The portal spat Kael and Morrígan out onto a jagged cliff in the Shadowlands, a realm that looked like it had been carved from a nightmare. The sky was a swirling mass of gray and violet, streaked with lightning that never struck. Below, a fortress of black stone loomed, its spires sharp as spears, surrounded by a moat of shimmering mist. The air felt heavy, charged with an energy that made Kael's skin tingle.
"Welcome to Dún Scaith," Morrígan said, her voice low. "Scáthach's stronghold. Few mortals have seen it and lived."
Kael adjusted his grip on the Gáe Bolg, its runes glowing faintly in the dim light. "Great. Another day, another death trap. You sure know how to show a guy a good time."
Morrígan's lips twitched, a rare hint of a genuine smile. "You'll need more than wit to survive her, spear-bearer. Scáthach doesn't suffer fools—or weaklings."
Before Kael could retort, a figure appeared on the cliff's edge, as if materializing from the shadows. She was tall and imposing, her presence a storm of quiet intensity. Her armor was a mix of leather and bronze, etched with swirling patterns, and her crimson hair was tied back in a warrior's braid. A longsword rested at her hip, and a spear not unlike Kael's leaned against her shoulder. Her emerald eyes locked onto him, sharp and unyielding.
"So, this is Lugh's new pet," the woman said, her voice cold but tinged with curiosity. "He reeks of power, Morrígan, but he looks like a lost pup."
Kael bristled, stepping forward. "I'm Kael Lughson, and I just took down a Fomorian warlord. I'm not a pup."
The woman raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Scáthach, warrior-queen of the Shadowlands. And I've trained children who could kill warlords in their sleep. You're nothing special—yet."
Morrígan chuckled, stepping back to watch. "I'll leave you two to play. Don't die, Kael. I'd hate to find a new spear-bearer so soon." With a swirl of her cloak, she vanished into a flock of crows, leaving Kael alone with Scáthach.
"Great," Kael muttered, turning to Scáthach. "So, what's the deal? You're supposed to train me, right? Let's get to it."
Scáthach's eyes narrowed. "You don't give orders here, boy. First, you prove you're worth my time." She pointed her spear at a narrow bridge leading to the fortress—a rickety span of stone over a chasm filled with writhing shadows. "Cross the Bridge of Leaps. If you fall, the shades below will feast on your soul."
Kael glanced at the bridge, then at the chasm. The shadows moved like living things, their whispers chilling his blood. "You're kidding, right? That thing looks like it'll crumble if I sneeze."
"Then don't sneeze," Scáthach said, already walking toward the bridge. She crossed it in a blur of motion, her steps light and precise, as if the chasm didn't exist. On the other side, she turned, waiting.
Kael sighed, muttering, "I should've stayed in the museum." He stepped onto the bridge, the stone creaking under his sneakers. The Gáe Bolg felt heavier now, its weight a reminder of his new reality. Halfway across, the bridge trembled, and a shadowy tendril shot up from the chasm, aiming for his leg.
"Seriously?!" Kael dodged, his enhanced speed saving him. He thrust the Gáe Bolg down, the spear's curse shredding the tendril into mist. More shadows rose, forcing him to move faster. He leaped from stone to stone, his martial arts agility blending with Lugh's power. By the time he reached the other side, he was panting, but alive.
Scáthach nodded, a flicker of approval in her eyes. "Not terrible. But you're reckless. That spear's power is a crutch—you rely on it too much."
Kael wiped sweat from his brow. "It's kept me alive so far. What's your problem with it?"
"It's not the spear," Scáthach said, her tone sharp. "It's you. You wield Lugh's power, but you don't understand it. The Gáe Bolg's curse, the Ríastrad—they'll consume you if you don't learn control."
"There's that word again," Kael said, frowning. "Ríastrad. Morrígan mentioned it. What is it?"
Scáthach's expression darkened. "A gift and a curse. The Ríastrad is a battle frenzy, a state where your power multiplies tenfold. Cú Chulainn mastered it, but it drove him to madness more than once. You're not ready for it—not yet."
Kael shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the unease creeping up his spine. "Sounds like a power-up to me. I'll figure it out."
"You'll die trying," Scáthach snapped. She stepped closer, her spear flashing out to tap his chest—too fast for him to react. "Power without discipline is a blade that cuts its wielder. That's why you're here. I'll forge you into a warrior, or I'll break you."
Kael swallowed, her intensity making his bravado falter. But he met her gaze, his green eyes steady. "I'm not here to break. Train me, and I'll show you what I can do."
For the first time, Scáthach smiled—a small, dangerous thing. "Bold words. Let's see if you can back them up."
She led him into Dún Scaith, its halls lined with weapons and tapestries depicting ancient battles. The fortress felt alive, its shadows whispering with the voices of past heroes. Scáthach stopped at a training courtyard, a wide circle of packed earth surrounded by standing stones carved with runes.
"Your first lesson," Scáthach said, raising her spear. "Survive me."
"Wait, what—" Kael barely had time to react as Scáthach attacked. Her spear moved like lightning, a blur of deadly precision. Kael blocked with the Gáe Bolg, the impact jarring his arms. She struck again, forcing him back, her strikes relentless.
"You're too slow!" Scáthach barked, her spear grazing his shoulder. "Your power makes you fast, but your mind lags behind. Anticipate, don't react!"
Kael gritted his teeth, his competitive streak flaring. He dodged her next strike, using the Gáe Bolg to counter. The spears clashed, sparks flying, but Scáthach twisted her weapon, disarming him in a single fluid motion. The Gáe Bolg clattered to the ground, and her spear stopped an inch from his throat.
"Dead," Scáthach said, her voice cold. She lowered her weapon, stepping back. "You're strong, Kael Lughson, but strength alone won't save Ériu. You need skill, focus, and the will to lead."
Kael picked up the Gáe Bolg, his pride stinging but his resolve firm. "Then teach me. I'm not here to lose."
Scáthach studied him, her emerald eyes searching. Finally, she nodded. "Very well. We'll start with the basics—stance, footwork, and control. But know this: my training will push you to your limits. You'll bleed, you'll break, and you'll beg for rest. If you can't handle it, leave now."
Kael grinned, despite the ache in his shoulder. "I've never backed down from a challenge. Hit me with your worst."
Scáthach's smile returned, wider this time. "Oh, I will. But first…" She glanced at the sky, where a flock of crows circled, Morrígan's presence lingering. "It seems we're not alone."
Kael followed her gaze, his heart skipping a beat. Morrígan was watching—he could feel it. And something told him Scáthach knew it too. The warrior-queen's tone shifted, a hint of amusement creeping in
."You've caught the Morrígan's eye," Scáthach said, almost to herself. "Interesting. Let's see if you can catch mine."
With that, she raised her spear again, and Kael braced himself for the hardest training of his life. The Shadowlands echoed with the clash of their weapons, a new chapter of his legend beginning under the watchful eyes of gods and warriors.