Doran stood far ahead of Casco, his back turned to the man.
The mist wrapped around him, silent and heavy.
Below, a Kharuun warrior lay sprawled, blood seeping into the wood, his breaths shallow, ragged.
Doran's eyes glanced down, observing the faint rise and fall of the soldier's chest.
The wind carried the metallic scent of blood, sharp against the damp forest air.
Auroracrusher hummed softly at his side, the glow faint, pulsing with restrained energy.
The bridge groaned under the weight of the fallen and the wounded, the silence pressing in.
Doran remained still, shoulders relaxed, back to Casco, eyes fixed on the fading life before him.
Doran shifted slightly, glancing over his shoulder at Casco.
"Why?" he asked, calm but heavy with intent.
Casco looked down at the bleeding Kharuun warrior, eyes narrowing.
"It's… not too late," he said quietly, voice low.
"You can still be saved."
His gaze flickered, betraying the smallest trace of doubt.
He shook his head, denying what the situation suggested, as if willing the man back from the edge.
"No… he… he won't die," Casco murmured, almost to himself.
"Not yet… not while there's still a chance."
The mist twisted between them, carrying the weight of hesitation and unspoken fear.
Casco remained still, staring down at Doran.
Doran knelt beside the Kharuun warrior, hands steady on the bloodied body.
The man's abdomen had been cleaved in a harsh, jagged slice, crimson spilling over the wood, tendons and muscle visible beneath the misty light.
Doran's eyes followed the wound, cold but sorrowful.
"It's always my fault, isn't it?" he murmured.
"I'm… Dienekes' Ghost."
The fog clung thick around them, curling like smoke through the shattered bridge planks.
The distant wails of the forest sounded sharper now, hollow echoes bouncing between the trees, carried on the cold wind.
Doran's voice rose, quiet but cutting through the mist:
"I… I can't fix this."
The faint pulse of Auroracrusher hummed against his hands, the glow trembling in the haze.
Doran sank lower, shoulders trembling beneath the weight of the moment.
"I was given a responsibility…" he whispered, voice breaking.
"I failed. I always… I always run away."
The fog pressed close, thick and suffocating, carrying the scent of blood and damp wood.
Other Kharuun warriors approached, their steps quiet but deliberate. They leaned closer, eyes wide, watching the scene unfold.
The wounded man gasped, trembling violently, voice barely more than a whisper.
"I… I don't want to die…"
Blood slicked the wood beneath him, the crimson dark against pale skin.
And then he was still.
A faint, shuddering breath escaped him, and his eyes closed.
One of the Kharuun leaned down, placing a hand gently on the fallen warrior's shoulder.
"See you in the Sun," he murmured.
Others echoed it softly, one by one, voices low, reverent, carrying through the mist.
"See you in the Sun."
"See you in the Sun."
The words mingled with the fog, rising and fading into the forest's hollow whispers.
Doran's hands remained on the body, trembling.
The weight of failure, of inevitability, pressed down on him like the dense mist itself.
Tarvan remained silent for a long moment, eyes scanning the aftermath.
"Night's approaching," he said finally, voice low.
"Doran and Casco , you should… end the match immediately."
Doran said nothing.
He stood slowly, hands brushing faintly against Auroracrusher.
His gaze fixed on Casco, piercing, unflinching.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then Doran stepped forward.
Casco shifted instantly, dodging to the side with fluid precision.
Doran twisted mid-step, narrowly avoiding a counter, eyes still locked on Casco.
His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, but each word carried like steel:
"It's my fault… it's always my fault…"
He lunged again, then pulled back, dodging instinctively as Casco feinted.
"It's my fault… I failed them… I failed everyone…"
Each movement, each dodge, was haunted by self-blame, the weight of guilt driving him forward even as his body reacted on instinct.
Casco's eyes flicked to the edge of the mist, where Ember stood, her gaze sharp and filled with hate.
He felt it — every ounce of it pressing against him, burning through his chest.
And yet… why didn't he stop?
Why didn't he just halt, throw the dagger aside, and let it end?
He did exactly that , but for a different reason.
The dagger clattered against the bridge, the purple glow vanishing instantly.
He stared at Doran, silent, unmoving, as if the air itself held him in place.
For the first time, Casco's expression grew serious.
"I… I have people waiting for me," he muttered, voice tight.
"I have to win."
But as he spoke, he felt it — Doran's strength, calm and growing, like a storm swelling beneath a still sky.
The weight of it pressed on him, suffocating, but still… they had yet to clash.
Neither had made contact.
The bridge trembled faintly under the tension, the mist curling thickly between them, carrying the unspoken truth:
Casco stared at the mist.
The mist seem like clouds. It drifted lazily above, pale and indifferent.
As if the heavens themselves had no care for the small tragedies of the world below.
His mind, however, cared. It always did.
He saw his twin sisters, small and fragile, huddled together in the courtyard of their home.
Their hands were bound with coarse rope, faces pale and silent.
Treated not as children, but as things—objects to be shaped, discarded, or broken.
The weak, they had said, were nothing more than tools for the strong to wield—or destroy.
And he… he had been weak.
He remembered the first time the elders of the East had come.
Tall, cruel men who regarded humanity as cattle.
One elder, the oldest, the most cunning, had taken his sisters for himself.
He had watched, powerless, as they were ripped from his world.
