ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 582: Building A Sled

Dylan didn’t raise his voice when he spoke, yet the sound of the rain seemed to bend around his words all the same. The group had gathered closer beneath the partial shelter of stone and shield, shoulders nearly touching, water dripping steadily from cloaks and hair. The mountain groaned softly beneath them, soil shifting in slow, ominous murmurs that made it clear time was no longer a luxury they possessed.

"Alright," Dylan began, rubbing his hands together as if warming them, though the gesture was more habit than need. His eyes flicked toward the slope, then back to the group. "Here’s the thing. We’re not climbing down. We’re not waiting this out. And we’re definitely not trying to walk it like idiots."

A few heads lifted at that. Max frowned, already sensing where this was going, while Ariana leaned in despite herself.

"The rain’s already doing the hard work for us," Dylan continued. "Ground’s soft, loose in places, slick in others. That’s dangerous if you fight it." He tapped the edge of one of the makeshift shields with his knuckle. "But if you use it? It becomes a path."

He crouched, dragging his fingers through the mud near their feet, then drew a quick, slanted line. "We slide. Controlled. Fast enough to outrun the worst of the erosion, slow enough not to turn ourselves into a mess at the bottom."

Silence followed—not disbelief, exactly, but the heavy kind of quiet that came when people realized the plan made too much sense to dismiss outright.

Sheila studied him closely. "You’re saying we turn the shields into a sled."

"Exactly," Dylan replied, snapping his fingers once. "One shield stays whole. That’s the base. It can take weight, it can take impact, and it’ll slide better than bare wood. The other one—" he gestured toward the longer shield they’d used for cover, "—we sacrifice."

Charlotte’s brow furrowed. "Sacrifice how?"

"We break it," Dylan said simply. "Three pieces. One goes up front as a barrier. Not to stop everything—just to deflect rocks, branches, whatever the mountain decides to throw at our faces. The other two get lashed to the sides. Partial coverage. Enough to keep us from getting clipped or thrown sideways if we hit uneven ground."

He mimed the shape with his hands, outlining a crude, angular form in the air. "Think of it like a wedge. Ugly, but effective."

Max exhaled slowly. "And steering?"

"That’s where you come in," Dylan said, glancing at him. "We find a log—solid, heavy, not too long. You ride near the back of the sled and drag it when we need to slow down. Angle it right, and it’ll pull us slightly left or right. Not much, but enough."

Max hesitated, then nodded once. "I can do that."

Ariana swallowed. "And if it catches?"

"Then we pray it doesn’t snap," Dylan said without sugarcoating it. "Or that Max has the sense to let go before it breaks his legs."

Max snorted. "Comforting."

Dylan grinned faintly, then continued before nerves could spiral. "Now, the problem. Weight and space."

He glanced around at them, counting silently. "That shield’s only going to hold five of us. Any more and we either crack it or lose control entirely."

That was when the questions started coming, overlapping with the rain.

"So what about the rest of us?" "We’re not leaving anyone behind." "There’s no second sled."

Dylan lifted his hands. "Relax. I’m getting there."

He turned and pointed toward the tree line visible through the mist below the summit. "Bark. Flat pieces of wood. We strip what we can, shape it enough to slide on. Crude boards. Not sleds—more like controlled falls."

Sheila’s eyes sharpened. "You want people sliding behind the main sled."

"Not just behind," Dylan corrected. "Tethered to it. We’ve got nearly four hundred feet of vine rope. We cut it, tie the rear riders to the sled. That does two things. One, they don’t get left behind. Two—" his expression grew more serious, "—their weight adds drag. Extra braking force."

Ariana’s face paled. "They’d be completely exposed."

"Yeah," Dylan said quietly. "They would."

The rain seemed louder then, drumming against metal and stone as the implication settled.

"And who exactly are you planning to put back there?" Charlotte asked.

Dylan didn’t hesitate. "Me."

Several voices protested at once, but he pressed on, tone firm. "I came up with this. I know how it’s supposed to move. I’ll be able to adjust, shout if something’s wrong, compensate if the sled speeds up too much."

Before anyone else could respond, Asher stepped forward.

"I’ll go too."

The group turned toward him in unison. Asher’s jaw was set, blue eyes steady despite the rain plastering white hair to his forehead.

