The storm roared as Kael leapt from the battlements, his blade flashing like silver lightning. The enemy surged beneath him, a sea of fire-lit steel, but he landed with the force of a thunderclap, cutting a path straight toward the masked commander.Isolde shouted his name, but her voice was lost in the chaos. Arrows rained, villagers screamed, Eldrin’s curse clawed at the ground while fire tried to burn it away. The mountain itself groaned under the weight of two powers too great to coexist.The commander strode forward through the flames, unhurried, untouchable. His armor glowed as though forged from molten rock, his mask reflecting Kael’s storm-lit face. With a flick of his blade, fire swept in an arc, searing soldiers—friend and foe alike.“Still clinging to shadows?” His voice was thunder wrapped in scorn. “The throne will never bend to you. You were born of blood, Kael. You cannot escape it.”Kael charged, fury burning away fear. Their blades met in a clash that split the night.

The battlefield was a storm of steel and screams. Aric’s blade cut through the press of soldiers, his arms aching, his breaths ragged, but his resolve unbroken. Every strike echoed with the weight of Isolde’s gaze, every parry sharpened by the memory of Kael’s challenge. The night air was thick with the smell of iron and fire, and above them, the banners of the enemy snapped like wolves howling at the moon.“Hold the line!” Aric shouted, forcing his voice above the clash. His men responded with a roar, though he could hear the fear woven beneath their defiance.A spear lunged for his chest. He twisted, steel ringing as he deflected the blow, countering with a slash that dropped his foe. Blood sprayed across his gauntlet, warm and sticky, but he pressed forward. His men needed to see him relentless. He was not just their commander—he was their anchor against the storm.Kael fought nearby, his greatsword sweeping arcs of destruction through the enemy. His strikes were brutal, efficient,

The battlefield was no longer just a clash of steel; it was a storm consuming everything in its path. Fire licked at broken banners, bodies lay scattered, and the cries of the dying mingled with the warlord’s booming laughter.Aric pushed forward, his breath ragged, his eyes locked on the retreating soldiers who dragged Isolde away. His heart hammered as though it would burst. Every step felt heavier, yet he forced his body onward, his blade cutting a path through the enemy tide.“Aric!” Kael shouted, stumbling to his side. His greatsword was cracked near the hilt, blood soaking his tunic. “You can’t charge alone!”Aric ignored him, his voice breaking as he roared: “Isolde!”The warlord appeared again, stepping between Aric and his goal, his massive axe gleaming in the firelight. His helm turned toward Isolde, who struggled and kicked against her captors, her cries barely audible over the chaos.“You would throw yourself into ruin for a woman?” the warlord rumbled. “How quaint.”Aric’

The battlefield froze in silence.Where fire had raged, frost now spread like veins of silver across the ground. The sorcerer of the Northern Vale stood tall amidst the ruin, their cloak whipping in the sudden gale. Their staff pulsed with runes of ice, each word of ancient power humming in the air like a forgotten hymn.The warlord’s burning eyes narrowed, the crimson runes of his axe flaring brighter to resist the creeping frost. His laughter, once thunderous, now cracked with unease.“You,” he growled, voice like grinding stone. “The Vale’s traitor. I burned your halls to ash.”The sorcerer’s gaze was like a winter storm, cold and merciless. “And yet your fire did not consume me. That was your first mistake.”With a sweep of the staff, frost surged outward, a tidal wave of ice that hissed as it met the warlord’s fire. The clash shook the battlefield, sparks and shards of frost exploding into the night. Soldiers—what few remained alive—scattered like insects before gods.Aric shield

The cavern was silent, but Aric could hear it.A low thrum, deep in his chest, like the steady beat of a war drum. It was not his heart. It was something older, something restless, something waiting.He sat apart from the others, blade across his knees, trying to calm his breath. The steel should have been cold, but beneath his palms it felt warm—as though it pulsed with the same rhythm inside him.Isolde knelt a short distance away, watching him with quiet worry. Her lips parted, then closed again, as though she feared her words might shatter the fragile stillness.Kael paced the cavern like a caged beast, muttering curses under his breath. The flickering glow of the crystals painted his face in pale firelight, exaggerating the tension around his jaw.The sorcerer stood before the altar, their staff planted firm, runes glowing faintly. Their eyes never left Aric.At last, Aric broke the silence. His voice was raw.“You said his fire didn’t burn me because it recognized its own shadow