Time moved quickly. Weeks passed, marked by preparations. Kael had accepted Selyna's offer, without ever meeting her again. Everything was done through messages, intermediaries, agreed signs. Drakk handled coordination. Thorgar trained the troops. Kira oversaw the scouts.
Then the day came.
The Krell basin stretched to the south, between grey hills and dried rivers. The Vorlath had fortified it with makeshift walls, watchtowers, scattered garrisons. The ore was rich there, the ground hard, the approaches narrow.
Kael attacked at dawn.
Not with a massive army. With chosen troops—fast, disciplined. He had sent Kira and Thorgar from the west, Drakk from the east, and struck at the center himself. The coordination was perfect.
The Vorlath were taken by surprise. Their outposts fell in less than an hour. The towers burned. The garrisons retreated in disarray. Kael advanced, unleashing magic of ash and iron that shattered fortifications.
By midday, the basin was retaken.
The soldiers of the Neverdie Realm planted their banners on the heights. The few surviving Vorlath were captured or driven out. Kael walked the conquered ground, his face closed, without triumphalism.
"It's done," said Kira, joining him.
"Yes."
"You don't look happy."
"I am. But this is only the beginning."
"You're thinking of Maëldor."
"Yes."
"Do you think he'll come?"
"He'll have no choice. If he doesn't respond, he loses face. If he does, he loses men."
"And if he comes himself?"
Kael turned his head south.
"Then I'll wait for him."
---
Maëldor came.
Three days later, a dark column appeared on the horizon. Grey banners, ash-colored armor, standards bearing a broken tower. At the center, carried on an iron palanquin, the King of the Court of Ashes.
Kael stood on the hill, surrounded by his officers. Kira to his right, Thorgar to his left, Drakk behind.
"He's here," said Kira.
"Yes."
"He brought an army."
"To parade. Not to fight."
"You're sure?"
"Look. He's not in battle formation. He came to show off."
Maëldor halted his palanquin at mid-distance. A herald stepped forward, bearing a standard.
"King Maëldor of the Court of Ashes demands to speak with the Demon King of the Neverdie Realm!"
Kael descended the hill alone. Kira moved to follow.
"No. Stay."
"But—"
"Stay."
Kael walked to the midpoint. Maëldor descended from his palanquin. He was tall, slender, clad in black armor that smoked faintly. His face was young, but hard. His eyes burned with a grey fire.
"Kael Neverdie," he said in a carrying voice. "You have taken the Krell basin."
"Yes."
"Those lands were under my protection."
"They no longer were."
"That is a declaration of war."
"No. It's a recovery. War will come if you seek it."
"You insult me."
"No. I warn you."
Maëldor smiled. A cold, joyless smile.
"You have returned stronger. They say so everywhere."
"They say true."
"Then prove it."
"What do you want?"
"A duel. You and me. No armies. No intermediaries. Here."
Kael looked at him.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you'll be known as a coward."
"And if you lose?"
"Then the Court of Ashes will withdraw."
"And if I lose?"
"Then the Krell basin will remain ash."
Kael smiled in turn.
"Very well."
He raised his hand.
The air began to vibrate.
An ancient spell. A spatial creation. He had devised it centuries earlier, in the pages of his notebook. An empty space, outside the world, where two powers could clash without destroying what surrounded them.
Reality tore.
An immense dome appeared, translucent, pearlescent. Inside, the ground was white, infinite. The sky no longer existed. Only the pale light of a calculated void.
"This is the arena," said Kael. "No one may enter. No one may leave until one of us falls."
Maëldor's eyes widened.
"Impressive."
"I know."
"You're ready?"
"I'm ready."
Kael turned toward his hill.
"Kira. If I don't return, you know what to do."
Kira clenched his fists.
"Come back."
"That is my intention."
Kael stepped into the dome.
Maëldor followed.
The space closed behind them.
And the world held its breath.