The plaza was silent save for the crackle of settling lightning. Dust drifted in the air, carrying the acrid sting of scorched stone. Elder Thalos knelt in the center, his staff splintered at his side, shoulders heaving with shallow, ragged breaths.
Eryndor stood before him, chest rising and falling, sparks still crawling faintly across his arms. Kael limped to his side, blood streaking his lip but his blade steady, unwavering.
They stared at the man who had nearly ended them. For a long moment, no one moved.
"Enough," Kael muttered, voice low, firm. "He's beaten."
Eryndor's jaw tightened. His instincts screamed to end it—to erase the threat while the chance was there. But when he looked at Thalos, hunched and broken, he saw no towering elder. Just a man too stubborn to let go of his pride.
"We're done," Eryndor said finally, his voice carrying over the ruined plaza. He turned, Kael with him, the two walking toward the shattered archway where the fight had begun.
For a heartbeat, it seemed finished.
Then the ground shuddered.
Thalos rose, swaying, his face twisted with fury. With a hoarse scream, he ripped what was left of his strength into his palms. Lightning coiled wildly, unstable, scorching his own flesh as he thrust it forward.
"DIE WITH ME!"
The air ripped open with the force of his desperate strike, the raw energy surging toward their backs like a tidal wave.
Eryndor spun, instinct carrying him forward. Lightning flared from his fists, clashing with the elder's desperate surge. The impact roared, hurling stone into the air, tearing a crater through the plaza. His knees buckled under the force—too much, too raw, too desperate.
Kael appeared beside him in the chaos, cloak whipping in the storm, his sword raised high.
"Together!"
They moved as one. Eryndor's lightning wrapped around Kael's blade, feeding into the violet flame. The sword burned brighter than the storm itself, a blinding arc of pure destruction.
With a single, unified strike, they cut through Thalos' last attack. The lightning shattered. The elder's chest split open beneath the blade, his voice breaking in a gasp that was swallowed by the crack of thunder.
Thalos fell.
No grand words, no curse upon his lips. Just silence, and the heavy slump of a body hitting stone.
Eryndor lowered his fists, every muscle trembling. Kael exhaled shakily, pulling his blade free before letting it drop to his side.
The storm above began to fade.
For the first time since the fight began, the plaza was quiet. Truly quiet.
Kael looked at Eryndor, their shoulders both sagging, the weight of survival pressing down.
"It's over," Kael whispered.
Eryndor said nothing. He only stared at the fallen elder, the taste of iron still in his mouth, the storm still humming faintly in his veins. Over—for now.
But in his chest, beneath the exhaustion, he could feel it: the storm wasn't finished with him yet.