The undead surged forward.
"Formation!" Riven bellowed, raising his shield.
Elin loosed arrows with terrifying precision. Tobin activated his holy barrier.
But Myrelion didn't move.
His eyes were fixed on the robed man. The man whose face was hidden beneath a hood, but whose presence screamed familiarity.
That dagger…
It was the Twin of Nyxfang, the blade Myrelion once forged in secret during the Shadow Wars of his former life.
No one else should have had it.
Not unless—
"Who are you!?" he shouted, stepping forward.
The robed figure tilted its head.
"…So the rumors were true," it said, voice smooth and cold. "The Black Ghost has returned."
Myrelion's heartbeat stopped.
"No one calls me that anymore."
"But you remember," the man replied. "The missions. The empire. The betrayal. You ran. We did not."
He threw back his hood.
The face beneath was pale, marked with runes—undead, but intelligent.
"My name is Vareth, once your comrade. Now death's blade."
Then he vanished.
Myrelion barely blocked the first strike, steel shrieking as dagger met dagger.
The others fought behind him, overwhelmed by the undead.
But to Myrelion, the world had narrowed to Vareth.
"Why are you here?" Myrelion growled, blades flashing.
"To reclaim what was abandoned," Vareth hissed. "Your soul still burns. The Order wants it. The Old Ones demand it."
They clashed in a deadly dance of speed and shadow, both wielding forbidden techniques from a war long erased from the world's memory.
Then Kaelira arrived—having followed secretly to observe—and unleashed a wave of flame that scorched the undead.
Vareth snarled.
"This world will burn, Myrelion. And you will lead the pyre when the time comes."
He exploded into mist and vanished.
The remaining undead crumbled to dust.
Silence fell.
Riven was injured. Tobin was unconscious. Elin was glaring at Myrelion.
Kaelira walked over and stared him down. "That wasn't your first time seeing him, was it?"
Myrelion clenched his fists. "…He was my brother. Once."
Kaelira didn't flinch.
"Then we find him again—and we end it. Together."
Myrelion looked at his hands, the black and white daggers still glowing faintly.
A war long forgotten was beginning anew.
And he was its reluctant heir.