The battlefield roared with chaos. Steel clashed, flames erupted, and shadows writhed like serpents hungry for blood. Yet in the heart of the carnage, only two figures mattered—Rondan, his crimson eyes blazing, and the masked commander cloaked in black, his presence colder than death itself.
Their blades met with a thunderous crack, sparks scattering like dying stars. Each strike carried more than muscle and steel; it carried their will, their defiance, their very essence.
"You fight as though destiny bends to you," the masked man said, voice echoing from behind the metal. "But destiny is not yours to shape. It is mine."
Rondan pushed forward, fury burning through his veins. "If destiny is chains, then I'll break them—flame by flame!"
He spun, his blade wreathed in fire, carving through the darkness. For a moment, the battlefield lit up as though dawn itself had fallen upon them. But the commander raised a gloved hand, and the runes etched across his arm flared crimson. Shadows surged like a tidal wave, swallowing the light.
Rondan staggered back, his breath ragged. Those runes—they pulsed with the same rhythm as the ones he had seen on fallen foes, the same cursed script Leina had warned him about.
The commander's voice cut through the storm.
"These runes are not marks of power. They are fragments of a key. Piece by piece, battle by battle, the lock weakens. And soon… the Forgotten Flame will awaken."
The words struck harder than any blade. Rondan's grip tightened on his sword.
"Then I'll stop it here. I won't let that fire consume the world."
A low laugh rumbled from beneath the mask.
"You speak of stopping it, boy, yet you are the missing piece. Without you, the Flame cannot rise. That is why I sought you. That is why I'll break you."
Before Rondan could react, the commander's blade sliced through the air, carrying with it a wave of shadow-fire that shattered the ground beneath his feet. The impact hurled him back, stone splintering around him.
Pain seared through his body, but his spirit refused to bow. Staggering to his feet, blood trickling from his lip, he raised his blade once more. His crimson eyes glowed brighter, fiercer—like an ember refusing to die.
"Then break me if you can," he said, voice steady despite the storm inside him. "But know this—every chain you forge, I'll shatter. Every shadow you raise, I'll burn."
Flame and darkness clashed again, consuming the night in a storm that would be remembered for generations.