The battlefield blazed with fractured light—runes burning crimson, flames roaring gold. Rondan pressed forward, each strike of his blade singing with the rhythm of both dance and defiance. Sparks leapt like stars, but the armored figure met every blow with implacable force, his movements heavy and deliberate, like mountains grinding against each other.
Leina darted along the edges of the chaos, her silver eyes tracking every shift. She had seen battles before, but never a clash that shook the air itself.
The figure raised his hand, and the ground shuddered. From the cracks in the stone floor, chains of living runes erupted, slamming into place like the jaws of a beast. They coiled around the arena, glowing with a deadly pulse, seeking to bind not just Rondan's body but his very flame.
"Submit," the figure intoned, voice echoing with unnatural weight.
"Never," Rondan spat, crimson fire exploding from his core.
The flames surged outward, clashing with the chains. Where fire and rune met, reality itself seemed to groan—the air bending, stone hissing, light twisting as though refusing to choose which power to obey.
Then, a whistle cut through the chaos.
From the fortress walls, a figure leapt into the fray—a warrior clad in silver armor, his lance tipped with blue crystal. He struck the ground with a thunderous crack, sending a shockwave that scattered the nearest chains.
"Commander Kaelen!" Leina gasped, relief mixing with fear.
Kaelen's lance whirled in his hands, and he glared at the black-armored foe.
"You think you can bind the flame? You'll have to cut through me first."
The figure did not hesitate. He snapped his gauntleted fingers, and from the shadows emerged two more warriors—rune-marked soldiers, their eyes hollow, their veins glowing crimson. They moved in unison, their blades singing with the same cursed power.
Rondan's grip tightened on his sword. His crimson eyes flared brighter.
"So it's not just me you want bound—it's everyone who dares to resist."
The enemy didn't answer. Words were no longer needed.
Kaelen's lance clashed with one of the rune-soldiers, sparks flying as the clash rang like a bell of war. Leina hurled her daggers, each one bursting with silver light that forced the second soldier back. And in the center, Rondan faced the figure himself, their duel shaking the battlefield apart.
Flames met chains.
Steel met rune.
And above it all, the whispers of the Shroud thickened, like a storm ready to break.
For the first time, Rondan realized—this battle was no longer just survival.
It was the opening act of a war that would decide the fate of the flame itself.