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,