The battlefield trembled as Marlic raised his spear of smoke high. The storm around him thickened, and from the haze stepped figures unlike the silent warriors before.
They wore Ashbound armor, their faces familiar, their torches twisted into blades of shadow. Elira's breath caught—these were not strangers. They were echoes of the fallen, bound into Marlic's army.
The Ashbound faltered, torches dimming. "That's Ralen… that's Seris…" voices whispered, grief breaking their blades.
Marlic's laughter cut through the smoke. "Every warrior you lose becomes mine. Every loyalty you forge feeds shadow. This war will never end, Flamebearer—it will only multiply."
Elira's crown pulsed violently, visions flashing—faces of the fallen, torches extinguished, shadows rising again and again. She staggered, fire threatening to collapse inward.
Kael's blade gleamed with flame, his voice fierce. "They are not our people anymore. They are his weapon. Fight them, Elira!"
But Elira's chest tightened. To strike them was to strike memory, to burn loyalty itself. The crown whispered: Bind flame, not consume.
She raised her hand, fire sparking. "Then I will not burn them. I will free them."
The champions surged forward, shadow blades cutting through torchlight. The duel was no longer just against Marlic—it was against the endless tide of memory twisted into war.