The storm had softened to a steady drizzle.
Golden light flickered between the trees where Saintess Elira moved, her hands aglow as she passed among the wounded. The faint hum of her healing magic wove through the rain like a prayer—steady, rhythmic, unyielding.
Kaela stood at the edge of the clearing, silent, watching the silhouettes of her soldiers kneeling in the mud. The air still smelled of blood and ozone; the ground steamed where magic had burned it raw.
Her fingers brushed the hilt of her sword, tracing the faint groove left by the maid's axe. The mark was shallow now, almost gone—but she remembered the force behind it. The precision. The way she had fought.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
> "Commander," Elira called softly from behind her. The Saintess's voice carried like a hymn through the mist, calm despite the wreckage. "The wounded are being tended to. Their pain eases beneath Her light. But as for the fallen…"
Elira paused, lowering her head slightly as her glowing hands folded over her heart.
> "For them, all we can offer are prayers—that their spirits find rest in the embrace of Her Radiant Mother, and that Her warmth guide them beyond the storm."
The words hung in the rain, soft but heavy.
Even Kaela, hard-edged and silent, didn't interrupt.
Finally, the commander spoke, eyes still fixed on the treeline where the fight had ended—the place the maid had vanished from. The rain whispered through the leaves like a memory refusing to fade.
> "Your mana reserves—"
> "—hope it hasn't run out," she said flatly.
Elira exhaled, nodded once, and turned to gather the surviving soldiers. The glow of her magic receded through the mist, leaving Kaela alone once more amid the smell of wet ash.
For a moment, Kaela stood still.
Mana pulsed through the distant sky, reflecting in her eyes. Her grip tightened on the hilt at her side, knuckles whitening. And as the next flash illuminated the ruined forest, she took a single step forward.
The air bent.
She disappeared from the spot—reappearing before the maid, sword already in motion.
CLANG!
---
Back to the present
The maid's axe came down hard, colliding with Kaela's blade in a storm of sparks.
Mud and rain exploded around them, and the forest lit once more with lightning. The sound of steel on steel screamed through the clearing—the exact same rhythm as before.
But this time, Kaela's expression was different.
She wasn't surprised. She wasn't uncertain.
She had already seen it—and remembered how she moved.
Kaela's eyes burned cold gold as her sword twisted under the maid's guard, catching the haft of one axe and sending it spinning into the mud. Her other hand surged with mana, golden arcs crawling up her forearm as she drove her knee upward into the maid's chest.
The impact sent both of them crashing through the rain, sliding across the slick ground.
The storm above answered with wind that picked through the canopy.
The maid rolled, caught herself, eyes burning crimson. Her chest heaved slightly, rain plastering her hair to her face—but there was no hesitation, no fear. She rose again, axes ready, just as Kaela stepped from the shadows of her own mana.
> "Round two," Kaela murmured, voice cutting through the rain.
The next clash was blinding.
Their weapons collided—
BOOM.
The shockwave tore through the forest. Trees bent, shattering. Earth cracked.
Blood and mana spiraled upward, twisting into a blinding storm of crimson and white.
And then—
something broke.
Reality snapped.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, time folded.
Rain froze in midair. The lightning's glow stretched, warped—like a mirror bending under too much heat. The storm screamed and then fell silent.
The maid's eyes widened. Kaela's blade hung mid-swing, frozen in that suspended moment.
A whisper slid through the distortion—soft, cold, ancient.
---
CORRIDOR OF SHADOWS
The echo became real.
The same words lingered in the air, sharper now—
a voice cutting through the dark like a blade.
> "You dared lay a hand on my son."
Ivan stood at the corridor's center, grin half-formed.
The air trembled.
Elliana's form solidified out of the black mist, her shape like shadow itself trailing behind her. Her silver eyes locked on him—cold, perfect, merciless.
She moved without hesitation.
Daggers formed in her hands, carved from condensed shadow magic. The floor cracked beneath her step as she vanished—
reappearing behind Ivan before the echo of her voice had even died.
The daggers slashed in a crossing arc, aimed for his throat and heart—
a single motion, absolute in its intent to kill.
Ivan twisted aside, just barely slipping past the twin daggers that hissed through the air where his throat had been.
A breath late—and he would've been headless.
The impact of her swing carved twin scars into the stone wall behind him, the edges melting from the sheer mana burn.
He sneered, voice low and cruel.
> "Fast. But you'll need more than tricks in the dark to—"
He didn't finish.
The shadows behind him moved.
No—she moved.
Elliana's outline flickered, gone before his golden eyes could track her. A ripple of cold brushed his back—then came the whisper of steel through air.
Ivan spun, blade raised—too slow.
A sharp pain tore through his arm.
Blood sprayed in an arc of black and red.
His right hand hit the floor, fingers still twitching around the hilt of his sword.
Elliana stood behind him again, eyes glowing silver in the dark. Her daggers dripped with his blood, steam rising where it touched the cold stone.
She hadn't even breathed hard.
The corridor pulsed with silence, broken only by the soft hiss of her shadow magic feeding off the wounded light.
Ivan's jaw clenched, disbelief flickering beneath his fury. He watched as the shadows coiled around her—living, writhing—making her form blur and shift, as if she was both there and not.
> "You…" he spat, mana flaring, "you dare—"
Elliana vanished mid-word.
A streak of black cut across the crimson glow, reappearing inches from his chest.
Ivan barely twisted again—dagger grazing his ribs this time, searing through armor and flesh.
The pain was real.
The realization worse.
For the first time, he wasn't sure where she would strike next.
Her voice drifted from everywhere at once, soft and venomous:
> "You talk too much, Ivan.
Save your breath. You'll need it to scream."
Shadows surged along the walls—climbing, pulsing, swallowing what little light remained.
Each heartbeat echoed with her next movement—impossible to follow, impossible to predict.
Ivan raised his severed hand as it instantly regrew, mana surging as he began summoning another blade of blood and power—
but the darkness around him no longer obeyed the laws of sight.
It obeyed her.