Author's Note: 28K VIEWS. Every page turned, every comment, every second you spend in this world — that is what keeps these flames alive. Thank you for walking this path with me.
The war has only begun.And I promise: the North will roar.
The dragon's roar still reverberated through the shattered stones, like an echo refusing to die.
The Eastern walls, once imposing, were now nothing but smoking columns.
Éreon's army moved through the breaches carved by fire like a living tide.
At the heart of the Viscounty, reports arrived in waves, and the tension was thick enough to be cut with a blade.
Advisors and guards brought conflicting news, and even Viscount Ardentis, seated upon his throne of black marble, could not hide the flicker of surprise at the last report.
"A dragon?" His voice was steady, but his fingers drummed against the table.
"Yes, my lord. It came out of nowhere… and the fire— the fire was purple."
The hall sank into silence.
Ardentis leaned back on the throne, staring at the great map of the East before him.
"Then tell me," he murmured. "How shall we kill it?"
Sèsinmè, standing beside the map, inclined his head.
"According to the report, the dragon vanished the moment the walls fell. The best course would be surrender — since neither barrier nor stone offered any resistance."
The murmurs of the council rose, a chorus of fear and doubt.
But they ceased at once when firm footsteps echoed down the corridor.
The guard at the entrance announced, voice tense:
"Lady Lysandra Ardentis."
She entered the hall.
A face both delicate and commanding, crimson lips curved in a half-smile.
Eyes of silver and ice — as if they looked upon the world from an eternal throne.
Long, dark-brown hair with crimson undertones fell in a thick braid over her shoulder.
Her pale, translucent skin made the rubies of her attire seem alive.
A dark cloak lined with white fur trailed across the floor, and the great ruby on her chest pulsed in the torchlight — like a heart.
She looked at Sèsinmè, her smile widening.
"Surrender?" she said, her voice calm yet laced with disdain. "Is this how you serve the name Ardentis? Kneeling before the enemy even reaches the gates?"
The silence grew heavier.
Ardentis watched in silence, eyes fixed on her.
"Even if we cannot strike down a dragon…" she continued, each word sharpened. "We can still kill whoever commands it."
Before anyone could reply, a deep, guttural sound rolled from the plains beyond — the very air trembling. The windows shook.
Lysandra raised her gaze, a cold gleam in her eyes.
"You see, my lord?" she murmured. "The field stirs… the hunt has begun."
At that very moment, far beyond the Eastern walls, Éon felt the air shift.
A chill ran down his spine, as if something immense had awakened beneath the earth.
The wind seemed to hold its breath.
"Wait…" he murmured.
Dust froze midair.
Dormant runes beneath his feet began to pulse with blue light.
"Trap!" he shouted.
But the warning drowned in the next roar.
The ground erupted.
Flames and debris surged like walls of fire, and the shockwave tore through the front line.
Marcus, just behind the soldiers, reacted to the cry.
"Fall back!" he bellowed, but his voice was lost in the thunder of the breaking earth.
Smoke rose in thick pillars, and the ground trembled as if the world itself were splitting apart.
The battlefield turned to a blur of heat and haze, devouring all around.
Cries echoed between the clash of armor and the crackle of flames.
"We're alive!" a soldier shouted from the front, voice hoarse. "Something… something shielded us!"
Marcus blinked, trying to comprehend.
The air had turned cold.
He turned.
Behind him, Éreon stood amid the ashes, his cloak swirling in the wind that spun with violet spirals.
His eyes burned a fierce purple, filaments of energy coursing down his forearms, dancing between his fingers like serpents of light.
"I will not allow anyone to fall… before the second wall," he said, voice low yet steady enough to cut through the field.
Éreon lifted his gaze toward Marcus, the violet glow flickering like living embers.
"Continue," he said — calm, certain, like one who had already seen fate and chosen the end.
"It seems my opponent has finally decided to move." A faint smile crossed his lips. "Then I must show them that no matter how loud they bark… their fall before me is inevitable."
The air around him began to vibrate, the ground sinking as if pressed by an unseen force.
Dust rose in spirals; the wind roared in reply.
With a single push, Éreon lifted off the ground — his body soaring upward amid an explosion of violet energy.
For an instant, the world slowed, every gaze following him.
He crossed the sky like a purple flash and descended into the enemy ranks, beyond smoke and flame.
The impact shook the earth, splitting the ground around him.
The Eastern soldiers stepped back, circling him with spears and shields raised.
Éreon slowly lifted his head, his eyes blazing.
"Before we begin…" he said, voice low, almost serene. "Does anyone wish to surrender?"
The silence that followed was razor-sharp.
