The roar of the arena faded in her mind, replaced by a soft golden light. Selphira's high elf features softened, her sharp eyes reflecting the warmth of memory. She was no longer the unyielding warrior in the present—she was a child, barefoot on a lush meadow, chasing the flitting shadows of birds across her village.
Her father, tall and gentle, leaned on a wooden practice sword, chuckling at her clumsy swings.
"Selphira, careful! Even in play, a warrior must not falter."
Her mother, hands glowing faintly with healing magic, knelt nearby, arranging herbs with care.
"Let her laugh, my love. The world will not always be kind; she must first know joy."
Selphira remembered tugging at her father's sleeve, demanding mock duels. He pretended to be defeated, and she laughed when her small blade landed a clumsy strike on his knee. Her mother scolded them playfully, and laughter filled the air—pure, untainted happiness.
But the light of the memory shattered abruptly. A thunderous roar split the night sky. The forest surrounding her village caught fire, black flames spreading like living shadows. Demonic silhouettes stormed in, shrieking, twisted in form yet terrifyingly human in manner.
Her mother grabbed her, pulling her close, her aura flickering with protective magic (trembling). "Selphira, stay behind me! You must survive!"
Her father drew his sword, aura blazing, facing the invaders with all the strength he could muster. He shouted - "Run, Selphira! Live! One day, your sword will shine brighter than mine!"
From the shadows, a figure descended with wings of darkness and a cruel smile—Zerathorn Veylis, a noble demon whose very presence twisted the air. Flames erupted around him, and the ground seemed to quake beneath his power.
Selphira's father lunged with a roar, blades clashing, but he was overwhelmed. Her mother cast a shimmering protective shield around Selphira, channeling her last reserves of strength.
She was weak but firm. "Even if we fall… you must carry our hearts with you. Never forget… love and courage."
Tears blurred Selphira's vision as she struggled against her fear and helplessness. She wanted to fight, to protect her family, but her small hands could barely grasp a sword. Her father's hand rested on her hair, bloodied yet gentle, a final farewell.
He whispered hoarsely "Live… little wolf… one day… fight with all your heart…"
And then, the world burned around her. The screams of her village, the crackling of flame, the agonized voices of those she loved—everything she had known vanished in black smoke. Selphira ran, stumbling through the forest, heart pounding, tears streaming. She was powerless, terrified, and alone.
Selphira (whispering to herself): "I… I was weak. I left them and I ran… how coward , only if i were strong "
The night stretched endlessly. Yet in that darkness, a seed of resolve took root. Her breath ragged, hands shaking, she swore with every ounce of her spirit:
"Never again… I will never run. I will grow stronger… stronger than anyone… stronger than fate itself… so that no one I love will ever be lost again."
The image of her parents' faces, their love and sacrifice, burned into her heart. It was anguish, yes, but also a promise—a vow that would shape every strike she delivered in the present.
Her eyes snapped open. The roar of the arena returned, dust and sand whipping around her. The warmth of memory faded, replaced by the intensity of the present. Every muscle tensed; her aura flared violently, a mixture of fury, sorrow, and unyielding determination.
Selphira's lips curved into a deadly, beautiful smile.(whispering)"I will never be weak again… not now… not ever."
Aurelian saw the change instantly. Her strikes became sharper, more focused, her movements a deadly dance of precision and emotion. The battle that had been physical only moments ago now carried the weight of centuries, the echoes of love, loss, and vengeance intertwined in every swing.
The spectators gasped, some taking a step back, sensing the aura of the high elf warrior surge like a storm.
The clash continued, neither yielding, both aware that this battle was more than skill—it was resolve, history, and destiny manifesting in the arena.
And as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky crimson, the battle raged on, emotions flaring alongside the magic and steel.