the outcome he threatened would await him if his composure broke now.

  For all that he despised his father, he had done just as he instructed. Left his sister and her companions to their descent unimpeded, and he had spied on the young Brimstone. His Fearshaping trivialised reconnaissance and it had been an easy task to track them. While the Academy’s Terror had forbidden unsanctioned violence, restrictions weren’t imposed on other activities. All it took was a single dead insect or rodent and their secrets were his for the taking.

  "The boy holds a torch, yet it barely bears a flame. He has difficulty sleeping, despite his nightmares seeming to take the form of pleasant dreams. His condition worsens by the day, growing more tired. I can’t tell you precisely what the nature of his Fear is… but I don’t believe it’s a conventional Fear of flame-"

  Laughter greeted him. It wasn’t a dramatic, ruthless thing, but an alien emotion in his father’s voice.

  Pure unadulterated glee.

  He watched astounded as his father hiccuped. What had he delivered in his meagre words, for the Deathbringer to have cast away his dignity? Not that he was concerned of Triol’s expression of him.

  What… in Insanity.

  Triol stared with wide eyes at the winterlion, as Vetrian’s laughter across the empty, snowy plans.

  "Fate is such a cruel thing. Triol. Thank you. To think that each and every one of her children would be such a blessing to me, oh Asale. You have given me… hope, my son."

  Triol began to shake, his Phobia forming in his hands unbidden. He wielded a long, white shepard’s crook, utterly ineffective in close combat, but a symbol of his Fear nonetheless.

  Then, the winterlion crept forward, locking its eyes with his own. Triol stared into the abyss as it whispered back to him.

  "You must be frustrated, your best efforts amounting to naught."

  His father’s voice echoed from the maw of the winterlion before him.

  His head still rang from Shiver’s words to him. He had vainly attempted to search the other Floors for anything that would help him descend. He had already searched the Floors of Trepidation once before, when he had initially descended to Anhedonia.

  On his second visit, his current one, the same scene had awaited him. His meagre plan, was to turn the disadvantage against him, seeing hope in the dead bodies of the creatures that lay in the biomes.

  His father laughed. A hollow laugh, that rung out across the empty frozen landscape beyond him.

  "This is a feeling that countless Fearshapers share. The descent into power is fraught with… frustration. Futility. Sacrifices must be made for advancement, the only question, is whether you are willing, Triol."

  Triol squeezed his fists in frustration, as he knelt before the winterlion.

  "I propose… to give you a gift, for the happiness you have brought me. Are you willing to accept it?"

  How long would he languish in stagnation? Seeing his sisters being manipulated at the whims of their father. Yet he had no other choice. He did not find salvation, even in this academy of legends. His shoulders slumped.

  "I am, father."

  Laughter followed.

  "Then I must introduce you to a dear friend of mine, son. The pieces draw together. An opportunity reveals itself - to rid myself of a thorn in my side, and to part the clouds which conceal the stars – in one fell swoop. You have given me hope. An ironic twist of fate, that will lodge a seed of distrust that will pave my very path."

  His father erupted into soft laughter.

  "I must introduce you to a dear friend of mine, son. Who will grant you your wish, and make you a true Fearshaper. I wonder… did you notice him on your journey?"

  Triol’s eyes widened as the space before him distorted before his very eyes.

  A strange… figure stood before him. The usual descriptors failed him, for it was no elf.

  It walked on elongated limbs, legs too long to belong to any of Triol’s own kind. It was hunched, and towered over him, instilling Triol with a sense of deep-seated Fear.

  Wait.

  His eyes widened.

  Impossible.

  The creature’s jaw widened impossibly, to reveal an endless maw of black teeth. The world around him faded as he was enveloped in them.

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