They had screamed, but no one came. The law of the strong was absolute. And Casco… he had been nothing.
"What must they have felt , I keep thinking and wondering about this," he thought to himself.
"I was their older brother , their protector their promise to a better tomorrow. But I was late and weak too. I'm terrified to think what they must be experiencing now."
"We're they used , killed , sold or raped like Sinataras mother." I keep imagining.
Every mission he returned from—slaying beasts, surviving horrors no one should—offered a cruel hope.
Perhaps this time, the world would bend in his favor.
Perhaps this time, the sisters would be there, waiting.
But the house was always empty. The walls echoed with laughter that wasn't his.
Tarvan had promised him.
Complete the trial, complete the mission, and the elder would be compelled to return them.
That fragile, whispered promise had been all he had to cling to, a thread of light in a life otherwise drowned in shadow.
But the memory twisted in his chest. Every triumph had been hollow.
Every escape had carved another scar inside him.
The world had demanded he harden, sharpen, survive.
Yet survival alone brought no warmth, no relief—only the constant ache of absence.
He thought of his sisters again. Tiny hands, struggling against invisible chains.
Eyes wide with fear. Faces pale in the dying sun.
He had promised himself he would never fail them again.
And yet… even now, the void they left guided every step he took.
Casco closed his eyes. The sky above remained silent.
For a fleeting heartbeat, it felt as though the world itself mourned with him.
Rage, grief, and helplessness fused into a weight far heavier than any weapon he had ever held:
the unbearable burden of love lost.
When he opened his eyes, the violet dagger glimmered faintly in his hand.
The glow was not strength—it was the ache of everything stolen from him.
Every strike, every motion, every plan was now born not of pride or glory, but of necessity:
to survive, to win, to claw back what the world had taken.
A whisper escaped him, nearly drowned by the fog:
"I will find you. I will bring you back. No matter the cost."
The mist curled around him like a shroud, thick and mournful.
The forest seemed to lean closer, listening.
In that moment, Casco was more than a warrior.
He was a broken man, forged in loss, sharpened by grief, and driven by a love that the world had tried to erase.
And for the first time in years, Casco felt something terrifying and fragile all at once: he was ready.
Casco's focus sharpened, the weight of his memories and purpose condensing into a single point.
He moved with deliberate precision, feet gliding silently over the bridge planks.
And then—finally—he landed a punch on Doran.
The impact reverberated through both their bodies, the mist shaking as if echoing the strike.
Doran staggered slightly, eyes flickering with surprise but never losing their calm intensity.
Casco allowed himself the smallest smile, fleeting and almost bitter, as the satisfaction of connection, of finally striking, coursed through him.
For a brief moment, he felt alive, the pulse of Veil and memory intertwining, a fragile affirmation that he could still make a mark in this world.
The bridge groaned beneath them, the forest holding its breath, as the two warriors readied themselves for what came next.
Doran's eyes narrowed, calm yet cutting.
"Why are you smiling?" he asked, voice low, measured.
"A broken man is all I see."
Without waiting for an answer, Doran advanced.
His fists moved with precision, each strike deliberate, a storm of controlled power.
Casco staggered under the assault, struggling to keep up as Doran's blows found their mark again and again.
His body reeling, Casco's gaze fell to the Kharuun warriors at the edge of the bridge.
"Why… give me such eyes?" he muttered, voice trembling.
"Am I really evil? I'm just… like the rest of you people."
He shook his head, chest heaving, whispering more to himself than anyone else.
"I guess… I'm just a villain to some…"
Casco's eyes lifted again, scanning the Valerian warriors, seeing their cheering, their encouragement.
A small, genuine smile broke across his face.
"…Hero to some," he murmured, voice tight with disbelief and pride.
He drew deeply on the Veil, energy coiling around him like a storm contained in flesh.
"One final punch," he said, voice low and resolute.
His fist rocketed forward, a blur of violet light and Veil-charged power.
The impact struck Doran square in the chest.
The force sent him crashing backward, the bridge groaning beneath the blow. He slammed into the Kharuun warriors at the edge, splintered wood and mist erupting around him.
Doran lay unconscious, battered and still.
The Valerian warriors rushed forward, hands gripping Casco's shoulders, hugging him, shouting congratulations.
Casco remained silent, Veil pulsing faintly around him, eyes drawn to the distance.
There, far away, lay the wrapped body of the fallen Kharuun warrior.
He did not move. He did not speak. He only stared.
Tarvan stepped forward, voice carrying clearly across the bridge.
"Casco… you are the winner," he declared.
"The match is concluded."
The Kharuun warriors at the edges of the bridge shifted back, moving silently toward the forest.
The fog hung thick over the lake below, curling and twisting, reflecting the muted light as the warriors exited.
Ember appeared, holding Nessy carefully in her arms, her expression unreadable beneath the mist.
Shuna carried Gareth, his form limp but breathing, wrapped tightly against her.
Jaless approached, bearing Doran, the unconscious Kharuun warrior cradled like a child against his chest.
The mist swirled around them all, carrying the faint scent of blood and the echoes of the duel.
The bridge was quiet now, save for the soft lapping of water below, the lake reflecting the lingering fog like a shattered mirror.
Casco stood alone for a moment, silent, Veil energy pulsing faintly around him, eyes drawn to the distant bodies of both allies and enemies alike.