The battlefield was a tapestry of chaos. Smoke curled into the sky, mingling with the scent of blood and steel. The clash between Arkanis and the Raven had sent ripples through the rebel ranks, shifting the tide of battle in an instant. Though wounded, Arkanis stood unwavering, the relic at his throat pulsing with raw energy. The Raven, equally relentless, adjusted his stance, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the power radiating from his adversary. The duel was far from over, and both men knew that the next exchange would determine not only the outcome of their fight but the fate of the rebellion itself.
Elara fought her way toward Arkanis, her heart pounding against her ribs. She had seen his transformation—the surge of ancient energy coursing through his veins—but what terrified her was the cost. The sanctum had warned them that power did not come without sacrifice, and she feared that Arkanis was teetering too close to the edge. She slashed through an enemy soldier, her daggers swift and merciless, before breaking free of the fray. "Arkanis!" she called, her voice sharp, urgent. But the wind carried her words away, drowned beneath the roar of battle.
Zyre had positioned himself further back, directing rebel forces with practiced precision. He saw what was happening—the Raven's forces had begun to shift, adjusting their tactics now that the battlefield had fractured. "They're regrouping!" he shouted to his commanders. "Hold the flanks! Do not let them reposition!" His mind worked quickly, searching for openings, for any advantage they could exploit. But the Raven was no ordinary adversary, and this war had become more than just a battle of strength—it was a clash of wills.
The Raven lunged, his blade cutting through the air with deadly intent. Arkanis met him in the center, parrying the strike and twisting his body to counter, sending sparks of energy cascading from the relic. Their swords locked, and in that moment, Arkanis saw something flicker behind the Raven's cold, calculating eyes—recognition.
"You understand it now, don't you?" the Raven muttered, his grip unyielding. "This power. This burden."
Arkanis clenched his jaw. "I understand that I will wield it to destroy everything you stand for."
The Raven smirked, but there was no mirth in it. "Then prove it."
He broke away, his movements swift as a shadow, striking with a precision that forced Arkanis to adapt. But as they fought, something shifted within the relic—its glow intensified, the pulse in Arkanis's chest beating wildly in response. His vision blurred for a moment, the battlefield distorting, and a memory—no, a warning—flashed across his mind.
The sanctum had spoken of balance.
The relic was powerful, yes—but it was dangerous. It could overwhelm, consume, twist the bearer into something unrecognizable if they allowed themselves to be lost in it. And Arkanis knew, in that moment, that he was standing on the precipice.
Elara reached him just as the realization struck, grabbing his arm with force. "Don't lose yourself!" she shouted. "You are more than this power!"
The Raven seized the moment of distraction, striking fast and hard. The blade cut into Arkanis's shoulder, drawing a sharp, burning pain. He staggered back, but his grip on his sword remained firm. Elara positioned herself defensively, standing between Arkanis and the Raven, her daggers raised. "You don't get to take him," she growled.
The Raven tilted his head. "Do you really think you can protect him from what he's already chosen?"
Arkanis looked between them, the weight of the sanctum's warning pressing against his mind. He had made his choice—he had accepted the relic, the power, the responsibility. But Elara was right. He could not let it consume him.
Zyre's voice rang across the battlefield. "Now! Push forward!"
The rebels surged as one, their forces driving into the enemy ranks, breaking the carefully placed formation. For the first time, the council's army faltered. The Raven stepped back, calculating, his gaze never leaving Arkanis.
"You're not ready," he said, his tone a mere whisper. And with that, he disappeared into the smoke, retreating with his soldiers as the battle turned in the rebels' favor.
Arkanis collapsed to his knees, exhaustion flooding his limbs. Elara knelt beside him, gripping his hand tightly, steadying him. "It's over," she murmured.
But Arkanis, staring into the mist where the Raven had vanished, knew better.
This was only the beginning.