Until one warrior, driven more by fear than courage, roared and charged.
Éreon moved.
The first strike came straight — the spear slicing the air.
He tilted his body, letting the metal graze his cloak, and with a nearly invisible motion, turned his wrist.
Purple energy condensed at his fingertips, and a slash of pure force ripped through the air.
The spectral blade sliced the spear like glass — and kept going. The soldier's neck opened before he even understood what had happened.
Another came from the right — short sword, fast step.
Éreon deflected with his forearm, the impact ringing like steel on stone.
He pivoted, half a step, exposing the man's flank, and struck with an open palm.
The air burst in an arc of energy, hurling the man backward into his comrades.
Three more advanced together.
The first met a sphere of condensed energy that burst from Éreon's palm, searing through his chest in a smoking hole.
The second lunged to exploit the moment — but Éreon was already behind him, his movements flowing like a dance.
The spectral blade cut through the air, splitting armor from shoulder to hip.
The third hesitated.
Éreon raised his eyes and murmured,
"Too late."
The ground beneath the soldier glowed.
Filaments awoke in violet, and pillars of energy consumed him — leaving only ashes drifting like snow.
The field fell silent once more.
Smoke, blood, and heat swirled around him as part of the same ritual.
Éreon exhaled, his gaze distant.
"Let the next one come."
Behind him, a rumble echoed from the lower walls — a dry thunder that sent dust rising in waves.
From the silver rampart, dozens of riders emerged — lances lowered, advancing like a tide of steel.
Éreon merely smiled.
His eyes gleamed violet, filaments of energy crawling along his arms, running down to his hands and into the ground.
Broken weapons, shattered shields, fragments of stone began to float around him, spinning in a vortex.
With a sudden gesture, he unleashed them forward — a storm of blades and debris.
The impact was brutal.
The first riders were thrown through the air, horses crushed, lances splintered.
The field became a whirlwind of flame and dust.
But one — or rather, one woman — stood firm.
She leapt from her horse mid-charge, twin swords carving the air in a deadly arc.
Éreon twisted his body, energy gathering in his palm.
The clash between blade and spirit-force sent a shockwave rippling through the air.
She landed on one knee behind him, her cloak fluttering from the explosion.
Slowly, she rose — amber eyes burning like embers.
Dark skin, warm, etched with fine scars — each one a trophy of war.
Her hair, long and coiled, braided with threads of iron that chimed like battle bells.
Her athletic body moved with the precision of a huntress.
"Didn't expect to find a god among ruins," she said, voice rough, steady.
"Nor I a mortal who still dares to raise her blade before him," Éreon replied, turning slowly.
They faced each other.
For an instant, even the sound of war seemed to stop.
The wind blew between them, lifting ashes and sparks.
She struck first.
A short, fast leap — blades crossing in an X, aimed for the neck.
Éreon raised his forearm, deflecting with minimal motion; energy pulsed violet, breaking her rhythm.
She spun, the lower blade scraping the ground and rising in a lateral slash.
Éreon stepped back half a pace, the edge grazing his chest.
He moved his hand — a line of energy sliced the air. She ducked just in time, the violet beam tearing the field behind her.
The ground exploded in shards.
She used the recoil, sliding to the side, one sword sweeping toward his leg.
Éreon blocked with an energy-wrapped forearm, sparks flying, and with the other hand unleashed a short, invisible wave.
The warrior was thrown back, but turned midair and landed on one knee, eyes fixed on him — wild, yet lucid.
"Your power is great," she murmured, wiping blood from her lip. "But it's not enough to stop one who fights for something real."
Éreon tilted his head, intrigued.
"Then show me what is real."
She charged again — faster.
The movements became a dance: circular strikes, short dodges, spiral steps.
She wielded both swords as an extension of her body, unhesitating — striking with primal, unpredictable rhythm.
But Éreon, motionless on the outside, moved as though foreseeing every attack.
He evaded by inches, the air vibrating with each gesture.
Her strikes were honest — and for a fleeting moment, Éreon remembered when fighting still meant surviving.
With the final attack, he caught the blade midair — violet energy coiling around his fingers — and snapped the steel with a dry crack.
The warrior froze.
Amber eyes lifted, meeting his.
Silence lasted a single breath.
Éreon opened his hand, the fragments of the sword falling like bright dust.
"Real enough to die for it?" he asked, lowering his hand.
She smiled — a fearless smile, only respect.
"Always. Blood pays for courage."
Then she surged forward one last time, invoking the names of those who came before.
Éreon answered with light.
Energy wrapped him — violet and alive, a flaming veil.
The impact lit the field, and when the glow faded, only the echo of steel lingered in the air.