He didn't shout. Didn't channel.
He gave.
The blade in his hand didn't require techniques. No names. No flourish.
It took his sunlight, what was left of it, and swallowed it whole.
Then it asked for more.
And Eldrin gave.
His right arm twisted. The nerves inside flared like burning roots. Flesh began to peel. The magic climbed his shoulder, wrapped around his spine. He didn't stop.
'One swing. That's all it takes.'
Dythrael raised his hand.
Not to block.
Just to look.
He was curious now.
Curious.
Eldrin's body screamed.
Blood streamed from his nose.
His vision fractured, but he held the blade tighter.
And swung.
Not wide.
Not flashy.
Just clean.
A single horizontal arc that bisected the entire courtyard in half.
The air exploded. The light reformed, just for a second, into the shape of a full sun cresting the ground. A golden fan carved a kilometer-wide swath straight forward, vaporizing everything in its path.
Everything except Dythrael.
