Flames on the Field
The arena smelled of steel, sweat, and old cinders — like the battlefield remembered every scream ever spilled upon it. Torchlight flickered against banners bearing the ancient mark of the House of Nūr — once forgotten, now returned.
Rayyan stood at the edge of the ring, his cloak rippling slightly. Nael stood beside him, shoulders taut. Zafir checked his gauntlets, while Sabrin stretched silently. Lunir stared at the clouds as if searching for answers only the sky could give. Shaia closed her eyes, whispering words that danced like wind through fire.
Trumpets blared.
The announcer's voice boomed:
"First match! House of Nūr vs. The Ashen Howl!"
Across from them stood their opponents: flame-marked warriors clad in wolf hides and obsidian armor, their leader bearing a war-horn and wielding a jagged blade known as The Ember Fang.
The Battle Begins
The signal fire ignited — a pillar of gold flame that roared into the sky.
Rayyan's eyes lit with a soft white-blue pulse as he moved first, weaving a path of light that disoriented the front-line Ashen warriors. He struck not to kill but to disarm, turning blades aside with calculated grace. Divine light wrapped his limbs like armor.
Shaia's hands burned with sun-glyphs as she chanted from behind, calling forth protective wards and fiery lances that descended from the sky. Sabrin moved like a blur, twin daggers spinning, targeting pressure points and stealing breath before her enemies could cry.
Then the howling began.
The Ashen warriors dropped to all fours, snarling, their flame becoming untamed. One leapt at Nael, blade-first.
Nael's eye shimmered — not red, not blood-soaked, but golden-white like the midday sun. He ducked, grabbed the attacker's arm mid-swing, and flung him over his shoulder into stone.
Another charged.
Nael hesitated. His hand trembled.
In that moment, a whisper echoed in his mind — his mother's voice… or was it someone else?
"Let the fire within answer. You are not him… but you carry his ruin."
Nael's eye flared.
He moved.
Blades bent.
Heat rippled.
The enemy's chestplate shattered under his fist like glass kissed by a solar flare.
Zafir let out a short laugh. "So… the sun does rise in battle."
The Price of Victory
The match ended swiftly after that. The Ashen Howl, outmatched and outmaneuvered, surrendered before final blood was drawn.
The crowd roared. But it was a confused roar — some in awe, others in fear.
"The lost house returns."
"The cursed sons bear light."
"One fights like the Devil's heir…"
Back in their quarters, Nael sat alone, staring at his reflection in a shard of mirror.
He touched his eye. It pulsed faintly.
Rayyan approached, bruised but smiling.
"You were incredible," Rayyan said.
Nael didn't answer. He only asked, quietly:
"Do you ever feel like… the more power you use, the less human you become?"
Rayyan paused. "I only fear when I stop feeling that."
They sat together, brothers by fate, shadowed by flames neither of them could fully understand.
Outside, a messenger arrived. A new match had been announced.
Their next opponent:
The Children of the Hollow Flame.
Zafir's face turned grim.
"Their leader's name is whispered in prophecy. He carries no sword… just silence."
Shaia added, "And silence, when it burns, burns forever."
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End of Chapter 13