"Max is already taking the brake," Asher continued. "Someone needs to help control the rear. I’ve got the strength for it. And if something hits, I can take it."

Dylan glanced at him, surprised for just a moment, then nodded. "Was hoping you’d say that."

Sheila studied both of them for a long, heavy second, then gave a single, decisive nod. "Fine. That’s settled."

And just like that, the discussion ended. Not because everyone was convinced—but because the mountain was running out of patience.

They moved quickly after that.

What followed was an hour of relentless, coordinated motion that stood in sharp contrast to the chaos around them. While other students huddled under rocks or argued uselessly, Sheila’s group worked with grim focus. Tools were improvised from what little they had. The shields were braced and struck at stress points until the longer one cracked cleanly into three uneven but usable sections. Vine rope was measured, cut, and tied with practiced efficiency, knots double-checked despite numbing fingers.

Dylan and Charlotte stripped bark from fallen trees, selecting pieces wide and thick enough to support weight without shattering. Asher tested each one with his boot, discarding anything that flexed too much. Max dragged potential logs across the stone, testing balance and heft until he found one that dragged just right—heavy enough to slow them, light enough to maneuver.

The sled took shape slowly, then all at once. The intact shield formed the base, slick with rain but sturdy. The front barrier was lashed tight, angled slightly upward. The side panels followed, shorter and imperfect, but solid enough to deflect glancing blows. Rope crisscrossed the structure like veins, binding it into something that looked less like equipment and more like defiance made physical.

All the while, eyes watched.

Students across the summit paused in their own misery to stare openly. Whispers spread. Some scoffed. Others looked uncertain, calculating whether imitation was possible. A few simply watched in silence, expressions unreadable.

"Sheila’s group is doing something," someone muttered. "They’re insane." "Or desperate."

Neither label mattered.

By the time the final knots were pulled tight, hands raw and shoulders aching, the rain had not eased—but the mountain had shifted again, small slides tracing paths downward like invitations they could no longer refuse.

Dylan wiped water from his face and exhaled. "Alright," he said, voice hoarse but steady. "That’s it. We’re ready."

The sled sat at the edge of the summit, angled toward the descent, waiting.

And after an hour of preparation, of choices made and risks accepted, there was nothing left to do but commit.

Rain slicked the stone beneath their boots as the group gathered around the finished sled, the mountain breathing heavily beneath them. One by one, they adjusted straps, tested knots, checked grips—small rituals meant to keep fear at bay. The summit felt tighter now, crowded not just with bodies but with the weight of what they were about to attempt.

As they prepared to mount the sled, Ariana hesitated.

She stood slightly apart from the others, her gaze drifting past the edge of the summit toward the clusters of students still huddled beneath rocks and overhangs. Some watched openly, others pretended not to, but all of them looked stranded in the same way—caught between pride and fear, unsure which would kill them first.

Her hands curled slowly at her sides.

"I wish..." she began, then stopped, swallowing. "I wish there was a way to help them too."

The words were soft, almost lost beneath the rain, but Sheila heard them.

She followed Ariana’s gaze, taking in the scene with a quiet heaviness. For a moment, her expression softened—not with doubt, but with something closer to regret.

"I know," Sheila said gently. "But we can’t." She looked back to the sled, to the ropes, to the plan balanced on the edge of disaster. "This is already risky enough. If we try to carry more than we can handle... we won’t make it down at all."

Ariana nodded, though the look didn’t leave her eyes.

They began to move into position.

Charlotte and Liam took the front, low and steady, hands braced against the forward barrier. Max settled near the back, positioning the braking log carefully, testing its angle once more. Sheila moved in behind Charlotte, anchoring the center, while Ariana squeezed in beside her, knees tucked in tight. The sled creaked faintly under the added weight but held.

Asher and Dylan stepped back, each gripping their improvised boards, rope already looped and secured.

That was when a voice cut through the rain.

"Well," it drawled, loud enough to carry across the summit, "this is easily the stupidest thing I’ve seen all day."

The group froze.

Slowly, they turned. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Chris Rature stood several paces away, Lucian and Logan flanking him as always. Rain streamed down his cloak, but his posture was relaxed, almost smug, as if he were enjoying the spectacle. His eyes flicked over the sled, the ropes, the boards, his mouth curling into a mocking smile.